Her plane is in the air, I can’t wait!

One of the things Whole Foods is good for is allergy-friendly food. I picked up a number of her favorites.

I found it. Yes! They had a dairy-free chocolate hazelnut spread. I debated on various cream substitutes for the rest of the ice cream batch I was plotting but realized I’d better let her tell me her preferences first.

You have to read every ingredient every time. Manufacturers make changes all the time.

The tired clerk looked like he was just counting the minutes till his shift was over and he could get out of there as he rang my stuff up.

I looked at the conveyer belt as he started to bag it up and told him, My daughter’s flying in from Boston tonight. So: all the chocolate!

He laughed and he looked at me with joy for my joy that I was going to get to see her. He was young but old enough to really know comings-home. It made his day, and that made mine: it was one of those moments that takes you by surprise and almost takes your breath away because all the sudden the love is right there, totally out in the open, we were strangers no more.

I told him Thank you! as I headed out of the store.

Richard’s reaction to the New York Times article about Andy’s farm turning into housing was the same as my initial one: Go. Go now. Everybody will want to.

I said, But I’m going tomorrow with Holly, but he and I both still felt it–Go! The place will be cleaned out.

I hopped right in the car and went.

She loves figs like I love peaches and the figs were on, along with the last of the nectarines and plums; from her house we are more than halfway to Andy’s and she wanted to see the place while it was still there. Her husband had a meeting in our town today. What’s an extra ninety minutes on the road at that point?

Cool, we’ll have a great time!

You never know though how plans will actually work out and they had a long drive ahead of them. I was standing in Andy’s farm store thinking about roasting figs and saving them in the freezer as an ingredient in winter, ready to go, and how good those have been to have. You never know. The figs will still be on next week, I’ll still be making my weekly trek. I don’t need a lot of them right now, I started to brush it away. One should be plenty for now. I’ll be right back tomorrow.

The thought persisted, hard, you never know.

So I brought home not one box for us but three: Exel, Tiger aka Panachee aka Panache depending on who’s doing the spelling, and Black Madeira. The descriptions of Black Madeira on the Fig Forum were so good that I actually bought a scion once but did not succeed at rooting it. I got a bit of leaf out of it before it died.

It was ten bucks. If I’d been serious about it I’d have bought a started tree but I knew I had no room for that.

So what actually happened: traffic was horrible and they were stuck in it for an extra hour and by the time she’d dropped him off across town, the idea of getting back in the car for another ninety, when we could just sit and talk and for me to be able to hear with no traffic noise…

And there were her figs all ready and waiting. Or mostly. One each of the Black Madeira and the Tiger had been sampled by then, because hey, we were going to go to Andy’s together the next afternoon. The one Delicioso plum she let me add to them hoped to make up for it.

Dr. Rachel Remen passed away on Saturday.

Kitchen Table Wisdom. My Grandfather’s Blessings. Two of the most important books I’ve ever read, and I recommend them to anyone and everyone.

She went to bed in her college dorm room one night and woke up six months later after a coma from blood loss, her first sign of Crohn’s disease. She made it through not just college but medical school after that.

She got offered head of pediatrics at Stanford, her dream job–but turned it down after seeing how they treated one of her young patients. She was determined to alter the culture of medicine for the better since she knew it well from the patient side as well as the professional. People went into it to be helpers but the process stomped the empathy right out of them. That had to change.

I have lived long enough and been a patient long enough to feel it is fair to say she succeeded at that.

A memory: meeting up with a man I grew up with since third grade after finding out he lives here–and realizing as he told me his story that he was in one of her stories, it all matched up, though you’d never be able to figure it out just from what she wrote. His dad and Rachel were old friends. She counseled the son when he was ready to walk away from medicine and helped him instead become a great doctor by working through his pain with him, to see that his compassion was the very strength that his pain was making visible. I have long been grateful to her for that.

