Popular Pumpkin Bread

PUMPKIN BREAD

¾ cup margarine (1½ sticks)
2 cups granulated sugar
4 eggs
1 (15-ounce) can pumpkin
2/3 cup water
3½ cups flour
2 teaspoons baking soda
1½ teaspoons salt
1½ teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon cloves
1 cup chopped pecans or walnuts (if nuts are too pricey, skip 'em)

With a mixer, cream margarine and sugar together. Add eggs, one at a time, beating well. Add pumpkin and water, starting on slow speed, and mix until combined.

Add the flour, baking soda, salt, baking powder, cinnamon and cloves.

Starting on slow speed (otherwise you will be wearing the flour mixture), mix well, increasing the speed as the flour mixture is absorbed. Add nuts and give it a whirl again to mix them in.

Grease and flour pans or squirt them with baking spray. Pour pumpkin mixture into either two regular loaf pans or six mini loaf pans. Fill pans about two-thirds full.

Bake in a preheated 350-degree oven for about an hour. Large loaves take a little more time; small loaves take a little less.

This bread is not as sweet as cake (I reduced the sugar from 2 1/2 cups), but it’s so much more flavorful than dry, boring zucchini bread, and requires no butter or cream cheese on top. The pumpkin bread freezes wonderfully when wrapped in plastic wrap and topped off in foil.

FUN FACT: I found this recipe in Cosmopolitan magazine when I was 16 (!) and have been making it ever since. The original recipe called for chopped maraschino cherries as well, which I thought then (and agree now) is WAY too much trouble. Enjoy!

WARNING: Once you hand out mini loaves of this great bread, people start asking for it every November.

The Joy of Solo Shows

Why am I learning how to develop a solo show?

A better question might be why aren’t you? Everybody has a story, and with coaching and direction, we all can learn to tell the best parts of our story.

That’s why Gene Gore, 82, developed and performs “Cheesecake and Demerol,” her award-winning solo show, which runs through Oct. 19 at Stage Werx Theatre in San Francisco.

“I like being part of the theater community, I like connecting with the audience, with new people, and I like telling my story,” Gene said over tea Friday at Café Reverie, one of my favorite places to sit around and hear stories.

“At last Sunday’s performance, I really hit my stride, was in that place where I could tweak some lines to get laughs I hadn’t gotten before.” (See genegore.com for info on future performances.)

A retired nurse and mother of four, grandmother of three, Gene has been working in theater for about a dozen years. She has appeared in a handful of plays and another handful of movies and done some commercials. Gene has studied acting, voice-over work and improvisation. She also has taken workshops in solo performance with David Ford, where she says she found her voice, and has been directed by David and most recently by Wayne Harris.

Here is one review from her performance at the San Francisco Fringe Festival in 2012: “Attending Gene’s show is like having strong coffee with your gracious, vivacious and very witty grandmother. Documentaries and fiction can’t compare with the rare opportunity to experience history through the eyes of a woman who lived it all and tells it like it is. Plus, she’s funny as hell.”

That she is! Gene has fans of all ages, including a 14-year-old who was inspired to take up acting after seeing “Cheesecake and Demerol.” When I saw it earlier this month, I thought it was funny and profound, a mesmerizing look back at the important choices Gene has made in her life -- and those that were made for her.

At the theater, I also leaned in a little to study how Gene “shows” instead of “tells,” how she uses a few props to flesh out important points and how she paces the stories in the show for maximum impact. All those are things I need to learn as I work on developing a solo show.

In August, I attended an intense three-day workshop conducted by Alicia Dattner, who also has won awards for her solo shows. Alicia has performed in San Francisco, New York, Hollywood, Bombay, Chennai and London. (See aliciadattner.com) I saw her amazing show "The Oy of Sex" last week.

At the workshop, for three days we talked, performed, wrote, did theater exercises, wrote some more and performed some more. By the end of the workshop, I had seven pages of material that included several of my stories about aging, about how older women being underestimated or disregarded, all strung loosely together.

Here’s how I started, and yes, I sang the first line. Of course, as I continue to revise the material, the current beginning may end up deleted, replaced by something else.

“I am 16, going on 17 – I know that I can’t sing. A few lines later in that song comes this: I need someone older and wiser, telling me what to do. That works! I am 66, going on 32 - -the perfect age to tell my 16-year-old self what to do. 

Just so you know, I am not upset that I am old. I have made a point of collecting plenty of experiences that I can use to startle and delight people on the porch at the nursing home as we sit rocking, rocking, rocking.

