cindy's world

Everyone’s got economy problems, and that includes France. Their president, President Nicolas Sarkozy, proposed a change in their pension plans to stave off a deeper crash in their growing deficit: increase the retirement age 2 years, from 60 to 62. Anytime the public sector proposes changes to employee benefits, unions are going to strike, and the French are striking by hitting the vein of transportation — oil refineries, some public transportation workers. With 70% of the nation’s fuel now stopped (both by supply production and transportation blockades), flights are being canceled, public transportation is running minimal lines, chaos is in the streets as motorists dry the existing gas supplies in fear of the shortage, and on top of that, they have street demonstrations, spurts of violence, burning, looting, air traffic controller strikes, and union cargo truck drivers are using their large vehicles to block traffic around major cities like Paris. Al Queda decided to jump in the mix by sending terrorist threats to Paris, too. (Wanna see current info and photos? Check www.france24.com.)

So what does that have to do with Cindy’s World?

We have an hour-long layover in Paris’s Charles de Gaulle airport on our way to Venice. We catch our Greek Isles cruise from Venice. If we can’t get a flight out of France, we risk missing our cruise. I was very nervous last night reading up on French news, seeing that Paris’ Orly Airport canceled 50% of its flights today, and Charles de Gaulle canceled 30%. After wailing in my head for a bit, I emailed Rebecca asking if she has time to squeeze in a phone reading for me on this, and I emailed our travel agent to see if we could get a different flight and connection that would avoid France altogether. Mr. W, altho usually the one prone to overreactive panic on things like this, was weirdly unaffected. He told me to not tell him any more about the French news, and went upstairs to iron shirts that he plans to pack for the trip. It felt weird being the paranoid one for once. My travel agent, Lily, wrote back fairly quickly telling me she will call the airlines and the travel company that had arranged the airline, and get back to me in the morning.

I received an early-morning email from Rebecca first. She gave me a freebie, writing:

Hi Cindy,
I’m not picking up on any problems. Visualize an easy, smooth, comfortable transition when you switch planes, and an easy, “go with the flow” energy about all of the transportation involved for your trip.
If you hadn’t read about the “transportation problems in France” you would not be worried about it. For that reason, I seldom watch the news. It’s not that I don’t want to be informed; it’s that the exposure to negative energy influences our energy and I would rather not be “pulled in” by that.
You are going to have a wonderful time. Could there be challenges? Yes. Will there be? I don’t know. Be prepared, but go with the flow and you will have an amazing time!
If you are still feeling uneasy, let me know. But I know if you spend a few minutes each day visualizing everything in a smooth, effortless energy, that is how you will experience it.
Lots of love and blessings,
Rebecca

If Rebecca sees me having a fine time, then I trust that the end result is that I will be having a fine time. So I felt much better. She basically said that there wouldn’t be a problem unless I create one. So then I started wondering if I screwed up and the flights were gonna get changed, which would affect the time we leave and arrive, which would affect both the doctor’s appointment I have in the morning before I leave, and the hotel we’d check into upon our arrival in Venice. In my email box was also two emails from Delta Airlines and its affiliation, Air France. Turns out they’re confirmation emails of our flights as we’d arranged it, and then I saw this email from my travel agent:

cindy, I spoke to air france and solar tour this morning, they told me do not do anything, everything on schedule Right now, strike on 19 & 20, hopefully over by friday, they told me to call them thurday morning, if strike still going on, they will re-arrange the route, watch the news, air france phone number [#]

Okay, so Air France doesn’t think the strike will affect our international flights, but they’re open to allowing changes if it starts looking bad. Okay, I can live with that.

Yes, I realized there’s no point to this post, but thanks for listening. And, just for fun, say the title of this post three times fast.

I’m not sure, but I *think* we got some discriminatory treatment at a restaurant tonight.

I had read a few things on a “neighborhood gem” restaurant called Nirvana Grille, and had been wanting to try it. Thursday on the way home after work, hubby asked for restaurant suggestions, so I told him about this place and he was game. We got there about 5:30p. The host greeted us at the door and asked if we had reservations. We said we didn’t, and he asked for a last name to put in the system. Mr. W gave his, and we were promptly seated. The restaurant was fairly empty, with only 3 or 4 other tables taken up, so we were given our choice of booth or table. We had a fine meal, spent good money, and hubby joked with the waitress that we’ll be back on Saturday (today) to try other things on the menu. She said that’s great, she’ll be working on Saturday so she’ll see us then. This location is only open for dinner and Sunday brunches, by the way.

Tonight, we got there a few minutes before 6pm. The restaurant was maybe 25% full. A male host (can’t remember if it’s the same one, but probably not) greeted us at the door and asked if we had a reservation. We said we did not. He said, “Oh, I don’t know if I can seat you tonight. We’re really busy…” He looked down and studied the seating table chart for 2, maybe 3 seconds. “No…I won’t be able to seat you at all tonight. I’m sorry, we’re just crazy busy tonight.” So we thanked him and left. It felt like we were in some exclusive trendy LA restaurant that celebrities go to so that reservations had to be made months in advance if you’re lucky, except, like I’d already mentioned, this restaurant was 75% empty at the moment.

