ALL THE PRETTY KIDS.
We baked our Parsley cake this morning. It is possibly the best cake I have ever tasted. All herby and minty and moist and sweet. Favorite new recipe. Favorite old recipe. Scott and I took a drive out to Point Loma for a look out over the bay and the city and the surrounding golden sunny mellow place. How perfect it is.
I have this suspicion that there are poor and sad and dying and sick and corrupt and murderous people here. The thing is…in Southern California that all gets obscured by the mellow environment and Golden State mythology.
Forgot to take pictures of today’s lunch. Must be time to go back to New Mexico where my luncheon food is an Activia and gluten-free crackers and the view out the window is … well if it’s my office there is no window, if my apartment it’s the nondescript house across the street.
This is why people love holidays. It is not that our regular lives are awful, in fact I quite like mine. But there needs to be downtime. And, while some holidays are about exploring, some are about just escaping the routine. About naps and craft beer and lamb tacos at lunch under a waving palm frond. Or at least there was that waving palm frond right outside the restaurant but all the tables were occupied. Holidays with family whom you do not see every day are the best because, if you’re a family elder, you get pampered a bit. Having that family living in everybody’s dream destination doesn’t hurt. And I like this grown grandchildren version a lot. Separate time with each…new tales from the young-side of college/job/roommate/boyfriend/girlfriend adventures…no new tales from the older generation, all just lovely idle chat, semi-healthy snacks, walks and naps. Back in the old days we had to go to child-friendly restaurants (never a gourmet experience) and get the kiddies tucked in early. Now we can go to bed even earlier without any prompting!
Saturday evening and the family is out eating…I played my crotchety granny card and refused to go. Couple of beers and meat sandwiches for lunch with Scott is as far as my sociability can stretch today. Teresa and Steven and their friends are down from LA with their personal and work buddies, a lovely bunch of smart, ambitious and awesome kids. I am anxious to hang out with them in the morning but afraid I’ve aged out of spending time in a noisy Mexican restaurant in the Gaslamp District with much beer and raucous chatter. The kids were in a 24 hour relay race starting in LA sometime yesterday; they’ve each had three or four hours of sleep and are planning a night of partying. What a splendid but exhausting condition—to be young.