What I am upset about is how some people perceive me based only on my age and the life they presume I am leading. I am concerned about the disconnect between what I feel inside, who I see in the mirror, and the person others see. When they notice me at all.” 

My work made people in the class laugh, made them think and made them say really nice things about my writing. They also seemed impressed that I’m not afraid to stand up and perform. That said, Alicia pointed out that what I have is more of a narrative than a script, and that I need to pull apart some of the paragraphs so I can develop characters and write dialogue for them so that I show, rather than just tell.

I haven’t done that yet. This has been a busy month – my new book with Eve Batey is just out (see 100thingssf.com or facebook.com/100thingsSF, where we’re posting great photos!) and some in-depth freelance work came my way. But that’s okay.

Procrastinating is okay because in mid-October, I will begin an eight-week workshop on solo show development with Charlie Varon (see charlievaron.com), who has been writing and performing for over 30 years. Since 1991, he has created award-winning solo theater work in collaboration with David Ford at The Marsh (themarsh.org), where I have seen half a dozen wonderful solo shows since I moved to San Francisco.

I was familiar with the genre long before that, of course. For me, solo performance seems like another way to tell stories, something I’ve been doing for over 50 years. “It’s expensive,” cautioned Gene when I told her I was just beginning.

“Often, you pay for the space, you pay for tech and you pay for publicity,” she said. Gene is tackling that problem by researching grants and launching a crowd-funding project on Indiegogo. (Read her amazing story at www.indiegogo.com/projects/gene-gore-s-cheesecake-and-demerol). She’s way ahead of me!

A dear, generous friend did pay my workshop expenses (corporate sponsorship, this early in the game!) but I haven’t looked any farther ahead. Right now, for me this project is about joy, about learning something new, about being determined to live an interesting life while I’m still here.

Stay tuned!

Party Talk in St. Louis, Jimmy Fallon & Phyllis Diller

A chorus of tree frogs after dark. Laughing with Judy. A cardinal chirping just after dawn. Gathering with the Five Favorite Female Friends. Surprising Edward at a coffee date. Squealing with glee at seeing Ellen. Delivering drive-by hugs to dear friends who answered their doors. Coping with 100 degrees one day and then basking in a night cool enough to open the windows. Being entertained by stories from Gail and Gail. Reveling in the company of the Wise Women Book Club. Eating fabulous meals with Judy and Scott.

These are just some of the highlights of a recent quick trip to St. Louis. Though I lived there for 62 years, I don’t call it home anymore. Four years ago I headed west, and I’ve been around long enough to know that dwelling on the past does not serve me well. So when a guest at Judy’s wonderful birthday party asked me whether I miss living in St. Louis, I said no. His face registered shock and dismay.

“Don’t misunderstand,” I said to the man, someone I do not know well. “People I love live here and it means a great deal to me to be with them again. But I don’t miss St. Louis.” When I left town, I felt as though I had interviewed everyone (at least three times!) and been everywhere and done everything multiple times. I was ready for a new city, new people, new experiences. I have embraced that every day in the City by the Bay.

A friend in St. Louis told me when she mentioned my name to a woman she knows, the woman immediately brought up the column I wrote in the Post-Dispatch when my son went to college. That column was so popular that it ran in August for several years in a row! How nice to learn that someone remembers it.

In that column, I wrote that it’s important to take responsibility for living an interesting life. It’s certainly easier not to -- and yet, at 66 I am even more certain that the only way to avoid confronting sameness on a day-to-day basis is to generate change, to expand, to reach out, to learn something new, to go a little crazy now and then.

I’m taking my own advice. Here is an excerpt from an email I sent recently to about 70 women:

“Here, in the cocktail hour of my life (thank you, Ken Page, for naming it so perfectly), I have decided what I want to do next!

I have enrolled in a three-day workshop in August and then an eight-week workshop in October on how to develop, write and perform a solo show. Both workshops are with experienced professionals and opportunities are available if I want to go further. Added bonus: A friend believes so strongly in this venture that she has covered my class fees -- my first corporate sponsor! 

Jimmy Fallon, here I come! (Oh no, what to wear???)

Back to reality: My theme is the chasm between what we expect of ourselves at this age and what so much of society expects, and how those expectations influence how we think of ourselves. I used to be on the outside looking in, personally but also professionally, as I covered aging and Boomers and interviewed many older adults for the St. Louis Post-Dispatch. Now I find the view from inside is so different!