I thought it was weird, considering how open the restaurant was, that they were going to get THAT full within minutes of our being there that they can’t seat us. It was 5:57pm (I thought they opened at 5:30p) when we got back in the car. I said that people usually book reservations by half-hour increments, so unless we see a flood of people cramming into the restaurant in the next minute, they probably didn’t have a ton of 6pm reservations. And usually, when a restaurant was anticipated to be full, don’t they tell you, “I’m sorry, if you don’t have reservations, there will be a one-hour wait, would you like to wait?” They don’t just say they can’t seat you for the ENTIRE NIGHT. As it’s not a large restaurant to begin with, maybe they’d be full with a large-party reservation, but the tables were still pulled apart in 2-people and 4-people seats, not joined for a large group. “You’d think that if they’re normally so crazy-busy on a Saturday night, that the waitress on Thursday would’ve suggested we make reservations.” Hubby didn’t respond to me and was quiet for awhile.
Finally, he said, “I don’t like being turned away from a restaurant. It makes me feel like they’re discriminating against us, maybe for the way we look or the way we’re dressed or something. They could’ve served us and had us done and out of there before other people’s reservations. I’m not going back.”

So it wasn’t just me who left with the uncomfortable feeling that we had been lied to. The guy didn’t flip into the reservation book to look at how booked they were going to be in the next half hour. He only stared at the seating chart. Do people write reservations on the table seating charts so that it’d tell him that he wouldn’t be able to seat us the entire night?

We went to Selma’s Chicago Pizzeria instead and had fine food and great service. It took some time for the mood to dispel, however. When we got home at a few minutes past 8pm, I immediately checked Opentable.com to see if there were reservations/seating available for Nirvana Grille. It was too bad that I couldn’t check it immediately after being turned away, because Opentable won’t show me any information on “expired” (past) times. The earliest time I can check is 8:30pm onward, and yes, there were tables open both 8:30p and 9pm. So what the guy said about not being able to seat us at all tonight was a lie.

I feel like I want to sign up for a Yelp account solely to tell people about this restaurant experience.

Last Saturday, Mr. W and I attended our first Progressive Dinner. Commenter Maggie is on the board of a community service organization called the Skills Foundation, which raises money and sponsors afterschool programs for kids and teens to further their educations, prevent drug abuse, teach them life skills. So here’s how the dinner works:
All the people attending the event meet at a restaurant, check in, receive color wristbands to split into two groups. Each group then hits up a series of local participating restaurants and other business establishments on a schedule, eating appetizers at one, main course at another, side dishes at the next, on and on until we end with coffee and dessert at a final meeting place for the two groups to re-converge. All the restaurants donate their one or few dishes, get people to try out their food and maybe come back, and participate in a good cause. The diners’ $50 ticket goes completely to the Foundation. Since this took place in the Uptown Whittier area, we were very excited for good food.

For Mr. W and myself, we started the evening at Maggie and her hubby’s house. I got out of the car and looked ponderingly at a sign on their fence that said “wolf xing” or something like that. Since the decor of the yard seemed very Native American, I just figured it was a fun sign. And then, barks filled the air and a silver wolf approached me from the backyard, humming a low warning growl. A brown similarly-sized dog followed the wolf, also growling. I stood still and kept my hands to myself to show that I’m not a threat. The two canines calmed down enough after inspecting me and Mr. W (who stood behind me, the wimp) to stop growling, just sniffing curiously. I slowly offered my hand to the wolf. She sniffed it, the dog sniffed it, and seemed okay. Right around then, Maggie came running around the back saying, “The dogs! I forgot about the dogs!” That wasn’t comforting, considering the main reason I didn’t jump back into the car and slam the door in horror was that I assumed Maggie wouldn’t leave the dogs loose knowing we were coming over unless she knew they weren’t going to eat us. But by then, I was already friends with the animals, and the raised line of silver fur down the back of the wolf was already smoothing down. We then got a tour of the gargantuan outdoor property and its many fruit and veggie growths (with the two happy dogs bounding beside us, Maggie playing fetch with Kenai, the half-wolf, with a dropped avocado) and then a tour of the renovated house. Maggie’s hubby Tom is quite the visionary architect and do-if-yourselfer.

And THEN we started our tour de force with food. We ate and drank our way through appetizers at Sage Restaurant and Lounge; a ballroom called RMH Dance Center that had bacon-wrapped stuffed dates and fancy mac-and-cheese catered from the restaurant Phlight next door (where we ordered “wine flights” that had nearly full pours); healthy sandwiches at a deli called Fenix 5-4; pitas, hummus, roasted red pepper dip and cucumber yogurt dip, chicken and beef skewers at Uptown Kabob; and ended with champagne, coffee, and cupcakes hosted at the Bluebird Art House. At Uptown Kabob, we were already overfull and Maggie’s husband Tom wandered unenthusiastically to our table and blew his cheeks into big bubbles as he looked at me, alluding to the overabundance of good food. I laughed. He turned and looked at the growing crowd of guests at the table grabbing mediterranean food. “I guess I’d better get in line,” he said flatly, “Or I might starve to death.” It might’ve been the Armenian coffee I was drinking at the moment, but that was the funniest thing I’d heard all night. (That demitasse of Armenian coffee kept me up all night, btw.) My stomach was so distended by the time we got to champagne and cupcake that I attempted to try on some cute tops at the vintage shop attached to Bluebird Art House, but I barely fit in them.

