I meant to post a big Christmas story, but first I was sick (like too sick to even knit, read or watch TV) and then Simons was sick, and then I brained myself while skiing, and then for New Years, Beulah ate about a bucket of sand and now she’s sick too. What a charming family we are.

Hacking and sniffling and concussions and wretchedness aside, it’s been a pretty amazing holiday. Tahoe looked like this

and this

and this.

Not bad. We met my friend Cira up at the world’s most fabulous cabin for five days of feasting and champagne sipping and blizzards. The entire place was festooned with cuddling, snoring dogs, since Cira has three of them, and for once, we were with Pants on her birthday (Christmas Eve). We even had a tree!

New Years was also fab. Kristin, Moose, SVV and I had a big Christmas tree burn at Ocean Beach, complete with hot dogs on sticks, s’mores and a whole lotta bourbon.

We had such a forest of fuel, hoards of hippies kept coming by to ask when we were lighting them up, and flocked around with drums and guitars and flutes at the stroke of midnight. They even did the chicken dance (why do hippies dance like chickens?). Nothing burns like Christmas.

This photo looks a little like we should have been wearing white hoods, but remember, this is San Francisco…
So now I have to do my big New Years Resolutions recap.  I’ve marked them all as O’s for Passes and X’s for Fails. I’m happy to report that in 2008, I achieved 86 out of 149, and sadly failed at 63. A few were solved by moving to Hayes Valley last March, so I didn’t bother counting those.

NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTIONS 2008

FAMILY and FRIENDS
O. Be more grateful for the friends and family that I have

X. Learn how to stop giving advice all the time
O. Be a better listener
O. Remember birthdays
O. Give presents/cards on time
X. Write Christmas and birthday thank you notes on time
O. Be a good godmother- visits, presents, cards, letters, handknits
O. Be a good aunt- more visits, babysit, cards, letters, handknits

O. Go to more events of an educational nature (walking tours, lectures, CalAcademy)
X. Make a good California CD for friends
O. Write three letters to friends each week (at least for part of the year)
O. Knit things for friends with babies

X. Knit all Christmas gifts before Thanksgiving
O. Send all holiday cards before Thanksgiving
Tally: 10 O’s, 4 X’s

COOKING
O. Use a cookbook at least once a week
O. Bake something once every other week.

O. Use more whole grains
X. Learn better food presentation
X. Make herb cubes for cooking
O. Learn to make consommé
X. Find a good dim sum place
X. Make my own cookbook
X. Write down wines that we like
O. Keep track of new cheeses we try

O. Keep entertaining journal
O. Spend less money on food
O. Meal plan
O. Eat more vegetarian meals
O. Wine taste at a new vineyard every time we go to Sonoma

X. Make paella
X. Take a cooking class
O. Learn to can, pickle, preserve

O. Take a cheese class (sent Simons on one anyways)
O. Try new ingredients
O. Go to Japanese tea garden

X. Once a month, pick a country and learn to cook a dish from there.
Tally: 14 O’s, 8 X’s

BODY & MIND
X. Go to church twice a month (this only lasted two months)
O. Pray more even when I don’t need something
X. Have better time management
X. Memorize one poem a month
X. Eat more slowly
X. Stop swearing
X. Learn Sanskrit yoga terms
O. Be a calmer driver
O. Do South Beach from Jan 4-Jan 24.
X. Use hand weights
O. Floss (sort of)
X. Figure out Invisiline or get stupid tray nubs removed
O. Go to dentist by end of January
O. Fix bike (Got rid of that one, borrowed another and did a tri)
O. Be totally involved as a TNT mentor
X. Beat marathon time by 30 minutes

O. Run in at least two short races this year (Nike half, Mt Tam 10K, Angel Island)
X. Use running podcasts
O. Ice knees after long runs
X. Go to yoga at least once a week
X. Learn to do a backbend
X. Drink at least 2 L of water per day
O. Eat at least two vegetables per day
O. Be very vigilant about not getting sinus infections
O. Take better care of my skin
O. Use sunscreen every day
O. Go hiking at least twice a month
X. Keep a dream journal by bed
O. Read 52 books, that’s one a week. No “chick lit”
X. Keep a reading journal. Write down a bit about each in a notebook, maybe summarize the plot or quote bits from the text
X. Improve Italian, French, Spanish (I did listen to my French podcast while housecleaning)
X. Learn how to order food in Chinese
Tally: 15 O’s, 17 X’s

