It's That Time Again!

Ho Ho Ho — and all that jazz! 

Though my official Grandmas and Grandkids Christmas Decorating Party is still some days away, I'm auditioning a new piece I bought at a posh discount store (yes, there is such a thing) last week in San Francisco: 

Why did I buy this? Because I fully expected an Inspector Armand Gamache action figure to come with it, to complete the obvious reference to Three Pines. (Louise Penny fans, you're welcome.) 

No such luck. Then I realized the snow-festooned trees also remind me of winter visits in years past to the Donner-Tahoe area in the Sierra Nevadas. Brrr! 

But beautiful!  

Photographing the new addition to my minimalist collection of decorations (most of them fit in one medium-sized bin at the top of the closet) sent me to my phone, where I scrolled through pictures from Christmases Past. I found fun shots of some of my decorations and also those of friends. 

Enjoy — and feel free to duplicate any of these approaches, unless your loyalty to tradition forbids making any changes. I like to mix it up!  

Christmas 2020:

Christmas 2019:

                                         

Christmas 2018:  

                                

Christmas 2017:

                                

Christmas 2016: 

                                

Christmas 2015: 

Cheating a bit here — this was a New Year's Eve Party, which I attended wrapped in a 9-foot-long  feather boa and a fancy feather fascinator. Still have the topper, though the boa withered away after decades of parties. 

                                

Christmas 2014:

Snapped this at Vierra and Friends in Cole Valley, where my friend Lison decorates her salon in a Big Way! 

                            

Christmas 2013:

                                 

Christmas 2012:

With my Girl Cousins at Karen's house, celebrating Christmas with my dear Aunt Betty. She's gone, but we remember!               

HAPPY DECORATING — AND MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Untold Tales from a Food Writer's Tasty Past

An apple pie for Joel Grey, harsh feedback on lettuce preferences, eating gourmet chocolates with the French chef who crafted them. Also, insider info on strawberry-rhubarb pie, too much port for one afternoon, the joys of golden kiwi revealed. Oh, and a frozen pork chop.

These highlights from my days as a newspaper food writer and later, a restaurant critic, bubbled up after I mentioned to a friend that I now have a dream job. Read on.

Just over a year ago, a gifted caterer (justeatitsf.com) who pivoted to home delivery service because of the pandemic needed a writer/editor to help with web copy, email blasts and social media posts. At the time, I needed to revive my waning interest in cooking or resign myself to eating food primarily prepared at the local grocery.  

When she said she wasn’t sure she could afford to hire me, I asked if she would feed me in exchange for help with words — and she agreed! I’ve been well fed (and happy) ever since. Let’s hear it for bartering! 

Here's a photo from my Thanksgiving meal last year:

Feast now on some of the highlights (and delicious lowlights) from my past:

Interviewing Chef Pierre Franey as we sipped fresh banana malts at a local eatery.

A disgruntled restaurant owner who tried to get me fired because I wrote that I didn’t hate iceberg lettuce. (I do hate frisée, but no one cares.)

Hearing from home cooks I’d featured in the newspaper that they’d laminated and framed the articles and hung them on their kitchen walls. 

A sly restaurant owner who told me he had a special menu for regular customers, and then got angry when I wrote about that.

Struggling to cut into a pork chop at a restaurant I was reviewing — it was frozen. 

Sampling a box of Chef Michel Guérard’s new line of gourmet chocolates while I interviewed him. 

Choking down a tuna roll at an interview with a sushi chef because I am not (and never will be) a fan of raw fish. The photographer with me deftly palmed his, slipped it into his jacket pocket (eww…) and told the chef it tasted great. 

A distinguished restaurant owner who indicated he had recognized me by first kissing my hand, then starting up my arm.  

Holding a Pie Baking Party with friends so I could learn to bake an apple pie. I wrote a story that included all the recipes. (After some practice runs, I did manage to make one perfect apple pie, which I delivered to Joel Grey at the theater where he was performing in “Cabaret.” He liked that pie so much, he told me to quit my day job.) 

Learning from a restaurant owner what goes into the price of a meal, including the ingredients, the prep time, the rent or mortgage, the gas and electricity bills, linen service, salaries — it’s amazing we don’t pay more!

Getting a personal call from a favorite chef every spring when he was making strawberry-rhubarb pie. 

An arrogant restaurant owner who told me he didn’t want anyone over 35 eating at his place, and then got angry when I wrote about that. 

Hearing a restaurant/bar owner’s story about the night Allen Ginsberg came in, sat in front of the fireplace and recited from his poem “Howl.”