I bought one anyway because it was too cute to pass up. I guess I’ll just have to work my way into that top. The rest of the night, though, I was gasping for air and wondering whether pregnancy would be this painful given the stretching at the same area.

Maggie took this photo at the second location, the bacon- and mac-and-cheese serving ballroom. Also, where we all ordered flights of wine only to be surprised that the pours were nearly full 5-oz pours instead of the normal 1.5 oz tasting pour.

Maggie thought it was blurry, so she tried again.

She started wondering if maybe it wasn’t blurry and she was just wine-goggled. Haha! But then hubby took this and it came out the same, so whatever the issue was, was contagious.

It was a lot of food and our conscience was also appeased knowing we were helping kids in the Whittier area. AND…I met a WOLF! That made my week. =)

So apparently, someone (perhaps Father Time) played a joke on Mother Nature this week and put her calendar back a month. She now thinks it’s deep summer and the temperatures on the West Coast have been blazing since the weekend. I thought last Saturday was bad at the Boot Camp Challenge — but Monday, the high in SoCal flew to 114 degrees Fahrenheit. Tuesday was supposed to cool down, and did so with a high of 107. Today, the high dropped to 95, which is much more comfortable, if we ignore the fact that it’s a day and a half from October. Old Man Winter gets to procrastinate more, and I also found a way to benefit.

Mr. W and I went to Disneyland after work yesterday and because it’d been so hot, nobody wanted to attempt an outdoor amusement park outing, so the usually crowded Disneyland and California Adventure were ghost towns. We discovered nooks and crannies and storefronts and other stuff that we’d never known existed. Stuff like…did you know Disneyland has a PETTING ZOO?

‘Scuse the unflattering photo, but I was being licked to death by overly friendly baby goats. They’re sooo cute! They must’ve had a good life, because they weren’t afraid of people at all. They came right up to me and nuzzled me. Actually, one nuzzled me as another licked my leg and yet a third tasted my purse.

Have you ever wondered what my Dodo would look like if he were a goat?

I can’t eat goat anymore, not that I was an avid goat eater to begin with. As I petted the head of a 4-month old pygmy goat, I whispered reassuringly to him, “I always root for you when I watch National Geographic Animals in the Wild Specials.” I want a pygmy goat. It’s amazing how they jump right up onto those barrels. I can’t do that, and I’ve been doing Insanity’s plyometrics for WEEKS. I wonder what fitness program the goats are on.
As we were leaving, the caretaker of the animals said that if we wait on the bench, they’re about to do a “running of the goats,” when all the goats go from the petting corral back to their homes for the night (apparently a staging area behind a wooden gate). So we sat, and soon, this little herd of goats, collars bells jangling, ran in a group in a beeline for what they knew to be home. They were followed by the one larger goat, a mountain goat, and then the sheep. Sooo cute!

We rode a few rides after waiting in very short lines, wandered around a bit, shared a candied apple, then had dinner at The Jazz Kitchen, a N’awlins style restaurant at Downtown Disney. Enjoying the atmosphere and anticipating great food, I turned to Mr. W and observed that we live like we’re on vacation on the time. He seemed plenty pleased with that arrangement. A live pianist entertainer, a filet mignon muffaletta, 2 mint juleps, a triple sampler of jambalaya/seafood gumbo/potato cheese soups, Andouille crusted yellowtail, 4 beignets, and a chicory coffee later, Mr. W and I set out for home as a fat, dumb and happy couple. I fell asleep in the car on the way home. I remember waking up as he pulled into the driveway, turning to him and saying, “I am pooped,” and next thing I know I woke up in bed. Perpendicular at the foot of it. I think this may have been the first time I went to bed before the hubby since we’d lived in this house.

So the much-anticipated (i.e., dreaded) Boot Camp Challenge has come and gone, and I live to blog another day.

Although the Southern Californian weather has been nice and autumny for a month or so now, clear and cool in the 70s, suddenly the Boot Camp weekend comes and temperatures were predicted to spike into triple-digits. It happened. The morning of, Vanessa came by my house at 6am and the two of us set off for San Diego. It very quickly got very bright and very warm. We made good time getting there, turning off our exit at 7:20a for a 9:20a start time. Immediately, we came to a standstill along with lines of cars coming from different directions all going into the Marine Corps Recruitment Depo. A girl who got out of her car and jogged ahead to see what was going on up ahead came back and reported that Marine security was doing thorough car/trunk checks on each car before allowing anyone on-base. We sat in that ridiculous line for an hour and a half to move 2 blocks. Dwaine and Claudio, who had driven from San Diego to do the race for the first time, complained to me via cell phone that this was crap and that they were NEVER going to do this race again. They pulled out of line, parked on some random street, prepared to walk the nearly 2 miles to the start point on-base and happened to run into us in the car security line, so they jumped in and I drove everyone there. (The security check even asked for car registration, which made me a little nervous since I was driving hubby’s car. But it was fine because the registered address matched up against the address on my driver’s license.)