HOME
X. Frame Black and White photos of family
X. Frame wedding photos
X. Take some B&W photos of Simons and me
72. Paint kitchen (moved so moot)
O. Organize scrapbook stuff and letters- put all in one box
O. Organize possessions more attractively
O. Learn how to make photo books with iPhoto
O. Paint shelves
X. Figure out what to do with junk that I find (sea glass, shells, rocks, etc)
Tally: 4 O’s, 4 X’s

WORK & TECH
O. Get website up
X. Write one pitch letter a week
O. Look at grad school opportunities
X. Post at least twice a week
X. Take a photography class
X. Learn about podcasting
O. Get Skype
X. Pitch personal essay every month
X. Get favorite book back from SK, evil book poacher
X. Write more fiction and have personal story published
X. Enter at least four writing competitions
X. Learn all current computer programs
O. Keep better track of clips
X. Be vigilant about deadlines
O. Join at least one work organization
O. Learn how to put video on blog
Tally: 6 O’s, 10 X’s

RETAIL
O. Buy an iPod
O. Buy a new digital camera or get old one fixed
X. Get a micro lens for old camera
O. Buy a new TV
O. Get cable
Tally: 4 O’s, 1 X

MONEY
O. Do something with Charleston house
X. Start saving 10%
O. Figure out self employment tax
X. Contribute monthly to IRA
103. Figure out insurance from 2005
O. Pay bills on time and figure out a good system
X. Start an HSA
X. Plan to get rid of debt
X. Learn about investing
X. Have more money in savings than I do in checking
O. Learn how I spend the most money and try to cut costs in those areas
O. Make a budget and come up with some goals
O. Plan a really good trip and start saving
Tally: 6 O’s, 6 X’s

FUN
X. Go bowling
X. Go see a movie and go out to eat a nice dinner by myself at least once
X. Go see some SF Film Society movies

O. Take the ferry
X. Join the MoMA or deYoung
X. Document our life in San Francisco
X. Find a drive-in movie theatre
X. Get a mani-pedi at least once every other month
O. Go fruit picking
O. Go to the opera at least once
O. Go to the ballet at least once
O. Go to the theatre at least three times
X. Have a drink at the Mark Cross
O. Use SF travel guide to plan fun monthly excursions
O. Understand blocking
O. Knit two sweaters this year
O. Go on yarn diet
O. Complete all current projects by April (two sweaters, three scarves, mittens, intarsia bag)
X. Learn Continental knitting
X. Relearn entrelac
O. Learn how to felt

O. Learn color knitting
O. Go to one knitting group a week
O. Knit something for myself
Tally: 14 O’s, 10 X’s

LOVE
X. Make another sweater for Simons
O. Listen more and think of responses less
O. Plan one romantic thing each week
O. Take some local trips to B&Bs, National Trust sites, parks
O. Go backpacking/skiing/snowshoeing together
X. Think before I speak when I’m mad
O. Try to honor him as I promised
O. Remember his small kindnesses

O. Forget my small grievances
O. Take more picnics
X. Plan a surprise surfing trip for him, with small clues leading up to the weekend
O. Try to keep my stuff more organized so it doesn’t fill up the house and stress him out.
O. Go stargazing on the roof (moved, so no rooftop, but we did spot constellations in Desolation)
O. Plan some full moon trips
O. Finish Our First Year of Marriage book (done!)

O. Knit Simons some socks, because socks mean love.
Tally: 13 O’s, 3 X’s

What an absolute shambles of a Thanksgiving. How was yours?