Though I have never taken an acting class, I am comfortable on stage, and not just dancing in red sequins and fringe. (Long live Voluptua!) I've given hundreds of speeches to audiences large (650 at the Ritz) and small (eight women in a church basement) and I know how to tell a story, get a laugh, maybe help someone think differently.”

I asked my friends to send me stories about their experiences (troubling or funny) when they thought they were being underestimated because of their age. Now I am asking a broader audience, so please share this blog post with any likely suspects.

Thinking about being funny (and profound) on stage has brought to mind time spent in Phyllis Diller’s house in Webster Groves. In junior high, I was friends with her daughter Stephanie. We took the family-leased cab to a shopping mall and McDonald’s, we tried on Phyllis’ costumes and, with Steph’s siblings, we played musical instruments in the Dillers’ basement. Sometimes, Phyllis asked us to sort through jokes sent to her, and recommend which ones she might want to incorporate into her routines. I tell myself now that that part of my past proves I can move forward in this new adventure with confidence. 

Voluptua’s sequins seal the deal.

Lesson Learned: Want What You Have

Announcement: I am not getting new eyeglass frames, and it’s my mother’s fault.

I got glasses when I turned 14, glasses that I didn’t want and was prepared to despise. When I put them on, for the first time I could see the neighbor’s back fence from our kitchen window. (Hi, Cheri!) I decided it was okay to wear glasses after all.  After brief flirtations with contacts (hard and soft) in college and later on, I have enjoyed wearing glasses ever since.

Early on, my mother told me to take good care of my glasses, to protect them from getting bent or broken or otherwise abused. So I did, and I always have. I don’t wear my glasses pushed up on my head where they may fall off and I don’t let them ride around in my purse or tote unless they are in a hard case.

In the past, I bought new frames every four years or so when I needed new lenses -- and what a collection of fun frames I’ve had: big red round glasses, studious horn rims and lovely malachite-colored frames.

A week ago, a frame I did not seek out caught my attention. These glasses sang to me, called my name, lured me in, even though I was not in the market for new ones. These saucy frames were in a locked cabinet (never a good sign) at the ophthalmologist’s office, where I had an appointment to find out why my left eyelid kept twitching.

The twitch was nothing, the ophthalmologist said, but he recommended I have an eye exam, as my last one was two years ago. At that appointment last Thursday, the optometrist said my vision had barely changed; if anything, it was slightly better than it had been four years earlier, two appointments ago.

Doctors rarely tell anyone my age that any body part is improving, so I decided to be pleased. “What about my frames? Do they look okay?” I asked. The doctor said my frames looked brand new. They are not – they are seven years old. My sunglasses are even older, but she said they look great too.

Rats! Even though I didn’t need new lenses and my current frames are in excellent shape, I marched down the hall and into the office where frames are sold. “I am here for a budget meeting,” I told the receptionist. “I need to know what new glasses would cost.” The woman nodded and signed me in. Then she looked at me more closely and said, “I L-O-V-E those frames you have on! They look great on you!”

I thanked her. Then I confessed that I wanted to try on the frames I liked so much, the ones locked in the cabinet down the hall. “It’s the $400 Tiffany Lux frame,” I said, “beautiful horn rims with flashes of turquoise.”

The receptionist said, “I know them -- that’s the most expensive frame in the shop, but they are pretty!”

The optician who waited on me calculated the cost of new lenses and factored in the amount my insurance would cover. Then she fetched the Tiffany frames. I took a deep breath and put them on.

Whoa -- they were all wrong! Suddenly the song they had sung became discordant. Oh, the color did indeed look good on me, but the top of the frames covered my eyebrows and the sides extended out too far. I was thrilled and despondent at the same time because although I was saving a ton of money, this also meant that I was not going to walk through the world wearing these magnificent glasses.

Then the optician asked to examine my current frames, which I have loved since the day I bought them, the day I went in to have my burgundy rectangular frames adjusted and accidentally came out with the glasses I now wear.

“This frame looks brand new,” she said. “I see no scratches or stressed places or any damage at all. Why did you think you needed new glasses?”

I told her I had not intended to shop at all, but had been captivated by the Tiffany frame. I also told her that my hair (gray and silver with a smattering of brown) often seems neutral to me and my current glasses echo that color scheme. I told her that maybe I needed more color in my face. I also told her at least three of my friends had suggested an inexpensive solution: lipstick.