Luckily, because so many people were so delayed due to the checks outside, the race start times were pushed back to give everyone time to get in. We had enough time to get our “goody bags” before the race, except it turns out, hard times have hit the Marines, too, because there was no goody bag this year, no dog tags, just the usual commemorative T-shirt. Oh well. The crazy duo, Dwaine and Claudio, went to the race registration desk as I went to check in my bag. When we all met up again, Dwaine announced, “I signed us up for the elite division, so we’re lining up to start now.” WHAT? They’d never even done this race before and had no idea what to expect. I waved them off and we agreed on a meeting place for after the race. Soon, the elite men and women were off. Then the civilian men runners lined up, time was counted off, then they were off. And then the women. Vanessa and I made our way to the center-ish of the giant cluster of runners at the start line. We saw some men here and there with us and wondered why they weren’t running with men. She guessed they may have been late. She again told me that because she was feeling less-than-perfect, and because she felt under-trained, that if at some point she fell behind, to just leave her. I already knew I was not going to do that. Finishing time on this race (which wasn’t even chipped so the times aren’t accurate anyway) is not as important as being the friend to Vanessa that Vanessa has always been to me.

The gun fired, and we slowly, like cattle, made our way to the start line and crossed it to begin the race. The sun was beaming and we were all sweating before we came out of the corral. No shade, no moisture in the air, the temps must’ve been in the mid-80s already at about 9:50 when we finally got going. I’ve never tolerated direct sunlight well athletically, and I felt the energy sap from my body as I jogged lightly with Vanessa toward the first obstacle. I could hear her, recovering from a cold, wheezing next to me. The first series of bounding over stacked haystacks was surprisingly effortless. After that, we rounded a corner, went under a misting doorway and dripping, hit the first series of true obstacles. 8 or 10 large round logs were placed horizontally, about 3 feet apart, like hurdles that we had to get over. Unfortunately, they came up to about chest level for me so although running momentum got me past the first one or two easily enough, I didn’t have enough space to create momentum for the next ones and couldn’t get myself over. I got one leg up and slid back, then noticed some hay bales down the center of the hurdles to give height. I went to the center and borrowed some height and made my way across more easily, finishing with a 6′ high hurdle that I again used some hay stack to get over, landing easily on my feet on the other side, thanks to the glucosamine+chondroitin supplements I’d been taking recently for joint support. A few steps in later, I noticed that the discomfort on the back of my right leg wasn’t going away. I did a test high-step and realized I’d pulled my hamstring when I hyperextended it on the log I slid off of with my right leg still over it. I forced a quick stretch, pulling my right knee into my chest while standing, and the pain increased, but decreased tremendously when I dropped my leg back down. I did this few more times between obstacles and the pain became very manageable so that’s how I finished the race, doing overs and unders, dropping into and coming out of foxholes, going through speedy pushups (thanks, Insanity!) crouching and running through tunnels (thanks, short-genes!). And then I came to The 6 Foot wall. The thing that had intimidated me for weeks leading up to the race, so much so that I went out of my way and trained on this wall at a nearby sheriff’s academy:

The training there was very discouraging; I was instructed by people who can climb these things, to run toward the wall and to take my next right-foot step onto the wall, which would then boost me up and I’d have the height gained to simultaneously grab the top of the wall and pull the rest of the way up. Sounded good in theory, except this wall was painted and slick. Any step on the wall instantly robbed my momentum by sliding the mounted foot downward, and I’d end up lower on the wall than if I’d just walked up to it, and jumped up. I could still go up the wall by jumping straight up, getting my right forearm over the top, and then pulling myself up by upper body strength alone, but it’s slower than a true step-up. I could do a true step-up if I lodged my stepping foot in the chipped-out foothole in the center of this wall, but that’s cheating, right? I doubted I’d have a foot-hole at the Marine Corps Boot Camp Challenge wall. I left that sheriff’s wall frustrated and bruised, but figuring I’d use the haystacks to “cheat” if I had to, and if the lines there were too long, I’d just do my jump-up instead of run-up over the wall, which I’d practiced a few times on the sheriff’s wall.

So at the actual race, imagine my surprise to see that the 6′ wall is actually a stack of ROUND logs. Hand- and foot-holds galore in the spaces between the logs! There was one haystack against the right side that a bunch of girls were lined up to “cheat” on, and a drill instructor stood at the middle of the wall, facing us as we ran toward it, pointing to his right and yelling, “The hay is a CRUTCH! You do not need to use a CRUTCH! Get up the WALL!” I got up the wall. Aside from the pushup stations, this was THE easiest obstacle in the race. After jumping down, I immediately threw myself on my stomach and did a crawl underneath a cargo net. There are some advantages to being small.

