After The Show.

What a blast the karaoke party was. Those people know how to foster everlasting memories. Dave P., the master of ceremonies, of such spontaneous wit. BK and Barb! A handsome husband and wife team who totally rocked out together, so up close and personal. It was incredibly adorable and so very fun. Sally K., an awesome singer, chose a really difficult Whitney Houston song and totally nailed it. She won best female performance.

It was a happy, fun, rewarding day and life is, once again, Full Of Hope.*
Peace and Love to you all,
Pam.

(*Credit with thanks goes to my sweet cousin Sharon, and my wonderful Dad, both, for sending me this inspirational link, which very much cheered me up after my foot injury.)

This Little Piggy.

When closing a heavy metal sliding door today, it was faulty, the floor improperly graded, and it ran over my foot, cutting it up pretty badly. Had fun the rest of the afternoon with all the nice people in E.R., and took a few days off to heal. Note: Kaiser was very good to me. They really do care. Nurse Practitioner Rose, and the good Dr. Emond, both the most excellent caregivers I could have hoped for.

Tonight is the karaoke party and I'm going up there, bandaged foot or not. Even if I don't do well, at least I'm a shoe-in for the sympathy vote. Pun intended.

Cheers To Your Health.

There is a radio advertisement for Kaiser Permanente that we hear on the classical music station we sometimes listen to. A full sixty-second spot of a woman's ultra-soothing voice, calmly assuring us how much Kaiser cares, and how very much healthier are we when we associate ourselves with Kaiser, and let them care for us. Kaiser cares. It really does. The commercial features voice-overs now and again, folks just like you and me proclaiming, "I like this," and "I like that." Toward the end, everyone likes to "chill" somehow, and the word "chill" becomes a running thread. "I like to chill." "Chilling out." "Taking a chill." "We like chilling together." (Must have had something to do with the then-heat wave we were having, those clever and timely marketing pros.)

I listened as the ad came to an end and just sort of hung there, and was betting on the fact that at least 80% of the listening audience was thinking, "I like chilled beer." Honestly, it was so leading. If I were the gal-on-the-street that day and was asked to add my two cents in a sound byte for that commercial, that is exactly what I would have said. Perhaps I missed the point, but it seemed so fitting. Studies prove that a simple, honest pint of good beer is healthy for the soul. Benjamin Franklin himself is (allegedly) quoted to have said, "Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy."

Amen, and may I recommend Magnolia Pub and Brewery on Haight. I haven't yet been to Europe, but I bet these brews rival the best in the world, and the place has a fantastic history. Great place, good food, and truly original, fabulous beers. Go there. Now.

Arugula, Sweet and Spicy.

Any self-respecting Silicon Valley vegetarian who does not regularly frequent the Mountain View Farmers Market is like a fish driving a car without wheels. I purchased exotic vegetables there today. Tonight's dinner concept first came when I eyed the golden baby cauliflowers, arugula too, chanterelle mushrooms, and teensy tomatoes: "Build a Summer Salad," they whispered. So I did.

I arranged arugula leaves on chilled plates in a starburst pattern, then circled half the plate with sliced hothouse tomatoes. I had worried the chantarelles a bit in a tablespoon of water over low heat for a few moments, while blanching two baby cauliflowers along with a few spears of chayote - a crisp, lemony squash. I placed the chanterelles over the tomatoes and arugula, sprinkled a couple of sliced green olives around, arranged the chayote spears like petals on a sunflower, then placed the cooled cauliflowers, their greens still attached, into the center of the plates, then gave it a big drizzle of light garlic vinaigrette over all. Served with toast points, olive oil and balsamic on the side, it was divine.

Alice Waters, you are an inspiration.

Hearsay.

As we strolled down the sunny Stanford street last weekend on our way to the farmer's market, we couldn't help but look at one another with eyebrows raised in shock and amusement as we overheard a handsome, long-haired college student speaking into a cell phone, seated on the passenger side of a white BMW with his legs hanging over the sidewalk, feet propped up on the window ledge of the open passenger door in true future-executive fashion, as he stated:

"And whatEVER you do, dude, do NOT tell Mom and Dad about what happened last night."

Sure, kid. Your secret's safe with me.

Happy Are We! Happy Birthday To Me!

Henry and my parents are taking me to Chez Panisse today for my birthday. See how happy I am?

Sunday Morning Glory.

Fruit Flies Suck.

Well folks, it's that time of year again - summer fruit season - and at our house, we always have lots and lots of summer fruit in abundant supply. We pick up cherries, apples, mangoes, peaches, nectarines, blueberries, apricots, melons and more at our farmers' markets, local orchards and roadside stands (never grocery stores) where we find the best, sweetest produce around. You won't find anything as super-sweet and good at Albertson's like we do here around town. In fact, I cannot recall the last time I purchased produce anywhere else other than a farmers' market, local orchard or roadside stand. Californians are fortunate to have the greatest fruits in the land and we are especially so, because we have a fantastic little apricot orchard half a mile from our home that sells cots by the case. Following in the footsteps of our sainted Aunt Genita, we have been busy canning homemade jams.

But with these delectable orchard delights, of course, come the fruit flies. The humble Drosophila melanogaster, whose lazy flight patterns so annoy humankind that we attempt almost any remedy to be rid of them. Chemicals are very bad. But what to do?

Consider Henry's solution: Simply suck them out of the air with the vacuum cleaner hose attachment. Shwlewppp! All gone.