I cooked a veritable feast for 12 at Helen and Matt’s beautiful house with the fancy dining room table and pretty dishes with chocolate turkeys at each place setting, and everyone was so lovely…at the beginning. But we failed to communicate the proper temperature for a turkey, so while I finished cooking the pies at home, Simons dropped it off, all wrapped and larded and herbed (Honey, just close your eyes and think of England), and Helen and Matt set the oven for 200 degrees, which is a very fine temperature for making…ohhhh, let’s say jerkey if you have two days. So the goddamn 18-lb bird took 6 hours and then stayed at 160 for an hour, so Simons finally waved a white flag and decreed him Cooked. But by then, everyone had lost their buzz and was lolling around on the floor feasting on the pets and children, growling and snapping at one another, and then my Special Time happened and that made me sad and crampy and cranky, and if one more fucking person said, “You look tired,” I was going to assassinate them with a turkey baster through the eye, and no one liked each other anymore by the time dinner came out, and the hostess went to bed, and a highstrung gay dude yelled at me, Matt and Helen’s dog bit our friend SVV, the dressing was kind of raw, and everyone just wanted to go home and nap and did not eat any pie. I spent most of the evening sitting on the marble kitchen tiles, where it was cool, clutching at the turkey thermometer, willing it to cook.

There were some fun moments.

K from Camels and Chocolate brought eyebrows.

Her handsome manfriend, SVV, brought the funny. I think my favorite thing about the whole day was him looking mournfully at his scratched hands and saying sadly, “Cats are sharp.”

Moose rallied for Second Thanksgiving but ultimately passed out in the living room, which is always amusing. She was very elegant about it, like a Victorian heroine requiring a fainting couch.

And during Hour Five of the Infinite Thanksgiving, Matt finally went upstairs to use the neighbor’s oven. They were out of town and allowing some friends’ grandparents to stay there, and since they were out to supper, we figured they wouldn’t begrudge us the use of an oven. And Matt said he put a note on the door. Apparently, a woman’s idea of a proper note and a man’s are ENTIRELY different. Because if you were an old couple staying in the big city and came home and found this on your door, wouldn’t you be a little, I don’t know, ALARMED?

 Anyway, if anything, I have learned that even if people have to eat off their knees, it’s always easier to cook in your own kitchen. It’s hard to bring a lot of strangers together under one roof and still get to talk to everyone. And never buy a turkey over 16 pounds.

Tthanks to Camels and Chocolate for the photo poaching. Somehow I went the whole day without taking any photos. Funny, that.

It’s cooking time around here. What started out as an intimate dinner for six has burgeoned (I don’t like that word) into a multi-course feast for twelve. I have been errand running, cleaning and grocery buying until hell won’t have it, most of which has turned out to be useless seeing as how the crowd has forced a migration to a fancy house with an actual dining room. Imagine it, People. Actual AIR circulating around everyone while they eat! Off of a table and not their knees! Our newlywed friends Matt and Helen have generously donated their home for The Fattening, Part 32. At least Amanda gets to enjoy the fresh smelling house, since she has flown all the way from Hotlanta to have turkeytime with us.

We will be having:
Butternut Squash and Apple Soup
Molasses and Cider Brined Heirloom Turkey Bird
Mom’s Dressing (not to be confused with stuffing, which is just wrong)
Roasted Mushroom and Barley Gravy
Sweet Potato Biscuits with/out Ham
Mac and Cheese Casserole
Shrimp Pie
Cranberry Relish
Brussel Sprouts with Shallots
Gingered Green Beans
Pecan and Pumpkin Pies (because it’s just not Thanksgiving without elastic waistbands)

I’m pretty sure everyone will be bringing wine, so the cook will be properly basted (but hopefully not marinated). Sweetly, my daddy mailed us a turkey since we wouldn’t be in Charleston for the holiday. Well, he didn’t shoot it or anything (their bird is “wild caught”) but he got Dean & Deluca to do it for him, and it was awfully fine to accept the package from the UPS man.

He also sent me something else that he found while sifting through some old books. Now, you have to understand, that in my house, everything is kept, and never thrown away. This is not for sentimental reasons. And it’s not because my parents are necessarily packrats. It’s to embarrass us when we are old. I think this is because Daddy studied psychology and likes to get maximum torture benefits from his early parenting techniques. Whenever we were in trouble, from the time we were old enough to hold a pen until the day I went off to college, my sister’s and my transgressions required essays.

“How my life interfaces with speed” was for speeding tickets 1-16 (No, seriously).