The bad thing was that after this series, I lost Vanessa. We’d separate for the obstacles and rejoin to run together to the next obstacle, and she was usually just ahead of me, so all I had to do was find her and catch up. But this time, I couldn’t find her. I spent the next mile or so running looking back, surprised I wasn’t being yelled at by DIs for it, hoping she’d just emerge in front of me or next to me. Vanessa said she saw me ahead of her rounding a corner, but didn’t have the energy to make the sprint toward me. I ended up finishing the race about 4 minutes ahead of her, just enough time to come back and look for her, see her coming to the finish corral, and get a cup of Gatoraid to hand her as she walked by. I was exhausted and winded, surprised that the race took so much out of me, my hamstring was humming, and I had small jolts of pain on my left side somewhere mid-course where I finally stopped to walk it off, but it was nowhere as horrible as when I ran the race a few years ago. Unfortunately, the time also showed that I’m about 4 minutes slower than before, but I choose not to rely on this time (about 34 minutes) because it wasn’t chipped like it was before, so the time didn’t start at my crossing the start line, and didn’t stop at my crossing the finish line. =P

Claudio and Dwaine were looking for us as Vanessa and I walked toward them, and Claudio snapped this photo, saying something about my looking way more exhausted than I should’ve looked. I’ve never done well in direct sun and by this time, it was close to 90 degrees if not over.

The first thing Dwaine said to me was, “This was fun! We’re gonna train for this and do it again next year!” They did well, btw, finishing the 3 mile obstacle course in 27, 28 minutes. We wandered the booths on premises for a little bit afterwards, loading up on free Myoplex shakes, Cliff Bars, photo ops, then changed and walked back to my car. Speaking of “changed,” did anyone know that Claudio’s really a Thundercat?

I drove the boys back to their street-parked spot (LUCKY that they didn’t get a ticket), and we disbanded. Vanessa and I opted to spoil ourselves. So we went to RipTide for this…

After lunch, we wandered by a Halloween Boo-tique in the same shopping area, where suddenly, Vanessa’s thyroid medication went horribly wrong…

And THEN, the best part…pampering ourselves at my 4th salon pedicure ever! How cute is this, now that I won’t be tearing my feet up in running shoes for at least a few days?

All’s well that ends well (except for Claudio’s injured knee). I’ve missed Vanessa, and it was really great to see the guys, too. I’m glad I did this incredibly uncomfortable race. 🙂

(As usual, rest mouse pointers over photos for captions.)

* Rebecca said last nite that Mr. W and I have had 4 past lives together, and I said you’d think we would’ve learned by now.
* After looking like I suffered massive defensive wounds on my forearms and knees, I’m only slightly more confident that my practice climbing 6-foot walls would make this Saturday’s MCRD Boot Camp Challenge better.
* Mr. W and I think it’s time to take action on Daughter’s stalker.
* 4 friends’ babies popped out in the last month; 2 last week, 1 yesterday, and more on the way.
* According to my dentist at my teeth cleaning last week, my mouth is not ridden with cavities, but with cavity-looking stains from my recent 2 weeks’ worth of black tea and coffee consumption, so I have now cut both from my diet.
* Kenny Loggins performed at the lake, and I only recognized two songs, “This Is It” and “Footloose,” the latter of which he did on encore although the crowd wanted to hear Top Gun’s “Danger Zone,” which he did not play.
* I have no idea what to pack for Greece and Italy to not stand out as a tourist ripe for being pick-pocketed.
* I am still faithfully doing “Insanity” at lunchtime, and my cardio is getting stronger.
* I may have finally outgrown Dinneylan (plus ghetto misbehaved people inundating the place is quite the turn-off).

The evening started off promising. Mr. W and I went to Seal Beach to pick up my ring. I LOVE it; the lower profile makes it much more practical, the jeweler had rhodium-plated both the engagement ring and the wedding band, and the set looks amazing; glittery and like a million bucks. The center stone looks smaller now than it did, but the new much-more-secure 6-prong short Tiffany setting only seemed to enhance the brilliance of the diamond. Then we went to Basil Leaf again, where I had the most frustrating grilled chicken sandwich (banh mi); every time I bit into the bread, the insides would squirt out the other sides. I also had another young coconut, and I think I’m done with coconuts for awhile. We ended the outing with a visit to the coffee house we go to when we see Rebecca. I had a chai latte with soy, Mr. W had some coffee thing or other.