Taking heat from a deli owner who flinched when I asked if he had any lean pastrami. (Still sorry!)

Trying to sober up fast in order to drive home safely from a port tasting.

Following a truck on an unfamiliar road and suddenly realizing I was in line at a highway weigh station instead of on an exit ramp. (At least we hadn’t eaten yet!) 

Interviewing food writer and self-described “fruit detective” David Karp, who informed me at length about some of the 40 known varieties of kiwi. (If you haven’t yet, try the golden — tastes like sunshine!) 

Finding my review proudly posted alongside other favorable coverage in a restaurant’s bathroom. 

Yep, those were the days! I also remember abandoning my restaurant beat for a week on September 11, 2001, so I could be back on the streets reporting the news. I told my editor: “I am not writing this week about whether I liked my salad.” 

I treasure the hundreds of interviews with restaurant owners, chefs, wine mavens, cookbook authors and also the readers in metropolitan St. Louis who willingly shared their recipes. I met so many interesting people, and I learned so very much over the years. 

And that’s why today I’m able to work for food!

P.S. Bonus: I also write for a Master Mixologist (msquaredspirits.com) whose posh craft cocktails are now available in 39 states. He shows up at my door now and then with alcoholic rewards! 

Couch Hunting — With Lobster

Insider Tip: When shopping for a couch, never judge the firmness of the seat by sitting on the middle cushion. Why? Because everyone who comes in the store sits there, and the center cushions wear down more quickly than they would in your living room. 

How do I know this?

“I need to do some couch shopping,” my friend Julia said one day.  I told her I wanted to go along, because I needed a new piece of furniture as well. My beloved chaise, bought a decade ago at the Crate and Barrel Outlet in Berkeley, was no longer working for me and The Boy. 

When he was an infant, the two of us fit on it just great. Cuddling there while we read or watched “The Octonauts” together was equally splendid all through the toddler years and even beyond. But when we were reunited after the pandemic eased, we discovered he’d grown and takes up more space than before. We managed for a while, but then I started pondering replacing the narrow chaise with a chair and a half. 

Over several weeks, Julia and I drove to nine furniture stores in the North Bay and the South Bay. We sat on many, many couches together, and I also tried on assorted chairs and a half. We learned how couches are built, we learned how cushions are made and we learned about different types of cushion fillings. 

At the Sunrise Home Furniture Store in San Rafael, we learned that two resident cats had the run of the place — and we were charmed. 

At each store, we also learned that few couches were actually available. Though Julia could order just about any couch she fancied in any fabric and any size, delivery would be delayed for six to eight months. Furniture manufacturers had shut down during the early days of the pandemic, we were told, and when they opened up again, they were confronted with a global shortage of foam, a key ingredient in couches. Also, at most stores, bargains were hard to find. “Nothing is on sale right now because everyone is looking to buy furniture,” confided one bold saleswoman. 

Early in July,  I was ready to make a purchase. But what to buy?

I revisited my initial goal of acquiring a chair and a half. On a whim, I measured the wall and briefly considered buying something bigger, maybe a loveseat or small full-sized couch. I also recalled my great enthusiasm for a leather Bennett Duo recliner that I'd curled up in at a La-Z-Boy store, though the price was high and the chair fit just one. Then I reminded myself the whole point of shopping had been to find something that The Boy and I both fit in comfortably for however much longer he is willing to snuggle with his grandma. 

Late one Sunday night, I scrolled once more through the options on the Crate and Barrel website. Way down at the bottom I spied a chair and a half that was on sale for $300 less than full price! I promptly put it in my cart. When the store opened the next day, I walked in and asked to see the relevant fabric swatch (truffle) and to sit one more time on a floor model in the Lounge II line. The salesman said if I placed an order that day, I could get my chair by Thanksgiving. Probably. Maybe Christmas. 

I told him I’d seen one available right now on line — and on sale. Calmly, quietly, he told me as kindly as possible that no furniture was on sale. Period. I persisted, so he went to his computer to check it out. He ran back across the showroom floor, his words spilling out: “I found it! I found it, and there is just one in the warehouse," he said. "If you want it, or even if you think you want it, I wouldn’t wait.” 

I wanted it. On my phone, I found the chair and a half still in my cart, and said aloud that I’d just push the PayPal button so the chair soon would be mine. With a look of horror, the salesman drew back and intoned, “Please don’t break my heart!” 

