Little Boy Blue Come Blow Your Horn

I had a short but great visit in Granite Bay and Auburn. Along with going to the dentist, my office, my folks, pizza with friends, and taking care of a little business, Eli drove down from Truckee and Sandy drove up from Woodland for dinner at the Gallachers which is always a treat (both the visits and the food). Oh yes, and of course some rounds of Mexican Train.

On Tuesday, my niece, Maddie, and I took Mom to lunch while Dad was at the chiropractor. We then went for a ride up Hwy 49 towards Grass Valley and later for a walk around the block. It was a warm clear green day in the Gold Country and pink with blossoms. Upon our return, I was working on some stuff for Mom in Dad's office. Dad came in and said he wanted to play his trumpet. He sat down on the sofa in the office but then said he could play better in his bedroom. As I worked on the computer and Dad ran through a few scales I heard Mom say, "Good, Tony!" or "That's great, Tony!" What a sweet experience to hear her enthusiasm.

What would we do without women in this world who encourage our gifts and talents and lend such great support? Here's to Mom who's stood by her man for the past nearly 62 years!

Tony Woolf, age 94, still swingin'

Oh No!

Look what I found in my photo box. I AM the biggest loser! 40 years later I'm still wearing the same dress and wearing the same hair style (see yesterday's blog). HEEEELLLLLLLLLLPPPPPPPPP!!!!!!!!

Joyce Woolf Real Estate Photo 1994

More Things I Wouldn't Do

Okay, so much for the craziness of St. Patrick's Day. I'm really exhausted after all the partying we did last night watching American Idol and Dancing With The Stars while sipping GREEN peppermint tea and rocking a baby to sleep wearing his GREEN polo shirt. I'm ready to continue my "I Did It But I Wouldn't Let My Kids Do It" part two.

Anyone who knows me knows I love well-made clothes of fine fabrics. I started sewing doll clothes at age 8 and by the time I was 12 I was sewing much of my own wardrobe. I remember at the end of 8th grade I was going to so many "dance and swim parties" that I was making a new dress, skirt, or shorts and top 6 weeks in a row. As an adult when I had a little more money and alot more closet space I used to have way too many clothes. And this wasn't just because I was always shopping, but because I'd been taught to take care of silk, cashmere, and fine linens, and because my size wasn't changing very fast. Now that I have less money, little closet space, a changing waistline, and frankly, less desire for anything other than hoodies, sweats, and flip flops, the clothing siren rarely sings to me. However...

Remember that 3rd grade picture I posted of myself 2 days ago? Back then my mom and dad had 6 kids in 9 years and 2 years later they had another one. Mom worked at Merritt Hospital about 30 hours a week and Dad worked in San Francisco which required bus commutes and exotic lunches. Apparently, annual school picture day wasn't that big of a deal in our house. Apparently, we got to choose what we wanted to wear. And apparently, I thought it was extremely cool that I could fit into the same dress from 3rd through 5th grade.

Now this wasn't just any dress. It was navy-blue dotted swiss with a full gathered skirt, little cap sleeves, a bowtie at the neck, and accompanying red pinwhale corduroy bolero-type jacket. I loved loved loved this dress. And it shows considering I wore wore wore it 3 years in a row for class photos AND one of my very few "professional" photographs (taken by a man in our church).

Don't even get me started on my really chic hairstyles. From perms to pixie cuts -- I guess I was responsible for cutting my own bangs in the 4th grade. And what's up with the 5th grade girl who had a little curl right in the middle of her forehead? WHERE WAS MY MOTHER?

Then again, maybe she was just helping me learn independence so that I could eventually dress and style my own children more tastefully and appropriately. Seriously, Eli, I appologize for the pink and blue, Chelsea for the collar and bangs, and Brittany for the hair altogether. But at least, you didn't wear and look this way 3 years in a row. Or did you? I was probably running around buying more navy polka dot dresses with red accessories.

May the Wind Always Be Behind Your Back

The History of Men is Reflected in the History of Sewers

Or so says Victor Hugo in Les Miserables. And I, for one, happen to agree. I have decided to spend a few days writing about things I did as a kid growing up in the 50's and 60's that I wouldn't let my own kids or grandkids do today. I begin with roaming through the sewers of El Cerrito, California.

When I read the complete and unabridged version of Les Mis about 20+ years ago I was not one of those who skipped the "sewer" chapter(s) and the reason for that is two-fold: 1) I feel guilty skipping parts of books and usually feel compelled to finish anything I've begun reading (but I'm getting better at walking away from a book I've started) and 2) I love the mystery and intrigue of sewers (think Phantom of the Opera).

When I was 7 or 8 which is the age I was in this picture,

the neighborhood kids, which included my older sister, Cheryl, and I and I'm sure at least one or two of my younger brothers, used to run through the sewer that ran from under the empty lot where the Northminster Presbyterian Church was finally built at 545 Ashbury to beyond Eureka Avenue; I think it ended somewhere near Linda Lawrence's back yard, which was about 1/2 block shy of the Chinese store. This large vacant lot had an open corrugated metal sewer pipe that was somewhat exposed and partially covered by wild blackberry bushes. The older neighbor kids (and isn't that how it always goes) taught us that if you crawled down into it you could go at least 3-4 blocks under the streets. It was a good idea to take a flashlight, they warned, even though there were occasional light sources along the way from the grates in the gutters so it wasn't pitch dark. And, oh, you might get your shoes wet so you better go barefoot.

