Pink Prickly Pear

Nothing Elfin about these hills.

We decided to explore the trails of Elfin Forest yesterday afternoon.  This particular trail took us on a very steady climb of 600 feet over 1.5 miles.  I was surprised at my huffing and puffing, but thought I could blame it all on wearing too many clothes.  This morning I can blame it all on being on the verge of coming down with Something.  Something is a very sore throat and aching joints.  Easily remedied by doing Absolutely Nothing and drinking endless cups of (blech!) Throat Coat.

Here's Mini-pear up at the tippy top.  We could see all the way to the ocean from here.  I love  climbing these ridges and being able to look west to the sun and the sea, and east to the mountains. 

Yesterday morning, I was about to nip out to my LYS  when Kate called to see if I wanted to meet up for coffee.  Mini-pear's ears perked up the moment she got wind of what I was doing.  I started to explain that Kate was only going to have her youngest, Jonas, with her, but stopped myself, remembering Mini-pear's repeated monologues on the topic of Jonas.  We can be doing almost anything and Mini-pear will suddenly announce, "You know why I love Jonas so much?" and then spend 45 minutes filling in the details.  Jonas certainly is loveable and the feeling between the two of them is mutual (Kate's been known to use Mini-pear as a means of encouraging Jonas into his dreaded car seat).  So Kate and I got to catch up, while Mini-pear played big sister;)

A feeling like ennui

I know it's the modern condition and all, but I am bored out of my fucking mind right now.

I feel like all I've done all day is wash and fold laundry, try and find appropriate homes for recently acquired goods, and decide what to do with the ones that don't fit (either my body or my personality).  I put our emptied luggage back in the garage and I've broken down endless boxes for the recycling.  Periodically, I've shuffled into mini-pear's room, eyed the overflowing shelves and wondered where it's all going to go. 

In an effort to maintain sanity, I decided it was time to go sit in the sun and knit for a bit while mini-pear hurled herself around the playground.  We'd been there about ten minutes when some big grey clouds came and hid the sun.  I sat and felt cold and knit a bit, but then my fingers started getting too stiff for that, so I clutched my travel mug and people watched.

Then we came home and there was yet another big box on the front porch. 

Christmas was lovely, but I'd like it to end now please.  Can someone come and fold up our tree and recycle all these boxes and papers?

Hang on.  That looks suspiciously like a party!

Last Saturday, we dropped the dog off at the doggie dude ranch, set our light timers and boarded a plane for our civilized neighbors to the north.  Oh Canada!  Can I gush a bit about our Christmas?

It was the first time my immediate family celebrated together in 14 years!  My parents and sister drove up from Philadelphia, my brother flew in from England and we all descended on the home of the best hosts ever;)  That would be my mother's cousin and her husband and their daughter, who share an adorable old townhouse in downtown Toronto.  Adorable makes it sound like it wouldn't sleep twelve as comfortably as it did!  I loved our cozy little bedroom tucked under the eaves of the house!  In addition to my family, my second cousin and his girlfriend were visiting.  Another son lived very nearby and so he and his family came and spent much time with us as well;)

The weather up there was, predictably, cold and overcast and wintry.  In other word, exactly what we residents of Southern California were looking for;)  We spent much time lounging in front of the fire, nursing our favorite beverages (hot and cold), catching up and getting to know each other better;)   We also got to indulge in some urban rambling.   Queen Street has some great little shops (and tasty falafels) and I bought the ingredients for my contribution to Christmas dinner along a street of little independent grocers and spice shops.  Christmas Day, we all drove to another area for a walkabout and then Mr. Pear and I decided we'd give walking home a go;)  What an excellent idea!  We ended up in Toronto's vibrant Chinatown and stopped for a bite to eat at a little dumpling shop.  Delicious;)

I thought I did alright pacing myself, until the very last evening when I suppose I must have indulged in one (or three) too many.  I woke up the morning of our departure feeling like a crusty old sock.  Mr. Pear had to run out for crackers and ginger ale;(

The flight was no fun at all.  Just for the record, I'm never flying American Airlines ever again.  The plane was dirty, the flight attendants apparently frustrated comedians.  As were were taxiing out to the runway, it was suddenly discovered that there was a tottering old woman who couldn't speak English in the exit row, so there were people in the aisles swapping seat and moving their baggage around, all of which I'm sure would have the FAA issuing massive fines.  Our flight left at 6:35, so I assumed we would have dinner on the plane.  What kind of airline stocks one kind of sandwich (chicken) and not enough of them at that?  We had to make do with a $3 can of potato chips.  The inflight movie?  Ratatouille (yawn).  We bought headphones for mini-pear, and then sat through what felt like hours of CBS news (repeatedly introduced by a haggard looking Jennifer Love Hewitt - her career must be in the toilet).  Ratatouille broke or something about 15 minutes into it, so we were then treated to an endless loop of Seventh Heaven reruns (shoot me now).  Very, very, very bumpy ride down into LAX.  The kind of turbulence that has the entire plane shrieking in unison.  Mini-pear was completely fearless, hooting and hollering like she was on the world's biggest roller coaster.   I was too busy concentrating on not vomiting (like everyone else) to have words with her, so Mr. Pear had to have some words with her about putting a lid on Whee!