She gave a reading at a local independent bookseller sometime in the early 90’s from her book, “My Grandfather’s Blessings” and then took questions from the crowd. I wrote about that here.

For those with long memories, Don Meyer was an elderly friend who used to comment on my blog all the time. Before he went into hospice, he had a visiting med student from UCSF attending to him once a week, they had some program going, I’m not sure of the details. But: Don got chatting to him about Dr. Remen and the young man said with great pride that she was one of his professors.

So through that avenue I sent a request that offered context to the evening at Kepler’s as to who I was, wondering whether Dr. Remen would like a lace shawl knit just for her?

It wasn’t going to be a wedding ring shawl–those take months on tiny needles and I didn’t know how long Don would be getting those visits–but fingering weight soft, soft baby alpaca in cream, I figured that would be pretty universal.

Dr. Remen’s response to my query was to send me her home address in great delight for me to mail it to directly. Afterwards she went me a much-treasured thank you note.

She was 88. The world was so lucky to have her as long as we did.

For the first month I figured, let them be. New moms are so tired and toddlers can act out when there’s a new sibling upstaging them and you want your kids to be seen at their best–I remember the days. Give them some time to adjust.

But you know those peaches I got extras of at Andy’s on Friday weren’t going to eat themselves: they were meant to be shared.

Was it a good time, I texted.

Yes! she wrote back.

And so I brought the neighbors some Cal Reds and some Kiaweas, perfectly ripe.

She came out with the baby in a front pack sleeping blissfully all snuggled up in there. It was such a gift to let me get to see him. So much love. We caught up a moment, grateful for it, and then let each other go back to our evening.

A potluck picnic at the pool, old friends gathered, stories swapped.

I finally got to hear the rest of the story of the duck. The infamous huge duck. That actually once got a swim in the Baylands preserve. But mostly it was right by the side of the main commuter artery into downtown.

The artist who made it from scraps of metal and who knows what all else got harassed by the city over it and finally offered it to one of his co-workers from his day job (this guy) who appreciated such fine, fine craftsmanship.

The new owner’s kids liked to take turns camping in it.

A woman pushing a stroller stopped my friend and said she’d just moved here and her husband had bought the house without her even getting to see it first and she didn’t want to live in that town with the snooty reputation and he’d assured her, It’s okay. There’s a duck down the street. So she was looking for the duck.

Karen just so happened to know exactly where that was. (Here, let me show you the other side of my yard…) The woman went away much cheered. Quirks are fun. Good neighbors are the best. Two-for-one.

Then the particular city official whose position shall not be named here went after them because he really did not like that duck and thought it a blight on the community and dammit that thing was still around after all. Karen described it as “the size of a Volkswagon bug” and she was not wrong. Did I mention it was bright medium blue? You couldn’t miss it.

The judge was appalled: You’re bringing a case against these people? Over a LAWN ORNAMENT? Don’t you ever harass them nor waste this court’s time over such nonsense again!

The family had their seventh child and wanted to put a second story on their house. They needed those extra bedrooms.

That guy again. He told them You will NEVER get a building permit, and then he made good on that threat–until eventually he was fired. They built their second story.

So what happened to the duck? I asked. I used to drive by it all the time and it was one of those little perks of living here, everybody in the city knew that thing.

One of her kids had knocked its head off when no one was looking because he wanted his own bedroom and he was afraid someday he might have to sleep outside inside the duck like his big brother liked to do but that did not do it for him.

But that duck had adventures: permits were issued, it was hauled to the main drag on a trailer to celebrate a Stanford game, it was stolen by the rival high school who did not have a trailer nor permit and they bashed it in a bit in the process but it was gotten back.

So where is it now? I asked. I haven’t seen it in years.

Oh, I’ve still got the head, she said.

Scene: Church. Russ speaking.

Of the purpose of our gathering together: Of learning to serve one another and love one another, fully, completely, as we are Loved, every one of us.