And then, I don’t know what happened. I guess I can say I started feeling more negative than I could justify. Sure a few things bothered me — something this person said irritated me, the dismissive way that person treated something didn’t sit well with me, and someone else’s inconsiderate poor planning was annoying, too. Small stuff, no personal attacks, but I was feeling knotted and sick. All I could think of was that maybe I was picking up on and absorbing other people’s negativity, and it wasn’t my own cuz my life was just fine. I was starting to wonder what I could do to meditate away this empathic bad mood. And then I noticed that there was light coming out from the bottom of Mr. W’s daughter’s bedroom door. She’d come home in the midst of my crapshoot evening, I hadn’t said much to her, and altho it was late, I got up and rapped lightly on her bedroom door. “Come in!” she said in a lively way. At least she was in a good mood.
I cracked open the door and poked my head in. She was on her bed with textbooks, notebooks, and snacks spread around her, mid-text on her cell phone. “Hey, did you end up going to Disneyland on Friday?” I asked.
“Ugh, no I didn’t,” she said, and invited me in to tell me the whole story about her social life and her current frustrations with people. We had a lengthy heart-to-heart (I didn’t burden her with my feelings, this was just for her). When I got up to leave, she thanked me for talking to her, and added that she appreciates every conversation we’d ever had about her feelings and problems.
I told her, “You know that I’m proud of you and how you’ve learned to handle things, right?” She had grown so much since I’d met her as an excitable perky (if socially clumsy) 13-year-old.
She replied, “Thanks to you, because we’ve been having these talks since I was in 8th grade.”
I laughed and said, “I take VERY LITTLE credit for this stuff. By the time I talk to you a lot of the time, it’s just curiosity about what’s going on because you’ve already handled it.” That really is true, especially lately.
She looked at me earnestly. “I remember a lot of the things you’ve told me since I was in 8th grade, and I’ve told those things to my friends. I always say, ‘Cindy is so wise, this is what she told me.’ ” As a vision of an owl flashed through my mind’s eye, I laughed her compliment off and told her it was really not me, most of it is her learning on her own, and we said our goodnights.

And that is how the intimacy and appreciation from a 19-year-old stepdaughter fixed all the bad feelings about an evening. What folly, that she thinks that I save her, when she does so much of the saving.

Yesterday after work, Mr. W and I went to Seal Beach to visit Rebecca at the coffee house. We got there a few hours early, so we thought we’d try out a Vietnamese restaurant we’d seen on Main Street called Basil Leaf. What was attractive was a sign on the front door that says, “NO MSG!” Mr. W gets occasional cravings for pho, but I always resist because I don’t want to ingest toxic amounts of MSG and feel gross and bloated afterwards, so he rarely gets his pho cravings satisfied. This place was a great find and is DELICIOUS! I also had an entire young coconut to myself. Chilled. They just hacked the outside green stuff off, gave it a lobotomy and me a straw and spoon. I’m always surprised how great and lightly fruity coconut water tastes to me, cuz coconut flavored liquors, foods, chocolates, etc. is horrible to me. I also don’t like that scratchy scrapey shaved coconut texture. Young fresh coconut, however, I’m able to clean out. I ate everything edible in there. Mr. W turned to me at one point and said, “You’d better lay off that coconut.” I froze with a mouthful of the tender white stuff, thoughts of saturated fats scaring me for a moment, spoon still poised in stab-dig position.
“Why?”
“There’s something about young coconuts… it’ll give you the runs.”
“Oh,” I said with relief, “I don’t care.” I went back to digging and eating my coconut.
He instantly took out his iPad and said he’d look the information up. Turns out, fresh young coconuts are very nutritious and are quite low in saturated fat and calories. I remembered learning that surgeons back in Captain Cook’s exploration days would directly IV-inject coconut water into the vein for dehydrated sick sailors. And, I’m happy to say, I did not get the runs. I plan on eating more chilled young coconut whenever I come across them. I’m happy they don’t taste anything like coconut flavoring.

On the walk to the coffee house, we passed by a jewelry store that does custom jewelry. I’d been wanting to get my engagement ring adjusted for some time. The center stone sits so high that I bang it into everything. It’s only held by just 4 prongs, so if one prong breaks, the diamond is gone. It’s gotten so that I take it off the moment I get home, and don’t wear it if I think I’ll be using my hands for anything (dishes, gymming, kayaking, rafting, holding onto ride handles at Disneyland, reaching into my purse…), and I check it frequently to make sure the stone’s still in place. =P It’s become very impractical. So we went into the store and spoke to the owner, who’s also the jewelry maker and designer. I examined a lot of his work and liked his taste. We also chatted with him a long time about the jewelry business and his philosophies about random stuff. We liked him and his no-nonsense approach to his field and commissioned him to reset the center stone in a 6-prong Tiffany setting, lowered 2 millimeters. He also asked if we could leave the wedding band with him so he could make sure if the dimensions change on the engagement ring, there wouldn’t be a match-up problem with the band. So walking out of there later, I felt very naked without my rings on. Until we pick up the rings next week, I’m gonna wear my other rings that I hadn’t worn in years. Today I have on a white pearl and peacock pearl yellow gold ring, accented by 2 diamonds, that I’d bought in a state of delirium and delusion of richness in college. It’s kinda fun, changing up the jewelry wardrobe, which is something I rarely get into.

At the coffee house, it was an intimate small crowd. I enjoyed that. Rebecca turned and smiled at me out of the blue at one point and asked, “Are you two ‘trying’ right now?” I explained there’s no “trying” with us, and that when we were ready, we’d just go to the doctor and get everything done. She said “it” feels very close around me, and that if she hadn’t known I couldn’t be pregnant right now, she’d think I were. I do feel very close to this soul, and I’ve felt it for awhile now. Just yesterday, before leaving to see Rebecca, I was typing up a case cite of Riley vs. Pappadopoulos [(1994) 23 Cal.App.4th 1616, 1624, if anyone cares to know] and suddenly, BAM, “Riley!” It felt like a piece of a jigsaw puzzle just glided seamlessly into place, completing a portion of a picture. No wonder my friends’ kids’ names of Kyden and Tyler always seemed to sort of resonate with me. I saw a “y” and a long “i” sound long ago. Plus, it’s one of the rare names that sounds good with Mr. W’s odd-sounding last name. So unless and until an even more perfect-feeling name comes up, hello, Riley! And Riley (well, his spirit anyhow) says hello to all of you!