The woman laughed. Without stopping to put on lipstick, I headed off to catch a bus. Riding home, I grumbled that other people get new frames all the time. So why not me? Because, I realized, I take really good care of my glasses, just like my mother told me to over 50 years ago.

So it's her fault, at least in a round-about way. 

Of course the entire experience reminded me of something else I already knew: Want what you have.

P.S. Realized I already have something besides lipstick -- Susan, my co-madre (her daughter married my son) gave me a bonus blush she got at a cosmetics counter that did not suit her. It's called Alluring Rose. C'est moi! 

Oops, It's February Already!

Zoom zoom zoom – that was the last couple of months, zipping by on their way to future calendars depicting different years. See you later! Here is a recap of recent highlights from the City by the Bay.

What would I write just for myself if I had the time, and no paid work to do? People ask me that often. Early in January, when work was slow, I had a chance to find out. After three weeks of focused work, I am now ready to enter a memoir contest. Those three weeks weren’t all about writing, of course. First, the contest rules ask for just the first 5,000 words of a memoir. Second, I spent at least a week arguing with myself about taking on the project, even as the words I needed danced in my head and taunted me for having doubts.

Overall, the work was fun and easy except when it was frustrating and hard. That’s how writing goes. “I guess I am doing this,” I said to a friend over lunch. She pointed out that whether or not I am named a finalist (if I am, I get a short time to complete the manuscript) I can always give the work to Milo, my grandson, when he is older. Good idea!

I did not start with my great-grandparents, worthy subjects though they may be, and I did not write a traditional narrative. Chronology is not always an interesting approach, in my opinion, and the research, the fact checking and the required drilling into the memory bank all seemed too overwhelming. I chose instead to tell stories, out of order, with slender threads tying them together.

A slight digression: I once went shopping for a couch with my five favorite female friends because I wanted to buy new furniture that all of us found comfortable. I approached the memoir project in a similar way. A few friends, mostly randomly selected, read different drafts of the piece as I worked. They all provided encouragement and some offered insightful critiques, especially the “hired gun,” a former copy chief at the newspaper where we worked. With each bit of feedback, I wrote more and the manuscript grew and breathed more freely.

One friend, no slouch when it comes to writing himself, posed an interesting question. After offering several compliments, he said, “My question is: Where is this going? This is a great beginning -- I can't imagine the readers will not be hungry for more. Just be sure you know what that more will be. If they ask you how this memoir is going to end, what will you say?”

As it turns out, I do have an ending, a perfect ribbon to tie it all together, ready to go. Tomorrow I will turn in the initial entry, and then wait to hear if I am chosen as a finalist.

On Saturday, I was a clear winner. My friend Emmeline Craig threw a party to celebrate the first anniversary of The Blissful Gallery, her serene art space in Stinson Beach.  (See www.emmelinecraig.com/the-blissful-gallery/) Emmeline was my first new friend in the Bay Area, and I happily volunteered to take photos at the party. My son recently helped upgrade my camera equipment, and I was excited about working with the new stuff. I packed a little pouch with lenses, a back-up battery and the flash and headed out for the gallery. When I got to the party, I realized I had left the actual camera on my desk. Oh well! I shot pictures with Emmeline’s camera instead.

Patrons of Emmeline’s are really interesting people, and it was fun to mingle and meet new friends. Kelsey and Ben overheard me tell another guest that I moved to San Francisco from St. Louis, and they wanted to discuss Midwest roots. She is from St. Louis, and he is from Cape Girardeau. Kelsey’s grandmother lives in Chesterfield, and sends her stories about the Bay Area that are published in the Post-Dispatch – including one I wrote about the joys of West Marin! (If you missed it, see www.stltoday.com/travel/west-marin-for-the-wild-at-heart/article_889acf23-3f9a-5c7d-a6be-5bade0a75220.html)

One more note: Milo just turned 2, and we have dinner together at least once a week. One recent evening, I said, “What would you like for supper?” His response? “A quesadilla.” Though I was impressed with his perfect pronunciation, I didn’t have tortillas on hand, so we settled on another dish. Maybe next time, Milo will cook.

Sunday Morning Musings

Pool Chat: Took an overnight vacation to a spa/resort in Calistoga earlier this week, and spent a lot of time in the seductive 100-degree mineral pool. I was with a group of women, all friends of my daughter-in-law’s mom, who unfortunately couldn’t make the trip. Repeatedly, I was introduced as Patricia’s mother-in-law, which delights me!