“Why I feel the need to break curfew,” was for my first day of curfew, which my boyfriend, who is now an Episcopalian minister, missed by 15 minutes because the damn Ben Sawyer bridge was open. We were at his grandmother’s birthday for Pete’s sake!

“How my temper will get me into trouble,” was for when my sailing instructors let a beginner borrow my Sunfish and he ripped the sail.

I especially remember scraping my way out of the hundred page essay on the criminal repercussions of smoking pot while driving by chopping off the end of my big toe on a Samsonite suitcase. It wasn’t on purpose, but it certainly came in handy.

Sometimes spankings were involved too, but personally, I’d rather have a beating any day than write a 5-page essay on why I feel the need to say “crap” in front on my dad.

Unfortunately, he has tucked these away inside various books and drawers, to be pulled out and read with much jocularity on the part of the audience, since they are filled with what my dad calls, “self righteous BS.” In not a single one of these essays did I admit to anything. Mostly they are filler, with big writing and lots of situational description.

Apparently I started early. Daddy recently found and scanned a Thanksgiving composition I wrote when I was four, complete with 500 “very’s” and floating heart filler. Apparently our Yankee kindergarten teacher had been explaining the meaning of togetherness and family and “kin,” which is a word I don’t think I’d used before or since, but wrote many, many, many times that day. Also, apparently I lied on my pumpkin pie post last month when I said we’d never had it. But I don’t think it counts, because I don’t remember it. Probably the same teacher said that’s what a proper feast entails, and feeling deprived and uncool with mere pecan pie, I lied to conform.


Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

Today I have lost my keys.

Again.

For the second time in a week.

Although I have high hopes that they’re somewhere in the car.

Maybe not though.

Simons may divorce me.

Last week I dropped them in the dogpark.

The big one.

I searched for two and a half hours.

And then walked to Simons’ office, which is far.

Really far.

Really, really far.

It was 4:00 by the time I got there.

I was starving,

mainly because I assumed I’d be able to  eat a late breakfast after the dogpark.

So instead of being annoyed that I lost my keys,

he bought me a sandwich.

This time, though…

Every time I want to go outside,

I have to hop the fence.

I bet the neighbors call the cops.

Then Simons will have to bail me out of prison.

Or maybe he WON’T.

We got in last night from our ultra marathon in Sacramento. And it was the COOLEST! Kelsey totally astounds me, running the last ten miles as steadily as the first, and with no stabbing, maiming or screaming. I always stab, maim and scream on my long races.

Team KeSaGaMo had a great time, going for an excellent dinner at Piatti’s (ravioli with lemon cream was probably not on a healthy diet plan, but dayum, was it good) with a fine bottle of Frank Family Zinfandel and delicious fig bruscetta. Carb loading has never been so fun, no offense to the boiled pasta/plastic parties with TNT. We decorated our shirts, traded Gu and energy capsules and powerbars and anti-inflammatories. It was like our own private race expo.

Kelsey, Sarah, Monique and Gayle. (Be nice, it was 6:30 a.m.)

The first leggers, Kelsey and I, clawed our way out from under the covers to  start the latte prep. Yes, I brought my own espresso maker and don’t knock it. Two doubles later, we were both unbearably perky when Gayle and Monique came squinting into our room to dump their bags. The trusty iPhone lead us to the start, down by the American River. The sun came up just as we pulled into the park, and we followed the stream of weirdos in funny hats, stretching and wearing shorts in the chilly grey dawn. It was the calmest race start I’ve ever seen, with no megaphones or sponsor tents or obnoxious warm up routines. Just a lot of very sinewy people of all ages and really nice running shoes.

At the start

Kelsey and I started, running the first 12 miles over gorgeous hilly bike trails. Coming from San Francisco, home of the outraged self-righteous (no offense, really, I’m as guilty as anyone), the Sacramentans were super friendly, calling out good luck and good morning as we ran by–even the cyclists who will just run you over and spit on your corpse in the Bay Area. People kept asking how far we were running, and I’d point at Kelsey, “SHE is running 31.5 miles.” Everyone seemed rightly impressed. There were hummingbirds and Peregrines, and we were having such a good time and a good chat, that it shocked the hell out of me when we got to the aid station and met up with Gayle and Monique.