Alright, must get back to post-holiday laundry and grocery shopping and getting ourselves in order. 

Ha!  You have no idea what's in there!

It's been a little while, hasn't it?  Mostly been spending time with friends, which is always very nice.  Really, really nice.  And our weather has been beautiful.  In between various holiday related errands, mini-pear and I have been making sure we get out.  A lot.

Mr. Pear is off work for a few days, so I'll be taking a wee internet break;)

Our new dance...

Non-Crappy Starring You! eCards on JibJab

I'll dropping Mini-pear at her 5 hour long play date in a little under an hour.

Then I will:
Hit the Indian grocery store
Hit a thrift store (or two)
Come home and work on a secret project

***

We have not been watching much lately, other than Kid Nation (Mini-pear is slightly obsessed).  I recently discovered the groaning shelves of Iris Murdoch and A.S. Byatt at the library and send myself off to bed very early so I can read for the maximum possible amount of time before falling asleep.  However, the other night we decided to watch John Waters' Female Trouble.  It's been sitting in its little red Netflix envelope for almost a month.  I love John Waters.  Fine cinematography it's not, but it's good for a laugh (and a squirm) and an hour or so of knitting.  I usually forget most films quite soon after watching them, but Female Trouble will stick in my head a little longer than most, chiefly due to the scene where Divine gives birth on a skanky looking couch in a hallway.  We noticed right away that it was a real baby - a really little baby - a very close to newborn baby.  Which means that somewhere, in Baltimore, someone entrusted John Waters with their 2 week old baby.  And allowed him to smear it with ketchup or whatever low budget concoction (not that ketchup is big budget by any means) served as new born baby goop.  And then gave said baby to Divine and let him wrestle with it on a particularly nasty looking piece of furniture.

I want to do a follow up interview with the baby.

Holiday Sweatshop!!!

We had a very productive morning.  I woke up too late for my walk, so while I wasn't exactly off to a great start, there is nothing like dusting off the old printing press to set me right.

Like every sweatshop, this one relies heavily on the labor of underpaid children (it's not as bad as all that, she gets to come to work in her pajamas).  Luckily our tiny press doesn't require too much muscle.

The plot thickens...

Every house has a history, even our modest suburban ranch house circa 1971.  Most recently, the history appears to be slightly complicated.

It appears that whoever lived here (the R. family) just before our squeaky clean landlord purchased the house left in the dark of night.  We've had bounty hunters here asking after Mr. R's whereabouts.  I had one older gentlemen come to my door demanding to know where the guy was who sold his sons the lemon of a truck.  Now that I've returned a fair number of them to sender, the past due bills have slowed.

Our neighbors periodically let little details slip about how noisy the past tenants were and how happy they are to have seen the last of them.

Yesterday, I received a piece of mail here for Mrs. R that adds one more unfortunate detail to the story.  Surely, this envelope contains a missive of the once a year variety.  It is addressed, not to The R. Family, but to Mrs. Amanda R. and children.  Back in Missouri (where the letter originated) someone is not thrilled with Amanda's choice for a husband.  Someone loves Amanda anyway, but just can't accept that guy.  And so once a year, they, rather pointedly, send Amanda and the children a card that lets her know they are still thinking of them and still hatin' on him.

Surf's up. Way up.

We dropped Mr. Pear off at work this morning and were lucky enough to get the last available spot in the parking lot.  Big waves.  Big traffic jams.  Legal parking spots along the coast?  Almost impossible to find.

An entirely different sort of traffic jam in the water at Swami's.

This guy did not have a good day.

But it looks like these surfers are having a very good time indeed.

woot!

The lifeguards don't usually staff the station here at this time of year, but they got quite a work out today.

One last traffic jam to battle through on our way back up to the car.

Buttermilk?

So this doesn't spoil as fast as other milks or something?

I bought some back at the beginning of November to make a tamale pie.  And then I wanted to use it for something else, but as I took it out of the fridge I noticed I was a few days over the sell by date (not to mention the fact that it had been opened a week prior).  I sniffed,  I (very bravely, if I do say so myself) tasted, and used in that second recipe to no ill effect.

This evening, I cleaned out the fridge.

Uh, oh...that buttermilk with the November 15 sell by date was still in there. 

I braced myself for chunks and horrific odors as I flushed it down the sink.  No such thing.  I think I just poured a couple of liters of perfectly sound buttermilk down the drain.  Did I?