Sonoma Sojourn

There are still boxes to unpack, but that’s par for the course. I’ve learned how to work the pellet stove (there is a certain finesse to getting a fire going — I’ve gone through one 40lb bag of pellets already as I test the perfect technique and timing), but it seems like a pellet fire is cleaner than a wood fire … although it doesn’t smell as wonderful as one when logs are involved.

My friend, Dick, came down for the weekend; Dick lives in the Sacramento area and retired several years ago from SMUD — Sacramento’s Municipal Utility Department. We became friends in the early 90s when he knocked on the blue door of Room 420 at the Miramar Beach Hotel, where Mary Beth and I had set up camp for the week while attending the Santa Barbara Writers Conference. We stayed in Room 420 the second year of attendance, and it quickly became our home away from home for the 11 years we attended the SBWC. One of the room’s particular attractions was that it overlooked the grassy area where the Conference hosted its Tuesday night ‘Wine and Cheese’ party: boxed wine in the days when ‘boxed wine’ was an oxymoron, and cubes of cheese quickly dried in the Santa Barbara late afternoon sun. Coming from Boston to the land of wine and cheese (or so we believed), Mary Beth and I were disappointed by the offerings at what we called the “whine and geez!” party and thus began (innocently enough) our alternative celebration in Room 420. Our Tuesday night co-celebration quickly grew to renown  as we filled the bathtub with ice (guess how many trips it takes to the ice machine to fill it), beer and wine, and as we created platters of fabulous finger foods (thanks to Trader Joe’s and a lot of imagination). Think of a typical motel room with balcony (“Mad Men” vintage): add to it 40 or so people and you have got a party! Over the years, our party regulars would show up with a platter of shrimp or chips and salsa to add to the spread; fascinating conversations, not-so-fascinating conversations … a good time was had by all, as far as we can remember. The year we met Dick, he knocked on our door two hours before the party and offered help in preparing for it — he was the first who ever did so, and we did not look a gift horse in the mouth. All these years later (could it be 20?), we remain steadfast friends (along with Irv from Chicago and Michael from Las Vegas); you just never know when or where you’ll make a new friend.  Keep your eyes (and doors) open!

Sunday morning Dick and I took a docent-led walk through Jack London State Park – the emphasis of the presentation was Jack London’s affinity for sustainable gardening. Unbeknownst to me until this past Sunday, London wrote only to pay for his “Beauty Ranch”, just north of Sonoma in Glen Ellen – his first love was ranching and all that comes with it. London worked with Luther Burbank to bring special plants to his ranch; he created a round pig barn (called the Pig Palace by other ranchers who mocked his efficiency in feeding and caring for his pigs); he reused both solid and liquid ‘manure’ to fertilize his land; he was one of the first to terrace his vineyard to conserve space, soil, and resources. He died at age 40; some people believe from alcoholism, but our docent believes it was from mercury poisoning.  I now am on the lookout at thrift stores for London’s books … if I ever read them, I don’t remember them.

A wine tasting at Benzinger Family Winery, a half mile down the road from the Park, was included in the cost of admission to the morning’s walk — a fundraiser for the Park and a great opportunity to sample some of their reserve wines. Delicious – and I found a pinot noir that I really like! Too bad for me: it’s not in my usual budget for wines, but I buy two bottles and tell myself that it’s cheaper than going out to dinner and having a glass or two of wine there!

We then head over to my friend, Suzanne’s, house to watch the two big football games; she was born and raised in SF and is a huge Niners fan; I, of course, am eager to watch the Pats game. Two Suzannes … two games … one happy Suzanne, one unhappy Suzanne. At least now I can cheer for my adopted home team come SuperBowl Sunday; it might have gotten ugly if both our teams were playing!

So here are the things running through my mind as I review this past week: a drive to Petaluma takes me through ranch land and hills that remind me of Wyoming — I am SO happy! The drive back to Sonoma takes me through those same hills and I am sad — I miss Wyoming and all that used to be. I am surprised by my conflicting emotions within an hour and wonder why. File that under “WTF???”. I’m concerned about Smokey; she is velcroed to my lap, my computer, my bed, my pillow — wherever I am, she is. I just had the bike Suzanne is lending me tuned up, and my friend Lisa from Nantucket has sent out the bracket I need for Smokey’s basket, so I will put that on the bike tomorrow and take Smokey out for a ride — she needs fresh air, I’m sure. But did I do the right thing by bringing her out here with me? Is this just too much change for her? Are there no mice for her to capture, decapitate, and bring to me to admire? I yelled at her for the first time ever the other day because she just wouldn’t leave me alone as I tried to work; I still feel bad about that. It isn’t HER fault she’s here. There’s a lot more swirling around in my head as I start to settle in; does life ever settle down?