 The view

Cleverly, we had all our own energy drinks, so we didn’t have to rely on the nasty Hammer drink (the red is ever so much more palatable than the yellow-clear).  Kelsey hada cooler with pre-mixed bottles, and baggies for each leg of the course, some with pretzels, advil and Gu. Some with chopped PowerBar and peanut butter pretzels. And her support crew had it all under control. In no time, she was zooming off for the KeGa portion of her trip.

Leg Two: Kelsey and Gayle

Monique and I went off in search of more coffee, saw an enormous coyote, chatted with the race staff, watched the flyfishermen in the river, and waited until we saw Gayle’s fiery red hair come zooming up the hill to finish their second leg. Kelsey looked as happy and calm as she did at the beginning, and was maintaining a steady 10.5-minute mile. She grabbed Monique and off they went for the third and final leg of the ultra. Go, KeMo!

Gayle and I found Discovery Park with only about 100 illegal U-Turns, since neither of us has Monique’s mad navigational skilz. The finish was right next to the archery range, where we suspect they dispatched the whiners and non-finishers. For about an hour, we basked in the sun, shared a beer and ate Red Vines until all of a sudden, we could see two tiny figures in the distance, and jumped up to hoot and holler. They both looked pretty pleased to be crossing the finish line.

FINISH!

Apparently Kelsey had gotten “runner’s stupidity” at one point, which is where you can’t figure out how much longer you have to go. Seriously, you get to 20 miles, and you’re all, “Okay I have 6 miles to go and I’m running a 10 minutes pace, so that means I’ll finish in…um, blue?” She was 100 yards from the finish and convinced she still had an hour to go and refused to believe Monique until she saw the finish line. Plus, idiots had been telling them they were “almost there” for the past two miles, which SEEMS like a nice thing to say to a distance runner, but, it is NOT. Until you are AT the finish line, you are NOT almost anywhere. We were joking that the nicest thing to see on a marathon is some deadpan, non-cheering person with a sign that says, “This really sucks. Keep running.”

Beer: Better than a Medal

We had a cooler of cold beers waiting, with lots of snacks. Good thing too, because Troy, the super hot nice race director had expected it to be freezing cold. Instead it was 78 degrees and the finish tent was serving canned chili and cocoa. What the…? “Why yes, I’ve just run 30+ miles and would love a steaming pile of hot acid and beans for my tender stomach. That sounds delish!”

Team KeSaGaMo

We got our champion back to the hotel, put her on ice for 30 minutes and plied her with advil and more beer. We were so late checking out, the maid was waiting outside the door putting hexes on our unborn children. The drive home was hilarious, since all of us were drunk with endorphins (and some of us, just drunk) and admiring our shiny medals.

Home Again, Next Year’s Champions

And believe it or now, we all decided to run the whole thing again next year. Anyone want to be our support bitches?

I’m actually packing for a trip outta town with my girls, Gayle, Monique and Kelsey, now otherwise known as Team KeSaGaMo, for the Run the River Ultra Marathon in Sacramento. How ridiculous is it to be excited to go to Sacramento? THAT is how desperate I am for a trip!

Naturally, I left everything to the last. I am just now rooting out my Body Glide, contemplating taking my espresso machine–I mean, wouldn’t you?–and the iron for our singlet signs. I haven’t gassed or washed the car. The dog needs a walk. I’m under deadline for a project that is just going to have to wait.

Kelsey is the crazy one, running the entire 31+ miles. The rest of us couldn’t bear the thought of her running it alone and signed up to relay it with her.

I’m the slower, chatty one, so i’m going first. We figured if I kept blabbing away to her at mile 28, she might stab me through the eyes and eat my brain. I know I would. Then Gayle is the fastest, so she was forbidden from starting in case she wore Kelsey out with a sprint beginning. She gets the middle. And Monique is steady and patient and quietly witty, so she gets the last leg. She also hasn’t done many long runs since her Alaska marathon in early July, so the two of them can stagger in together. Although to tell you the truth, I think I’m in less shape than any of them, thanks to my need to overfeed Simons and recent, er, bulking up. It’s really unfair.