One young dad when it was his turn spoke of the joy of waiting for their firstborn last month, of finally getting to meet her–and of his forever gratefulness for the prayers sent her way as she spent a week in the NICU fighting for her life.

His new daughter is safe and sound and home now. It doesn’t turn out that way for everyone, he said, and he knew that, and he knew he didn’t understand why that was so and he was all the more grateful that for them it got to turn out how they had so hoped.

What he didn’t know yet but I do is that that will see him through so many moments to come of her growing up: this is the child they almost lost. This is the child that G_d meant to have be here, after everything her birth could throw at her, and she is alright. She will be all right. No matter the individual moments along the way.

Teenagerhood ain’t got nuthin’ on the memories held by a parent who nearly lost that child. Gratitude rules.

A birthday, a party, good friends properly celebrated. G’night!

No one was doing anything with water this afternoon when he heard the big gurgle sound and hurried to check it out.

The tub was filling with water. The bathroom floors were in Deep Splash mode and flowing out the doors, with ours flowing under our closet and soaking any clothes that touched clothes that touched the floor, and I am married to a tall man. I instantly knew what a huge job this was all about to be.

But everything had been fine a half hour earlier!

And if you mop it up with towels–I had this moment of oh I’m so glad we got that dryer in time! immediately followed by, wait… Water was pouring out of the laundry room too. With no machine in use all day.

At least it was clear. It was clear it was clear it was clear. Not that I’d trust it for that but at least it felt better.

Shortly after, a friend drove up with his shop vac as I was twisting out towels out front and told him I was watering the azaleas.

Dave pitched right in. We sent him home with Andy’s peaches and a pound of dried apricot slabs and he asked about how to take care of the apricot tree we gave him a few months ago; I showed him mine so he could see what his would look like at a year older, and at the difference in growth since he’d picked up his.

This city owns its own utilities and they answer to the voters, which I love because it means their emergency guy came out within minutes to check the city’s line to the house. He was actually apologetic that the problem wasn’t there so he couldn’t do anything about it; we sent him off with thanks and a peach.

We sent yesterday’s installers home with a small box of peaches each.

We’re hoping our favorite plumber can make it tomorrow.

And after that I’m going to have to go back and pick up more peaches at Andy’s because we’re going through them pretty fast.

A hey, how are you. A response of, It’s been too long. A, How about we…

And there we were in an impromptu dinner together after a your house or ours we don’t care we just want to see you guys. Fruit from Andy’s. Her yarn in bins over there so she could choose the colors for the next big project, just like mine are over here at the moment. She pulled out my book and said she was going to knit a shawl for a friend and I pointed out the simplest to do (the Julia) vs the more involved (like the one named after her.) I said doing a three-stitch idiot cord for the neck edge makes a stronger one than what’s in there (hey, you learn something 20 years down the road) and you have the cast-on three, the ones you pick up the stitches along the length of it and then three last ones along the far side. You want a wider edge than I made some of those–start at the count at row 2 on some of those if you need to so it drapes better in the front if it’s for a larger person.

I like doing i-cord, she said, not quite sure what I meant.

Oh right. Idiot cord–it got shortened to i-cord, it’s where the i comes from.

Didn’t know that. Learned something new!

And a great time was had by all, along with a wondering why we don’t do this more often. Maybe we will now.

Do you ever feel, after finishing a big project, that you suddenly have to Do All The Things, quick! Before the next one?

The plan had been to dive right back into the grandkid afghan that’s a picture of the Big Sur coastline that I put aside to make my brother’s. It’s beautiful, and I really like it, but part of me needs an in-between something before I tackle all those intarsia strands again.

I finished a hat and went looking through my stash.

And looked again yesterday. I can’t go around without even a carry-around project! I put needles and red Rios in my purse but it protested that it was not its turn.

So, again today, feeling like I just hadn’t found–I didn’t know what, but I knew I would know when I did and I hadn’t yet.