When I complimented him on both his sense of drama and his salesmanship, he explained that every day, customers came into the store, sat on several couches and went home to think about what to buy. “Then they make the purchase on line,” he said, “and I get no commission.” Of course I told him I would let him sell me the chair, which was delivered just days later — a bit of a miracle, in July 2021, as new furniture stories go.

Curious about the lobster reference in the headline? 

Julia and I carefully timed each of our furniture shopping trips to include lunch out. By chance, on our first two expeditions we ate at restaurants that featured lobster dishes on the menu, and we indulged. On our third trip, we went all out, purposefully driving to the New England Lobster Market & Eatery in Burlingame. 

Furniture shopping, especially with friends, has never seemed arduous to me. Add a lobster roll or lobster ravioli — and the experience is even better.  

When Sea Lions Go to Lunch

In the vast expanse that is the Monterey Bay National Marine Sanctuary (449 square miles wide and twice as deep as the Grand Canyon), sea lions cluster atop organic debris and go in search of feeding whales. When this haphazard-looking flotilla finds them, their buffet is officially open. As the whales feast on anchovies and sardines, stirring up the water, the sea lions grab their share. Seabirds soon arrive to join the party.

All this goes on as we wrestle with the Delta variant, rail about politics, weep over 100-plus fires burning in the West and watch in horror as floods and heat waves wreak havoc elsewhere. Whales have been on the planet for 50 million years, still surviving even though we’ve attempted to slaughter every last one of them, we’ve neglected to reduce ocean acidification caused by the climate crisis and we continue to dump toxic materials in the sea. 

So far, Whale Nation endures. 

In celebration of that — and of the 40th anniversary of my first whale-watch trip — I headed for Monterey Bay from my home in San Francisco to board a boat, my first big adventure out since March 2020. 

Humpback whales spouted, breached and showed off their beautiful 10-foot-wide scalloped tails as they dived. We also saw a mola mola (ocean sunfish), plenty of jellies, seabirds galore and dozens of those clever sea lions. The sun sparkled on the water as passengers, masked to protect us from one another, oohed and aahed at nature’s display, even as we lamented that the whales cavorted closer to another boat than ours.

The evening before the whale watch, a friend and I attended a different kind of dinner party. Just before dusk, we drove to Moss Landing State Beach in time to see thousands of shorebirds chowing down as half a dozen photographers documented the noisy scene. Caspian terns, plovers, long-billed curlew and more than 300 other species feed there. Brown pelicans soared overhead and also assembled on the bank as harbor seals frolicked in the water.

Earlier, along the Salinas River, we saw a great white egret that towered over dozens of smaller birds feeding on the mudflats. My friend walked up and over the dunes and spotted an otter in the sea.  

Spending time in nature reminds me this remarkable parallel universe is always available when I’m feeling “out of tune,” a phrase from William Wordsworth’s poem "The World Is Too Much with Us." In it, Wordsworth chides readers for their materialism and for distancing themselves from nature. Some things never change — he wrote that in 1802. 

In addition to reconnecting with wildlife on my short getaway, I gobbled up panko-encrusted sand dabs at The Haute Enchilada in Moss Landing, fresh snapper at Duarte’s in Pescadero and cheesecake at Swanton’s Berry Farm, where I also scored three pints of Chandler strawberries, my favorite. As for anchovies and sardines — well, I’ll leave those for the flotillas of sea lions and their majestic dining companions. 

Car Talk: New? Used? Calm Down?

Something new, something shiny, something thrilling. After spending a year saving money — nowhere to go and nothing to do, what with the fear of COVID-19 looming large — I am in the mood to shop for something. Something big.

“I’m buying new clothes,” a friend said. I’m not. 

My closet is full of clothes that will seem new when (if) I move on from sweatpants and sweatshirts. While looking for an errant sock in the laundry basket last week, I caught a glimpse of a favorite red ikat print shirt hanging in the closet. I whispered, “I miss you! Soon!” 

I need no clothes, I need no earrings (hope the holes are still open) and I certainly need no furniture here in my junior one-bedroom apartment. 

What I want is a car. Specifically, a Subaru Crosstrek. Whether I need one is debatable. Because I enjoy researching tempting ideas before making any decision, I’ve sought information from several people. Some of it has been useful. 

Free Advice Is Plentiful

My mechanic said (in the nicest possible way) that I’m crazy to abandon the car I have. My Cousin the Car Salesman presented pros and cons. My son offered slightly different pros and cons. My insurance agent refused to weigh in, but provided some numbers. My financial adviser provided more numbers. Several friends — some own old cars and some brand new — heard me out and voiced support for whatever I decide. 