But wish us luck. Three cheers for Team Kesagamo!

So a few nights ago, I dreamed that I had a monstrous monobrow…the crazy scientist kind with antennae sproinging off in all directions, like any second now they’ll weave a cocoon and metamorphose, like I should have detachable big nose and glasses to match and chew a cigar. I suspect it was because I was reading Frida Kahlo’s biography before I went to bed, but there’s really no telling, seeing as how my useless dream dictionary does not see fit to include “MONOBROW!” And then I also dreamed (on a whole separate occasion) that I walked blearily into the bathroom one morning, looked squint-eyed into the mirror and began to shave. My face.

What is UP with the bizarro facial hair dreams? Friends, do I have some errand whiskers that you have been kindly (pityingly) ignoring? I WANT ANSWERS!

To my delight/horror (you’ll see why), I received a mystery package in the mail from Drugstore.com which contained candy (wait for it), a new Venus razor, and two pairs of the fanciest tweezers in the universe complete with pink leather case (I mean I could do surgery with these tweezers). There was no card, no packing slip, no return address. Wha??? Clearly Drugstore.com is invading MY MIND!

Thank freaking GOD, it wasn’t my radio-frequency implant, but only that my sister, Melissa, and I are deeply attuned across the space-whisker continuum. She gave me a call after church on Sunday and asked whether I’d received a little prezzie she’d purchased while pretending to work one afternoon.

I’m obsessed with plucking my eyebrows (ironic), and it always seems like whenever I’m late for a meeting or a deadline or to catch the train, I suddenly NOTICE them and freak. So whenever I go to my sister’s house (she has one of those magnifying mirrors), she’s always shrieking at me for borrowing her tweezers (purloining) and that a razor is intended to be disposable so there is no excuse for mine growing moss and tetanus. I think sisters are there for lecturing you about unfashionable jeans and suspect hygiene. And for suddenly getting the ear twitches across the country and saying, “Hark! My wicked stepsister thinks she’s Frida!” Cue the Batman music.

And just in time too. I was ready to resort to my new ski hat.

Beulah Voted

What a day! What a day for America! For the first time in eight very long discouraging years, I’m both proud and humbled to be an American. And yes, I know how mawkish and sentimental that sounds, and I don’t care. Everywhere, people were excited, out en masse with their sparkly I Voted stickers, standing in lines, high fiving each other, running around the Mission waving American flags and gay flags and peace flags, wearing no clothes… you have to love the Mission.

I spent the whole evening refreshing CNN like a trained monkey and gnawing my fingernails down to my elbows and eating everything that would hold still. Simons was off to Little Star fetching pizza (since I’d eaten everything else) when suddenly the electoral vote numbers jumped from around 200 to 300. I don’t know about you, but the last two elections, NOTHING happened that fast, so I was deeply confused. Galloping madly around searching for the remote, I flipped on ABC and saw Chicago doing the funky chicken, Kenya doing the electric boogaloo, and all of a sudden, all hell broke loose down the street with cars honking and firecrackers and Simons said one guy was running around clanging pots over his head.

Awesome.

Moose came over and swilled champagne. We called May and Holly and screeched and cackled and congratulated each other and snuffled starry-eyed at Obama’s acceptance speech. Some pundit said afterwards that it wasn’t very passionate. I’m sorry, but WHAT IS HE TALKING ABOUT? It made me want to learn to fly. I didn’t cry because America elected a black man. I didn’t cry because a Democrat is finally back in the White House. I cried because together we elected THIS man, this inspiring, honest and good man.

Later on, in our pjs, Simons and I rewound it and watched his speech again. It felt like those times when it’s peaceful and quiet in front of the Christmas tree, when everything seems hopeful and right.

And I spent all of yesterday reading the Times and weeping, in a good way, and writing impassioned letters to the editor and generally feeling like God was doing His own Supreme Booty Dance in the sky. Alright, alright. Way to go, America.

