Little Higbee's ashes, now sprinkled in the yard, came home today. It is so good that she lived such a long, healthy, and well cared for life. The other good thing that has come from this very sad event is that my home is now more open; the door to the laundry room, always kept closed since Higbee could not be litter box trusted in the main house, is now open. Entry to the house proper was just not in Higbee's resume, but she did have free access to the outside from her laundry room cat door. I think she had a very good life; and she chose, especially in her later years, to restrict herself to her laundry room and her deck, with evenings on the couch with "mom" and pugs. RIP, Higbee. Great cat.
Although it was well into the 90s, Cleo and I left Winnie at home resting under the ceiling fan to attend the Blessing of the Animals at St. Francis Winery, an annual event to benefit the Sonoma County Humane Society.
We met up with Ilene with her rescue greyhounds and posed for this picture. Ah,shade. Nice. Then Cleo, now beginning to pant, and I toured the various booths and exhibits, which brought on heavy panting and a totally uncurled tail, a sign of pug displeasure. So we called it a day and headed back to our air conditioned car for the trip home. On our way out, we passed the priest just arriving, so Cleo never did get blessed. No big deal, as I am skeptical of all that churchy-wurchy business but figure-what the hell-it can't hurt. Maybe next year she'll get her blessing but only if it's cooler.
Or not. Since it seems that all I have to do these days to put on a pound or two is thinkabout food, empty calories are on my mind today. Dilemma: whether it is silly to cut back on food intake in order to enjoy a martini. The truth is I would rather have a martini than dessert or a second helping of anything. However, I would rather have pasta than a martini...most of the time. So, as I watch my food consumption in order to not turn into an unhealthy fatso, I guess moderation on both fronts is the order for the day. How boring. I remember when I had to be fed milkshakes to keep weight on my skinny frame, but admittedly that was many moons ago. It is what it is.
Birthdays can be exhausting. Not that I am complaining. I really do like all the attention, but I am also glad to have it done with for this year and to get back to my quiet, mundane life which consists of basically doing what I want, when I want. Other than a bothersome medical appointment, my only other appointment for the rest of this week is a massage on Thursday. How bad is that?
Ah, let the birthday celebrations commence as I head toward Route 66. How did I get so old, and where did all the years go? Last weekend I celebrated in Lincoln with my very own cupcake, which John helped me blow out. There were wonderful gifts, magazine subscriptions that I had requested, but the best gift was watching John play his first soccer game of the season.
Last night Bill and Sue came over for cocktails on the deck and then we were off to La Gare, one of my favorite restaurants. Champagne started us off and then I had Caesar salad, chateaubriand with the most delectable bernaise sauce, assorted vegies, crispy potatoes and chocolate mousse, with a candle stuck in it, for dessert. Totally stuffed, we headed home. Fabulous meal!
Lunch at Sweet River Saloon with Peter, Dick and Mary will happen tomorrow. I am thinking Cobb Salad, but a check of the menu will determine my final choice. One thing for sure: after filling myself with beef last night, I won't be choosing a burger. I've had my red meat "fix" for a few weeks. Finally, there's a small 45er party on Monday, and that should be it for the start of the year long journey on Route 66. I hope it's a smooth trip. No bumps, please.
Eight years ago. Everyone remembers where they were and what they were doing. Having just watched the horrific images on my tv screen, I got into my car to drive to Strawberry School, not knowing what else to do. Kind of like the day Kennedy was shot and I tried to go to my class in Berkeley, in a daze. Of course, there was no class and then I really didn't know what to do. This was different, however, because speculation was rife; I remember hearing news reports that the Golden Gate Bridge was the next target. So I drove to school. My principal rushed into my classroom, wringing hands, and muttered, "What do we say to the kids?" Not knowing the best path to take, I said that I thought we should reassure them and give them as normal a day as possible. So that's what I did, and it seemed a good way to go. However, one 6th grade teacher decided to show the live news broadcasts replaying ad nauseum the hijacked plane crashing into the twin tower and accompanied, of course, by broadcasters' dire guesses, misinformation, and hyperbole. I thought that was a mistake, but her argument was that it was history in the making, a valid point. Everyone was struggling with how to respond. There was no lesson plan for 9/11.
Crossing the Golden Gate has always taken my breath away, and hitting the bridge was just the beginning of a day full of delight. The first stop was lunch at the Daily Grille on Geary where a crunchy BLT accompanied by a Bloody Mary hit the spot. Then we were off to the Curran to see August: Osage County starring Estelle Parsons. From the moment the curtain went up, I was awestruck. The Westons, the onstage family, made my Parsons Drive family look like The Ozzie and Harriet Show. Booze, pills, foul language, incest, pedophilia, actual fisticuffs amidst thrown dishes made for an amazingly entertaining afternoon. Family dysfunction comes in degrees, and the Westons werehot, hot, hot.
She lived with me for 21 years, and now she is gone. Higbee, named after my good friend. Kind of an ordinary cat, affectionate but haughty, and more independent than most felines are. Maybe that's why she lasted for 21 years when my other cats, and there were so many, returned to the earth, ashes sprinkled lovingly in the yard. This morning it became clear to me that her time was up, and I had to play god and take her to the vet to be put down. The right thing, I know; but it feels empty, different around here tonight. Great cat. She'll be missed. And now there are four: Ruby, Zorro, Cleo, and Winnie. Well, OK. Me, too.