Stay close to the phone, as I may be calling for your thoughts soon. 

My Subaru Legacy Wagon is 15 years old, with 70,066 miles on it. It’s in fine shape, mechanically speaking. (Thanks, Dirk.) Yes, there are some scrapes and peeling spots on the exterior. 

Why ponder something new? 

My car has no safety features. It does have me, and I have a superlative driving record. However, I’ve read that people my age are subject to slower response times while driving. Plus, in spite of spending time in the same dense fog that helps the coastal redwoods grow so very tall, I am shorter than I used to be. I would like a car that allows me to sit up higher. 

(Once, I convinced a doctor to alter my sad, short height on my Official Chart to allow me some dignity. Because he’s shorter now too, he did.)

So Many Decisions!

If I decide to pursue something new and shiny, that’s only the beginning. Then I have to decide whether I want a new car or a used car. If I buy, should I use some of my savings to pay cash for the full amount to avoid interest or put down a wad of money to lower the monthly payment? 

I haven’t forgotten that I already have a car, so I investigated what it might be worth. One online source said I could expect between $700 and $6.500. That’s quite a range! Once I filled out the calculator, I got an estimate of about $4,800. I got no phone number for anyone ready to pay that.  

Regarding used cars, I’ve also read that because car manufacturers shut down early in the pandemic, the demand is huge right now for good used cars. One writer recommended waiting until fall to shop, when dealers will have more new cars available and presumably the price of used cars will drop. Right now, he reported, people are paying “silly” prices for used vehicles. 

Maybe I should lease a car. For a long time, conventional wisdom held that leasing a car was a waste of money. It’s like renting, people said. You pay and pay and pay, and at the end you have nothing. As a homeowner, I heard that repeatedly. For over a decade, I’ve been a renter — and I love it. I pay and pay and pay — and I get to live in San Francisco! Owning a home here is not possible for me. Heck, I probably couldn’t afford a one-car garage, much less a car to put in it.  

One article I read said leasing a car is not a bad idea for older adults on a fixed income. Yes, you pay and pay and pay, but you pay less than a typical car payment for a vehicle you bought, and you don’t have to touch your savings. That said, leasing a car comes with lots of fees and rules, and I get the feeling the house (the dealership) always wins.  

Whether I choose to buy or lease, my cousin says I must visit three dealerships to compare deals. My one concern about that is that I may be susceptible to a hard sell if I fall in love with a car on the lot. My son has another concern. He asked, “Have you driven a Crosstrek?” 

An Alternate to Test Drives

Ummm — no. I have been a passenger in one, but I realize that doesn’t count. To remedy that — and to hold off on my forays to dealerships — I opened an account with Zipcar (https://www.zipcar.com/san-francisco), a short-term car-sharing rental service. People here who don’t own cars use Zipcars all the time, as do people who need pickup trucks or vans just for an afternoon. 

Zipcars provides newer models of all kinds of cars, so I can test drive several models, giving them an opportunity to prove themselves more worthy than the car I want. Or think I want. One friend suggested that if I go for drives in new Zipcars now and then, maybe that will get wanting a new car out of my system. 

Last time I was besieged by fantasies of a new car, I thought I wanted one of those little Fiat 500e models. Adorable! Apparently, the car flunked safety tests and now Fiat doesn’t make them anymore. Over the years, I have owned a splendid 1966 candy apple red Mustang, a series of boring family cars, a horrid Ford Escort, a feisty Sidekick, an assortment of Hondas, an immense Oldsmobile and my current Subaru Legacy Wagon. 

Two weeks ago, when I saw the property manager at my building in the garage, he called out, “I like your car – I learned to drive on one of those!” He’s a grown man, with a son.

Isn’t that an indication it’s time for me to get a different car?  

  

When Fear Overcomes Loathing

Where were you on Wednesday, January 6, when the U.S. Capitol was breached by armed dissidents who happen to be our fellow citizens?

I was up, showered and dressed in time to watch the counting of the electoral votes, something I’d never viewed before. Just as the process began, I turned on the television. I turned it off 13 hours later, and staggered to my bed, stunned by all I had witnessed. 

At 11:54 a.m. (PST) on Jan. 6, I texted my son to say, “Hope you have the news on. Thugs have breached the Capitol.” Later, I remembered that he also was my first phone call on the morning of Tuesday, Sept. 11, 2001. Another key global moment, long before I had a child, was Friday, Nov. 22, 1963, when President John F. Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas.