Guess what Simons and I did this weekend!
Nothing, that’s what. Poor lamb had to work every stinking day until nine o’clock. How much does that suck? We were supposed to go to Sonoma yesterday, lolling peaceably on a dappled picnic blanket with our friends, Matt and Helen, while Beulah made eyes at her boyfriend Stanley. Alas, burbling into our wine on a sunlit afternoon was not to be. Am I bitter?
Cat got an ass?
However, during the two hours he was actually present during the weekend, aforementioned husband was extraordinarily charming and dimply. For instance, Friday morning, I was typing away at my computer while Simons took his shower. Suddenly, I sat up a little straighter. Someone was singing. A song. A song about a chicken sandwich.
Peeping my head around the shower curtain, I said, “What’s that you’re singing?”
“It’s a song to my chicken sandwich, so I don’t forget to pack my lunch. It goes, ‘Chicken a la king…exchanging glances….delicious sandwich, how I love you…I will eat you…TODAAAAY!’” There were other lines too. Later, he made me coffee with jellyfish-shaped latte foam. I bet your significant other can’t do jellyfish-shaped foam.
Saturday, I dragged him out of his office into the sparkling San Francisco afternoon to hit the cheese festival on Polk Street. Free cheese. Gotdamn, this is a great city.

While Beulah mopped up discarded crumbles of goat cheese from the sidewalk (there’s something particularly wretched about watching a dog lick a dirty sidewalk), Simons went inside Cheese Plus to buy lunch before heading back to the office. He came back out and offered me a bite.
I said, “What kind of sandwich is it?”
“Just a grilled cheese.”
“But it’s Fancy Grilled Cheese.”
And he said, “Nah, not really. It’s just Gruyere.”
I bet not one man in 20 knows the freaking difference between Kraft singles and a slice of Gruyere, but here’s Simons lamenting that his sandwich isn’t fancy enough.

We tried this Dutch cheese called Prima Donna, and I swear I heard a chorus of angels harmonizing over my shoulder. And I bought some of this, which won the Jam of the West award last year.

Jam of the West is a title I can get into. It sounds so frontier-like. I like that word. Jams. Jammy. Jammy jams. Remember when we used to wear jams in grade school?
Good thing I got to see Simons for that full hour on Saturday, because by Sunday, I’d forgotten what he looked like and had remarried a hot Spanish guy with a trust fund. Simons called at 8:30 to say he was on his way home, and I said, “Who?”
He was greeted at the door by a frenzy of exotic cooking smells, having thrown myself into a rampage of wifeliness, a pillar of haus frau virtue and forbearance. I cleaned, I baked, I washed, I beat the dog for getting into the compost, all after waking up before dawn to cure cancer. I have tinkered and fiddled, mixed and mashed, roasted and stirred, and have finally come up with an extremely delicious pumpkin bread recipe.

Spiced Pumpkin Loaves
Makes two. Serve one of these loaves the day you make them. Wrap the other in foil and freeze up to one month.

Ingredients
3/4 cup sugar
3/4 cup packed brown sugar
1/2 cup butter
1/2 cup lowfat sour cream
3 large eggs
1 16-ounce can solid pack pumpkin or one small roasted pie pumpkin, pureed
3 cups bread flour
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1 teaspoon ginger
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1 cup coarsely chopped walnuts, crystallized ginger or raisins (optional)

Preparation
Preheat oven to 350°F. Butter and flour two 9×5x3-inch loaf pans. Beat sugars, butter and sour cream in large bowl to blend. Mix in eggs and pumpkin. Sift flour, cloves, cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, baking soda, salt and baking powder into another large bowl. Stir into pumpkin mixture in 2 additions. Mix in walnuts, crystallized ginger or raisins, if desired.

Divide batter equally between prepared pans. Bake until tester inserted into center comes out clean, about 1 hour 10 minutes. Transfer to racks and cool 10 minutes. Using sharp knife, cut around edge of loaves. Turn loaves out onto racks and cool completely.

And ladies and gentleman, I may change my name to Pusher, since I have now proudly converted Moose here to the fine addiction of knitting. “First ball’s free.” Here she is on her very first foray into the lushly colored opium den of the LYS (little yarn shop). Doesn’t she look proud? Don’t you think a future life of poverty and zenny contemplation suits her?