OK, I have been absent. Well, absent here. On this blog. Things had gotten pretty distracting. First, I went down to Palm Springs, packed up enough stuff for the summer, and got David and me in the car and we drove to Livermore. We spent one glorious week in the cottage, and then moved into The Pickle House. We hit the ground running, of course. We drove into Livermore on Tuesday night, went to Rotary lunch at the very muddy rodeo grounds and Valley Study Group on Wednesday, a cultivation event for LVPAC (Livermore Valley Performing Arts Center) on Thursday, Hot Club of Cowtown at the Bankhead on Friday and the Livermore Rodeo Parade on Saturday. We didn’t see the parade, but rode on the back of a 1944 firetruck. David was game, but I assure you, not happy.
We have been squatting for a week in the Pickle House, because getting the closing done has been a trial. Maybe ordeal is better. We are closing either on Friday or Monday. David was able to see for the first time, the poor schmuck who has to wear the Mr. Pickle costume across the street and dance and wave and generally amuse the passing traffic. There is a lot of honking when Mr. Pickle is outside. The Mr. Pickle sandwich shop is across the street, and I can see the darkened building as I type this. Dark and nothing much going on, but during the day, it is the lunch mecca of Livermore. I am sure there are others who would protest, but the lines often snake out the back door. Think about it. We went from saying “We are in the building across the street from the Empire State Building!” to ” We live across the street from Mr Pickle. No, not the big white house, the green one across 4th Street!” I will tell you that the Mr Pickle geographic reference is maybe more effective than the Empire State!
So, as you can see from the picture above, we celebrated our anniversary. You can see that if you can read through the smeared chocolate on the plate. We went to Jardinière in The City. I say “The City” more to impress than inform. I am picking up the Livermore lingo. It is often hard to remember that here the city means San Francisco and not New York. Both great cities – don’t send me any hate mail. When we got across the bridge, I think David almost transformed. He actually commented that the people look different in the City. Beautiful restaurant and David was very pleased.
It was a great meal, and we both agreed that neither of us regret the events of three years ago. Well, the July “event” we do both regret. At one point during dinner (I think it was between the Foie gras pasta and the wagyu beef) David said, “I’m sorry”. He was apologizing for the stroke and the past three years. I suddenly thought (and said) “no, I should be the one who is sorry. You shouldn’t be sorry”. This was one of those moments when I thought, life is so complicated. There has got to be a Norwegian word for this”. I’m sorry, but I am not sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t make it different. I’m sorry I needed to get back to work (but I’m not really sorry) I’m sorry to desert you (but, I’m not really. Well, sort of). I’m sorry I forget to put things on the schedule (Joy will understand that one). I’m sorry our lives aren’t perfect. Life is messy.
On the drive home we were listening to John Waters on NPR. I think John Waters would like Livermore. I think he would find a new charm city. While listening to him, I did think, we have to get him to the Theater. He could stay in the Pickle House, circa 1952. Did I tell you that the original wall oven – a stainless steel thermador – keeps almost perfect temperature? Wouldn’t that be fun. We saw him in Palm Desert and I think his was the best show I have ever seen there!
Sorry, I’m rambling and that isn’t polite. You will begin wishing I were more absent!