I am loving this overcast slightly chilly weather! After SoCal reached 100 degrees Fahrenheit last week, and we spent Labor Day long weekend in Vegas last weekend where it heated to 106, this temp in the 70s is luxurious. It also made for the perfect running weather yesterday at lunch. We hit a 3-miler, which was great, because it earned me a guilt-free trip to True Food Kitchen for dinner.

A coworker had seen Dr. Andrew Weil’s (of the anti-inflammatory foods concept) restaurant venture on the news and knowing that Mr. W and I are health-foodies, given us the heads up. I looked up the Yelp reviews and was determined to go. This new branch at the open-air Fashion Island is only a month old, and reviewed at 4 and 5 stars, with a couple of fast-food hicks complaining about its portion size and what-not in barely coherent sentences giving it 1-2 stars (which reviews I disregarded). Knowing that Ann loves a certain Charlie Palmer restaurant/bar attached to Bloomingdale’s, I asked her if she’d like to meet for happy hour drinks at Charlie Palmer and then try out True Food Kitchen for dinner afterwards. Turned out True Food Kitchen doesn’t take reservations for groups under 8 people, and walk-ins have very long waits after 5:30 pm, and Ann had some logistics obstacles that made her unavailable that early, so I thought we resolved everything by arranging to have Ann meet us at Charlie Palmer AFTER Mr. W and I ate first at True Food Kitchen. Ann loves the food at Charlie Palmer and would like to eat there anyhow.

Mr. W and I got to True Food Kitchen right before 5:30p, and as promised by the hostess on the phone, we were seated right away. We walked by the fresh-smelling bar loaded with whole ginger, fruits, kale, and went to the patio seating in the nice sunny (but not hot!) evening, right up against the living plant wall. We had a hard time deciding what to order; the menu looked incredible. The waitress informed us that all ingredients are fresh, healthy and organic whenever possible, purchased from local farmers markets. The restaurant even purifies its own still and sparkling water! We started with a ginger margarita (made with fresh ginger they juice at the bar and limes, not mixers) for hubby, and an antioxidant fresh juice called the Medicine Man (Olivello Juice, Pomegranate Juice, Cranberry Juice, Black Tea, Soda Water & Muddled Blueberries, $6) for me. Hubby is now ruined as to all other drinks, he told me. This was my first experience with olivello juice, made from a highly nutritive sea berry, and it was delicious! Next we shared an herb hummus appetizer ($8). Coarsely ground and flavorful, which we enjoyed, tasting like a less-processed version of other hummus we’d had. Their house-made pita bread was fresh and soft. For entrees, he ordered the Omega-3 Spaghetti Puttanesca (cooked Ahi Tuna, Organic Tomatoes, Capers, Olives, Parmesan, $16) and I ordered the Roasted Garlic, Wild Mushroom & Tuscan Kale Pizza ($11). He was amazed at how flavorful his pasta was, and surprised at the unexpected perfect integration of fish in lieu of less healthy meatballs. As for my pizza, I think my eyes rolled back into my head and stayed there for a few minutes. It was THE most savory pizza I’d ever had, and I couldn’t believe it was healthy, the dough made of organic flour, spelt and flax seed.

I’d never thought of kale as a pizza topping, and it added terrific texture without robbing any of the taste from the wild ‘shrooms. Spinach couldn’t do that. People who complained about portion size, by the way, must be used to supersizing their burger meals and eating entire large fast food pizzas on their own. The sizes here were great, I had to take half of the 8-slice personal pizza home. (And I have it right here for lunch today, I can’t wait!) Dinner turned out so much better than our expectations that we gave dessert a try. I was curious about the lemon olive oil cake with Greek yogurt and strawberries, so I ordered it.

Couldn’t taste the olive oil, but it kept the lemon cake moist and saturated-fat-free. The yogurt wasn’t overly tart like I’d expected, but offset the cake and organic strawberries perfectly. The sauce isn’t syrup, but frothed strawberry puree. Light and delicious. Hubby ordered a flourless chocolate cake (78% cocoa, I think they wrote on the menu), which was topped with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, garnished with a generous sprinkling of cocoa nibs. The flourless cake was sitting in a small pool of caramel sauce. I thought it was great, the cake melted in my mouth, but hubby thought it was too sweet, not being a dessert fan. He WAS, however, extremely impressed with his organic coffee, which he had black, and it was rich and flavorful with no acidic aftertaste. Total damage given 2 drinks, 1 appetizer, 2 entrees, 2 desserts, 1 coffee: $74 including tax. Not bad!! The stuff was healthy fine dining in a casual clean and trendy environment. Where else can we find all this? The waitress was terrific, too. She was young (they all were), but very competent and knew the food and concept. She was also prompt, attentive, the food arrived dizzyingly fast, and I saw that she’d thoughtfully written on my leftover pizza box “Wild mushroom pizza, 9/8.” How many times have we dug thru our fridge and pulled out mystery boxes and said, “What the heck is in HERE? How long’s it been there? Why’s it so furry?”