These chilling events are prominent markers in our lives. We know where we were, and we will never forget. 

Over the past few months, I’ve referred to the months and years before March 2020 as “The Before Times,” when many of us in the U.S. were still ignorant about COVID-19. Then, I had the great privilege of spending Thursday afternoons and evenings with my grandchild. Once a week, I gathered with three friends to play word games or attempt to learn mahjong. Routinely, I went to the theater, to baseball games and out for lunch or cocktails. Friends from across the country came to visit, and we toured my favorites spots in San Francisco.

Reflections on Life Since March 2020

By March 10, all that was over. Since then, with few exceptions, I’ve stayed home. At first, my circle of friends thought we’d be restricted for two, maybe three, months. We gamely learned to spray the mail with Lysol and to let packages sit for 24 to 48 hours before opening them. On rare trips to the grocery, we bought extra toilet paper or bags of flour or bottled water, whatever we feared most doing without. We perfected porch drop-offs on our friends’ birthdays and debated how to form limited “pods” based on the size of our social circles.     

We washed our hands until our skin started to peel. We canceled previously imperative monthly haircuts and mani/pedis and we abandoned physical therapy appointments. We assembled mask wardrobes in case we needed to see the dermatologist or do our laundry in a communal space, we wondered why we’d ever thought we needed to enhance pale eyebrows and we abandoned dress pants. Some of us even apologized to lonely sweaters hanging in our closets. 

We worked and socialized on line. We paid groceries to deliver our food. “Eating out” most often meant curbside pick-up at our favorite local eateries. We grandparents heard tales of woe from parents with youngsters now locked out of their schools and privately we wept because we couldn’t step in to help.

As the months dragged on, some early precautions were deemed unnecessary and some new restrictions were imposed. Small businesses closed and large ones resorted to communicating with customers via online “chats” with ignorant bots. Restaurants and specialty food stores closed. Neighborhood shops begged us to help them, and we did, but so many ended up shuttered anyway. 

Countless people across the country lost their jobs, their homes, their food security — and many lost their health and even their lives. As of Jan. 10, more than 22,100,000 cases of the coronavirus have been reported to the Centers for Disease Control and 371,084 people in the U.S. have died of the terrifying disease. We’ll likely never know the exact numbers, because many early cases were tagged as bouts of pneumonia or the flu. Also, at one point the President ruled that hospitals were not to report cases or deaths to the CDC because the numbers made him look bad. 

Hope for "The After Times" Now Recedes

In the past 10 months we’ve learned to assess how much risk we each are willing to take. Friends who choose to do more may concern us, but most of us blame no one who chooses to do less. “Stay safe,” we urge one another as we make a point to look for, find and treasure small moments of beauty and perform random acts of kindness. 

Because of all that, right up to Jan. 5, I was eager to get vaccinated and looked forward to “The After Times” with hope. Then, on Jan. 6, I chose to bear witness to everything that unfolded in Washington, D.C. Now, four days later, I find that those startling images of domestic terrorists invading the U.S. Capitol have suppressed some of that hope.

In news articles I’ve read, some members of the mob said they had no recourse, because no one listens to them or their concerns. Some of them said they wanted to see Mike Pence hanged. Some of them said that in spite of no evidence whatsoever they still believe the election was “stolen.” We know that with help from Russia, the 2016 election was stolen, yet those of us who were upset about the outcome did not take up weapons and storm the Capitol. 

What we don’t know yet is how to fully process what happened Jan. 6 because it's far too soon to have a full perspective. Eventually, the truth behind the many systemic failures that made the attack possible will be uncovered. Assessments will be made and the events will be recorded in history, and I look forward to reading how the events of that day are presented. 

Meanwhile, figurative storm clouds are gathering and more violence is predicted. Wherever you may be over the next 10 days — stay safe. “The After Times” aren’t here yet.  

LOOKING BACK, MOVING FORWARD

Farewell, once and for all, to the year that my gray hair began to turn white. And what of it? It's okay. 

Really, everything is okay. Binge-watching reruns of "Home Town" is okay, embracing Don't Get Dressed Day more often is okay, quitting books that annoy me half-way through is okay, passing time playing Scrabble on line is okay. 

Everything is okay, because we've all been tasked with restructuring and restricting our very lives as we continue to cope with a global pandemic, and we're just making it up as we go along. That's a big burden that has resulted in painful losses large and small. We know now we are never going back to "normal," and in so many ways, that has to be okay too. Many writers have elaborated on the many consciousness-raising events our country has experienced this year, and I can only hope we learn from looking back as we move forward. 

