Today I was thinking about my late business partner, Susan, while I trapped feral cats on a 50 acre water buffalo farm where they produce mozzarella in rural Marin County. Talk about farm fresh. As you’ve probably guessed, it’s uniqueness is evident. I mean, seriously, it’s where the buffalo roam. (And, I’m guessing, where the deer and the antelope play.)
Anywhere rural is bound to have feral cats. Like being in one of those revolving doors at fancy hotels, they tend to come and go. But not before we ensure they stop having kittens. Still, that’s a tall order to fill when, if we miss 2 cats of the opposite sex, well, there ya go.
Since I’m still in a vacation coma, having returned early this morning, here’s an encore post from 2013. Seems apropos since it’s about Sharon, whom I just vacationed with. Hope you enjoy it!
Our first team, Peter’s Formal Wear
The game of softball will always be special to me because that’s where I first came to know Sharon. Even though we grew up on the same street, it took years for us to connect.
As a tomboy, I lived to play baseball in the streets of our suburban home in Marin County. The boys and I dodged parked cars as we ran for fly balls; the manhole cover in front of the Brodnik’s house was our permanent second base. Continue reading
Every year in March my tennis friends and I head down to Palm Desert for the BNP Paribas professional tennis tournament. All the biggies are there; the best of the tennis world. It’s like attending a Grand Slam but only an hour flight from home. Yep, 6 glorious days of sun, fun, food, drinking, shopping, swimming, hot tubbing and of course, tennis.
With work and having 8 animals, I don’t get away too often. So when March rolls around, I get desert fever. But as soon as I pull out my suitcase, my dogs go into moping mode, lying on the bed watching forlornly while I pack.
My mutts are no dummies. They know when I’m leaving so might very well benefit from anti-depressants mixed in with their kibble. Instead, I try to trick them by packing when they’re not around. Now don’t get me wrong; they still seem to sense it. Like I said…they’re no dummies.
She’s leaving, isn’t she?
I guess you could say my Christmas spirit was missing in action this year. Now don’t get me wrong. It’s not like me to forgo decorating with enough holiday decor that borders on being embarrassing. However, I was swamped with work so finding time (and the gumption) to drag everything from the shed was rather daunting. So I skipped it, other than placing a wreath on the front door, giving the illusion I’m festive.Normally I invite my 10 besties over for a tree decorating party in early December. We eat, drink and are consequently quite merry. Karen hangs the lights because she does it best. The gals hang most of the ornaments, yelling at me to “Come help us!” That’s because I’m usually busy gabbing. Dinner is just a ruse to lure them over. I’m like Tom Sawyer, only instead of painting my fence, they decorate my tree. But this year I gave them a reprieve. Continue reading
Last week some friends and I attended my godson’s baseball game (an independent professional team) at Albert Park in San Rafael. Being there was a trip down memory lane. Thirty-one years ago these same friends and I stepped off the adjoining field for the last time after playing fast-pitch softball for 10 years. When we formed the team I was the old lady of the group at age 20. Little did we know then what fun times awaited.
Sitting there watching Martin play brought back many fond memories. Insert music here: Memories, light the corners of my mind, misty water-colored memories of the way we were. Okay, enough of that. Suffice to say those 10 years together stretched into 40. And we’re still going strong.
A few of the originals