Our outdoor dining seat faced Bloomingdale’s across the parking lot, so even though I couldn’t see Charlie Palmer restaurant from where we were, I knew it would be a short walk. I texted Ann as we were finishing dessert that we were nearly done and would be on our way to meet her soon. She texted back that she was leaving her house to Charlie Palmer. I confirmed with her that yes, Charlie Palmer is attached to Bloomie’s, and she soon texted that she was already there, and Mr. W and I started walking. We soon realized we were looking at a Bloomingdale’s Home Store and not the department store, so we entered the mall and checked the directory. A helpful concierge at this rich mall came by and asked if he could help us find our destination. I explained what were were looking for, and he seemed confused for a moment, then pointed us out the two glass doors on the other side, told us to go around the corner, and that the restaurant would be there by Bloomingdale’s department store, but that it was called 59th & Lex Cafe, not Charlie Palmer. I thanked him and walked off with hubby, saying, “Oh, I wonder why Ann’s always called it Charlie Palmer.” Maybe that’s the old name? Maybe the bar has a separate name from the restaurant, like Downtown Disney’s Catal and Uva Bar? We soon walked to Bloomie’s, and then around it, and then hit a parking lot. We went around to another side again. I was confused and called Ann.
“We’re lost, is there a separate story?” I asked her.
“What? Where are you?” she asked. I could hear other patrons happily buzzing in the background.
“We’re right in front of Bloomingdale’s, but we’ve walked around twice and can’t find it. We’re looking at a Yard House.”
“… Are you sure you’re at South Coast Plaza?”
!!! “…no…”
As Ann laughed at me, I wailed to Mr. W, “We’re at the wrong mall!!” These darn outdoor rich people’s malls have always been interchangeable to me. As he was feeling icky from a long weekend of bad eating in Vegas, he asked me to tell Ann we’re sorry we missed her, and that’s how we stood up my friend, Ann, who I now owe at least 2 drinks to for being a putz. I’m sorry, Ann!!

Happy 2 year birthday to our marriage! 5 years ago on this date, it was a long Labor Day Weekend. Mr. W took me on our first date kayaking around Balboa Island. He told me beforehand that I didn’t have to paddle, and I didn’t. He strained and worked behind me, and I sat in the front of the 2-man kayak watching people, boats and seals. We finally loaded up the kayak and hit up Balboa Island again a couple of weekends ago, and this time I pulled my weight. He was impressed that I appeared tireless. I’ve had lots of practice kayaking at our lake since we’d been married, that’s why. Ocean kayaking was slightly harder but not unmanageable.

And then 2 years ago, on this date, Mr. W and I threw a huge dinner party for our closest family and friends. It took a long time to plan, and it was pretty. Everyone, especially us, were dressed up. Oh, and somewhere in the middle of this party, we got married, too.

It took me this many attempts (5) to finally remember to wish him a happy annismurfsary on the morning of the day. I remembered on the way to work this morning.

Last night, we drove to Dana Point Harbor and met up with Maggie and Tom for dinner. They got married on the same day we did, and due to that (which Maggie and I were heartbroken to find out 2 years ago), neither could attend the other’s wedding. Of course we’d quickly gotten over it cuz there was wedding planning to do, and it makes for fun co-anniversary dinners now. The two of them were spending a few days re-honeymooning at the beach, which happened to be about 20 minutes from our house, so we selected a nice award-winning French restaurant with a compromise of surf (Maggie) and turf (Tom) within walking distance from their hotel. Gemmell’s was great! Hubby said his lemon almondine Dory fish was excellent, the escargot and shrimp scampi appetizers were unique and savory, Tom said his black peppercorn filet mignon was perfectly done, and my sea scallops were tastefully seared on the outside and soft and tender on the inside. And all the French sauces! The restaurant looked French-bistro-chic and quaint (although it wasn’t small), the ambiance romantic and cozy. The matronly French hostess/waitress was friendly and warm, and even surprised us afterwards with free anniversary dessert. Maggie and Tom got a blueberry tart, and we got a lemon tart. The photo above is Maggie and Tom’s tart because their photo came out better than mine. It was a very fun evening chatting, laughing, and fine-dining.

And just yesterday, hubby and I confirmed and paid for our upcoming European vacation. We fly into Venice for a weekend (staying at a converted castle in Venice), take a week-long cruise from Venice to the Greek Isles (hitting Bari, Italy; Olympia, Santorini, Mykonos, and Rhodes, Greece; then Dubrovnik, Croatia; finally returning to Venice), then we’re going to take the Eurostar train from Venice to Florence, stay there a night, visiting Pisa in the day, and then take the train to Rome for 4 nights, staying in a 4-star hotel within walking distance to the Colliseum, Spanish Steps, etc. After we come home, we’ll say hello to the baby-making process.

Yay!