Moments of laughter, moments of fear and moments of gratitude all have been part of my experience of 2020. Like so many others, I've repeatedly fended off a looming, leaden mental heaviness. Sometimes I've fought off tears. Other times, I've given in to them. But this year also reinvigorated my belief that living in the present, no matter how troubling that present may be, is a direct path to acknowledging joy. even when the best thing about a whole day is a plate of sliced tomatoes. (See August.)  

Here are snapshots from some "present moments" in my year. Don't expect glorious travel photos, because I haven't been anywhere except to the edge of the continent from time to time, where I watch waves endlessly roll in with no care whatsoever for what I perceive as my urgent concerns. I can always count on the Pacific Ocean for an important attitude adjustment!

JANUARY 2020

Meet Molly Ivins, my Texas mammillaria cactus. (Ivins was prickly too.) The plant produces small red fruits that resemble chili peppers, but not very many or very often. She bloomed in January, for the first time in four years. (Spoiler alert: She bloomed again this month.) 

FEBRUARY 2020

At a lecture at the Jewish Community Center, I met Richard Powers, author of "The Overstory," and we discovered that we both are in awe of ginkgo trees. 

MARCH 2020

Blissfully unaware of What Was To Come, early in March my Full Moon Cocktail group ventured downtown to the Old Ship Saloon, where I had my first taste of Pisco Punch, created in San Francisco in the 1870s. (See my April 14 blog post for details.) Two weeks later, San Francisco was the first major city to shut down to slow the spread of the coronavirus. 

APRIL 2020

By April, I was excelling at sheltering in place, tucked under my glorious handmade throw. (Not handmade by me — I make only paragraphs.) The novelty of staying in wore off soon after, but as a senior (and therefore at risk) I've stuck to the rules, with one big exception. (Read on.)  

MAY 2020

After two and a half-years of lingering at the bottom, suddenly my name shot up to the top of a waiting list for a unit at an apartment building for people 62 and older. Many people ahead of me on the list declined to even consider moving. Was I still interested? YES! I took this photo from the balcony of the top-floor apartment I was offered, and began a two-month process of filling out paperwork to get it.  

JUNE 2020

Every summer, I buy and freeze multiple pints of Chandler strawberries, those small ruby jewels packed with flavor. That ensures me a six-month supply for my smoothies.

JULY 2020

Who moves during a global pandemic? Me, as carefully and thoughtfully as possible. The building has 120 units, and someday, when the lounge reopens and we can have each other over for coffee or wine,  I'll have a bevy of new friends. Residents I've met in the elevators, the lobby and the laundry room all have been warm and welcoming.

AUGUST 2020  

Heirloom tomatoes, delivered by a food service that works with local farmers, made me happy all summer. And I am a Huge Snob about tomatoes -- I routinely reject orange polyester slices that are mere wannabes. 

SEPTEMBER 2020 

What can you be grateful for when this toxic, ash-laden air is present during fire season? I wept for those who lost everything, but was grateful that the wildfires were not at the edge of my driveway, devouring the city where I live.

OCTOBER 2020

The unstable political situation led me to volunteer with Vote Forward, writing letters to inactive registered voters in six different states, urging them to make their voices heard. We volunteers paid for stamps and envelopes, and the work also cost time, something I had plenty of. The reward was the satisfaction of Doing Something Useful.

NOVEMBER 2020

Joy on the balcony looks like this -- my orange and red geraniums, still in full flower in November. I'm not a gardening person, as I fret too much about watering, feeding and draining, but this worked out well! Don't ask me how much time I spend sitting outside talking with the geraniums, Molly Ivins (see January) and a lovely jade plant that was a gift. 

DECEMBER 2020

A minimalist year seemed to call for a minimalist Christmas, and this was part of my few decorations. Red and green, even when you're blue, add a festive note, even when absolutely no one will be popping in to see how nice everything looks. Still, I was here to appreciate it.  

JANUARY 2021

Behold a leafy sea dragon, a resident at the California Academy of Sciences in Golden Gate Park. I took this photo in December 2019, on a visit there with my beloved grandson. Since March, for safety's sake, I've been in his presence exactly four times, though he lives close by. That hurts.

My great hope for 2021 is to once again spend time at the Academy — and the zoo, and Little League games and at his house and mine and anywhere else we may choose to go. My resolution for the new year is this: I vow to never again take for granted a moment spent with my family and friends. 

Now bring on that vaccine!