Which is exactly what happened: there, the moment I laid eyes on it, put away in the wrong place, was a quarter pound of merino super wash from Karida at Neighborhood Fiber Co. Color: Waverly.

Seeing her is one of the things I miss dearly about Stitches West no longer being a thing. I loved her and I loved the saturation of her colors; you’ll never find white fibers at the center that the dye didn’t reach to, she got it all.

Deep burgundy for a teenage boy’s hat. Because it told me so. Even if I can only guess why so far; the yarn knows, even if I don’t yet, and it says it wants to be cabled. Oh, okay.

Man, it feels so good to be knitting the thing that needed to come to be next.

Summer, college town, new people moving in, always a new medical intern or two. (Being sick at a teaching hospital in July means the new ones haven’t yet had time to get a little experience, but what I saw years ago from the patient side of it is that they are very very earnest about it and trying.)

So: to welcome everybody and help them get to know people, it was announced at church that there would be a picnic in the park next week. Potluck. With a pet parade. There’ll be a softball game that anybody can come and go as they wish, any age; last time, they said, we had a four year old–and Hank!

A bunch of people laughed.

I noticed that some clearly wished they were in on whatever that was all about, so I raised my hand and said, For those who are new: Hank is 95.

A four-year-old playing ball on a great great grandpa’s team: the rest of the room laughed for sheer joy at that mental image.

And, I have no doubt, at being noticed and included, too.

It was a good start.

Clara Parkes on her Substack today asked, if you were to make a sign to welcome people in here, what would it say? A fact? Something humorous? Encouragement, wisdom, suggestions. What would it be?

It took me instantly back to a moment when I was at the point of death and in no way sure which way it would end up. But what I felt!

There was also this: that it was required of me now, that it was more important than there could ever be the words for, that every person I ever encountered after that should feel that, too.

Which was utterly beyond mortal power but I knew in my bones I had to try, while grateful to still be here to give it my best.

So my answer could only be this:

You are loved.

Blame my friend Trish. She showed off hers. Five bucks.

Baaaaad news, I tell ya, and yeah, mine came today.

Waiting for a certain someone to notice.

They were talking in church about the importance of service and asking for stories of times someone has made all the difference to you or you to them, and of course there’s the thought of, how do you sum up what all (sweeping arms wide) of life is about?

When it came to me, I said, I’m wearing socks that H made!

Which took her by surprise. She was thrilled. She tried to wave it off a little by saying it was the auction fundraiser, but hey, we were on to her. It was love, pure and simple, that got her to spend all those hours on them. All I did by donating to that camp fundraiser was to give her a direction to point it in for one moment out of many.

Went out tonight, and turns out another couple was celebrating at the table next to us. Great food, good times, Flea Street Cafe has served us more of our anniversary dinners than anywhere else for a reason.

Till he got out of the car at home and went, in complete bewilderment, Wait–where’s…(checks inside car, checks under the car) my shoe??

We called. I headed back there and found myself following another car most of the way. Walked in.

They saw my returning face and went, Oh good, here it is.

And tried to hand me a credit card that I had never seen before. That’s not mine. I’d called because my husband has neuropathy and can’t feel his feet and he had somehow lost his shoe.

The woman who’d checked us in just a little earlier ran to retrieve the well-worn singleton for me–and laughed and laughed when I thanked her but added with a grin/shrug, I was kind of hoping it was lost forever and I could finally get him to wear a new pair, he loves these. Thank you!

Meantime, the driver of the car I’d followed had come in. It was her credit card. She was also the woman who’d been sitting at the next table and was delighted to see me again. She looked at the shoe in my hands and said she and her husband had been mystified why they’d seen a shoe sitting in the parking lot near the door on their way out–well, there you go!

We chatted like old friends, the way women tend to do.

It was their anniversary, too.

Forty-six.

Fifty-six!

Alright!