One of the women in the group recently retired, and she asked about my experience with that transition. We agreed that the most startling part is the lack of structure, and how a day could slip by so quickly with nothing accomplished. I said that initially I had used the gym and water aerobics classes to provide structure and that I also continued to work part time for someone I respect, like and trust -- myself.

Moving to San Francisco, of course, was another transition. I joined a gym, I continue to work part time and I play tourist periodically, exploring neighborhoods new to me. The woman mentioned she gardens and cooks. I agreed those are good activities but added that I found I needed a life of the mind, as well.

Theater is my go-to cultural experience, with museums a close second. Both can be expensive, but I have learned to buy theater tickets on a preview night or a weeknight, farther from the stage than I used to sit – and that’s okay!

I do make exceptions. When Patrick Stewart and Ian McKellen came to Berkeley Rep in Pinter’s “No Man’s Land,” I had to be there. Mikhail Baryshnikov will be here in February in a play crafted from two Chekhov stories, and I have a ticket. I have seen Baryshnikov dance – twice – and I want to see him on stage.

Some museums here have free days for specific ZIP codes, and my bank sponsors free days as well. The smaller museums here are not expensive, and they are terrific, especially the ones that deal with San Francisco history. I also have attended several operas and gone to the symphony, always on discounted tickets.

Lately, I have been dashing out the door to lectures. A ticket to hear Simon Winchester (author of the compelling “A Crack in the Edge of the World,” about the 1906 earthquake here, and other books) was just $15. Seeing Billy Collins as he read his poetry for an hour cost almost twice that, but was well worth it.

After the conversation with new friends in that blissfully warm water, I realized I have figured out how to live happily (and mostly modestly) in my new city, taking advantage of much that is available here. And of course when I’m not busy earning money or out enriching my mind, often I am in my living room, playing choo-choos with Milo or teaching him to sing “Take Me Out to the Ballgame.”

He especially likes the part where we count strikes.  

Weight Loss Secret: Speaking of counting, six weeks ago, I cancelled my online account with Weight Watchers, saving myself $18 a month. Since then I have lost six pounds.

How did that happen? I have no idea, but I know I was weary of paying attention to numbers instead of to food. Nothing against Weight Watchers – that’s how I lost 70 pounds starting in 2001 and an additional 10 about three years ago. I have kept off all but that pesky 10, but I have decided that now is the time to ditch it for good. Heck, maybe I’ll even drop an extra 10 over the next six months. Slow and steady does it.

And apparently, freeing myself from so many numbers.

A Public Reading: So I am in Books Inc. two days ago, looking for a book on colors for Milo, and a mom is seated in the children’s area, reading to her two-year-old. When she gets to the end, I ask politely if she knows Sandra Boynton’s “Barnyard Dance.” She does – it’s a favorite.

As we talk, the little girl is looking at me with some suspicion. Why is a stranger talking to her mommy? I smiled and said, “Stomp your feet…” Her mom said, “Clap your hands…” and together we said, “Everybody ready for the barnyard dance!”

The little girl’s eyes grow big but by now she is grinning. “Bow to the horse,” I say. “Bow to the cow,” says her mom. Then we collaborate on the next line: “Twirl with the pig if you know how!” Then all three of us laughed.

I recommended Boynton’s “Not the Hippopotamus” and then went to pay for the book I wanted to buy, imagining twirling with pigs and skittering with mice. Fun!  

One More Thing: Sometimes, you get what you wish for. The drive home from Calistoga was full of scenic vistas: The red and orange leaves on deciduous trees, the vast sweeps of golden leaves on acres of dying grapevines, the gently rolling hills. All this, and many world-famous wineries!

I wanted to stop, to taste, to buy, to bring home a trunk full of wonderful wines. I love the names of wines, the stories told by winemakers, even the labels chosen by the wineries -- and most of all, the wine.

I didn’t stop. First of all, a tasting at my favorite port winery is now $20, so I doubt I could afford an actual bottle. Secondly, I hardly ever drink, except at Full Moon Cocktails or dinner parties. And I have nowhere to store great quantities of wine. So I contented myself with reciting the elegant names of wines as I drove.

An hour after I got home, my upstairs neighbor called to say he had a package for me. We met in the hall, and the package turned out to be a box stuffed with bottles of wine, wonderful wines that he wanted to share as he had just gone on a case-buying binge.

Now, in addition to my traditional contribution to Thanksgiving dinner, I’ll be bringing lovely wine.    

Judy and Pat's Excellent Adventure

Judy and I started our five-day visit at an interview Thursday night with the formidable Margaret Atwood, in San Francisco to promote “MaddAddam,” the third book in her dystopian trilogy. We ended by sitting at Ocean Beach, watching surfers, a frustrated kite-flyer and a crazy young woman in a bikini. (Note to young woman: This is NORTHERN California…)

Anyway, every day was full of fun, with lots of theater, lots of pumpkins, lots of desserts consumed before meals and lots of laughter.

Atwood is a tough interview – glad it wasn’t me in the interviewer’s chair at the Nourse Auditorium. She doesn’t always answer questions she is asked. Instead, she holds forth on points (humorous and serious) that she wants to make. The interviewer floundered a bit from time to time, but when audience members asked Atwood questions, she did respond relatively directly, even when asked if she is a witch. (She did not think she is.)

Friday we headed for the amazing Academy of Sciences to meander through the butterfly-filled four-story rainforest, gaze at the massive tanks full of fish (and one diver cleaning a glass wall), visit with my favorite giant Pacific octopus, talk to Claude (the albino alligator) and assure Lemondrop that he is one lovely 15-foot python. Do you see a theme here? Yes! Judy and I appreciate science but we are crazy about animals. Oh, and my grandbaby! We played with Milo all Friday evening after a quick run to Mill Valley for whole-wheat fig bars.

On a crystal clear Saturday morning, we drove south to Half Moon Bay to admire pumpkins (an abundance of pumpkin farmers compete to grow the largest pumpkins, some weighing in at a thousand pounds or more) and to visit cute shops with over-priced, pumpkin-themed garb and trinkets. We also stopped for coffee and sat in the sun for a bit. It’s a fun little town with a beautiful coastline.

Then it was on to Pescadero, a farming and ranching community of about 600 people. We had lunch at Duarte’s Tavern, established in 1894, which specializes in artichoke dishes (artichokes grow just blocks away) and seafood. Such interesting wooden paneling! Good food, too. We had artichoke hearts with aioli, artichoke soup, a crabmeat sandwich and jalapeno-tinged Mexican coleslaw. The town also is known for hand-hewn wood furniture and a couple of craft shops full of lovely things. At the famers’ market, avocados were selling eight for a dollar!

We made it to Colibri (upscale Mexican fare) by 6:30, just in time for dinner before seeing “1776” across the street at American Conservatory Theater. Here are the opening lines of the show, spoken by the actor portraying John Adams: “One useless man is called a disgrace, two are called a law firm, and three or more become a congress!" What a great show – and so timely, considering how fractious Congress is right now.

On Sunday we joined Milo and his parents for a tasty brunch at Chow. After a quick stop at Pottery Barn to check out a coat rack (long story, never mind) Judy and I then headed to the 40th Annual Castro Street Fair. I am always on the lookout for affordable t-shirts for Milo, and I found one for $15 – far less than the $34 one shopkeeper in Half Moon Bay wanted!

After enjoying frozen yogurt at Pinkberry (Judy had peach, I had pomegranate) , we had a big salad at Urban Tavern (good biscuits!) in the Hilton in the theater district and then took our seats for “Beautiful: The Carole King Musical” at the Curran Theatre. Loved the music, and I suspect some of the repetition in the storyline will be ironed out by the time the show opens on Broadway in January. Jessie Mueller is outstanding as Carole King and I’m a big fan of Jarrod Spector (Frankie Valli in “Jersey Boys”), who plays Barry Mann.

On Monday morning, we popped in at Emily Lee, a great clothing shop in Laurel Village, and then drove to Point Reyes Station to peruse the Coyuchi linens outlet store and pay homage at Toby’s Feed Barn. Then it was on to Stinson Beach to visit with Emmeline, my artist friend, at her beautiful Blissful Gallery and to enjoy a late lunch at the Breakers Café. (The Virgin Mary was terrific; can only imagine if it had been fully loaded!)

We did not get to visit Muir Woods, Muir Beach or even the Muir Beach Overlook, because they all are being held hostage by the Tea Party. Dump those folks, I say! We did get to enjoy the very last luscious California-grown mango of the season (shown here posing in a mango-wood bowl), mixed in a smoothie with locally grown organic strawberries, still available in October.

And that’s just one more reason to live in San Francisco -- or, in Judy’s case, to visit!