The sewer pipe was a dark, dank, secret place that parents never heard about. You could become the bravest person in the 3rd grade just by entering into this world. I don't think anyone ever worried about rats or skunks or bubonic plague or rabies--in fact, if you saw a rodent or dead animal, it became even more exciting because you never knew if it was REALLY dead or just PRETENDING, waiting for the perfect moment to come to life and jump out at you.

The pipe wasn't big enough for me to stand up in but I didn't have to crawl either; I could just sort of run through half scrunched over. Sometimes you'd bump into other kids down there coming the other way. Sometimes you'd have meetings under the street. Lots of times you'd let out whoops and hollers just to hear your voice echo or see who was coming around the curve. As a well-intentioned older sister and role model, I made sure my youngest sisters learned about this great adventure and encouraged them to come along also when they were finally old enough.

It was a sad day when the backhoes came and started breaking ground for the church. For awhile we hung around watching the carnage. We discussed whether they would seal up the pipe. We hoped they'd leave it alone, maybe even put up a marker, like a famous historical site. But that didn't happen. It took about 2 years to complete the building of the church. I can't recall exploring sewers since then.

Years later, when I was a divorced young mother of a baby and pre-schooler the church ran a daycare center named Kathmandu. Eli and Chelsea attended it for about 6 months. I suppose I could have chosen other places to babysit the kids. But I knew just how magical that soil was and what was underneath. If I had to put my kids in daycare it was strangely comforting to know they were being cared for above sacred memories.

"A Perfect Sister I Am Not, But Thankful For The Ones I've Got"

When Marlene Dietrich and Mackenna Gallachin O'Brien came to call, Chelsea, Sawyer and I drove down to the San Diego airport to pick them up. Dana Point is exactly 60 miles south of LAX and 60ish miles north of San Diego, and although John Wayne airport in Newport Beach is the ideal place for visitors to arrive and depart, Southwest Airlines doesn't always cooperate with the cheapest flights. The drive to San Diego is prettier and faster than LAX so it worked out well for all of us and included a little stop at Fred's Mexican Cafe for delicious enchiladas. The picture below only shows the cleaned-up aftermath, not the table loaded down with too much food and drink.

Me, Marlene & Mackenna Gallacher, Chelsea (el bambino isn't in the picture)

We called my niece, Valerie, who lives in La Jolla, to meet us at the San Diego temple and say a quick hello along with her girls, Audrey and Alyssa.

Me, Marlene, Audrey, Valerie, & Alyssa Gathright, Sawyer & Chelsea, Mackenna

Driving back up along the coast we did some other stuff, of which I'm not at liberty to mention. I had French Dip planned and waiting for us in the crockpot, and although it didn't turn out as good as usual (I continue to remind Chelsea that when it comes to French Dip, 4-5 hours on high always works while 7-9 hours on low never does, at least in my crockpot from 1979). Still in all we made do with yet more food. Between that and the early flight Marlene caught after teaching early-morning seminary and the even earlier flight Mackenna caught from Salt Lake (she needed a break from BYU and her masters program) everyone but me sacked out early. I thought the night was still young so had to content myself by snapping obnoxious photos.

On Saturday, my other sister, Cheryl Munns, drove down from West Covina to join the fun. We were sad Sandy couldn't make it for this impromptu sisters' retreat. And of course it's not the same without my sisters-in-law, Gayle and Melissa, here, either. Nothing in the history of time will compare with the great adventure all 6 of us had in Europe on the "Woolf Girls Cross the Pond" trip in 1995.

Mackenna, Cheryl, Marlene, me at The Fisherman in San Clemente-yummy Chicken Alfredo is always a treat there

Marlene W. Gallacher, Cheryl W. Munns, Joyce W. W. Woolf

Sunday was spent at church and Roger's Gardens in Newport. Mackenna had a HUGE reaction to something in the air and had a response like I've never seen. Several people in church thought she was either really overcome by the spirit or had a lot of repenting to do. I continued to defend her honor by explaining the red swollen tear-filled eyes and runny nose were due to allergies. Our prescription for recovery was a Sunday Mexican Train tournament which lasted into the wee hours of the night and included hot Pero and cream and more food and more food and more food.

Sawyer had mixed emotions upon our visitors leaving when we dropped them off at the San Diego airport on Monday. He loved having them here and all the hugs and kisses he got, but he was also glad to get his Nannie Joy's undivided attention back.

Goodby my dears--we will miss you and can't wait til next we meet again (which in Marlene's case is two weeks when I head up to Sacramento to check on the folks and visit the dentist).

Sawyer doing what he does best, snuggling next to my heart.

Boston Part 2

There's a little iceskating rink next to The Charles Hotel in Harvard Square that we decided to go skating at during my Boston visit. Jordan didn't have school that day so we all piled into the SUV, bundled up and full of good cheer. At first I wasn't planning on skating because of my less than sturdy ankles, having twisted, sprained, bruised and battered them one time to0 many. The last time was a few Decembers ago when, the day after Christmas, at six in the morning I stumbled out to the utility room in the dark hoping to help Eli get his clothes out of the dryer before I had to get him to the train station for an early ride back to San Francisco. Just the night before I'd said something about "someone should move their big fat stinkin' tennis shoes away from the stairs...someone could trip on them." I, however, not having moved them myself, was the one who tripped on both of them the next morning and immediately heard a "crack--crack!" which to this day I believe was a little break in both of my ankles. I instantly fell down on top of the shoes, gasped and writhed in pain, and then pulling my extra-Christmas-weight body up by my hands and elbows, slithered back into the house. As I rounded the corner in my flannel red and white nightgown, stomach sagging against the kitchen floor, Eli came walking into the room, somewhat shocked. I still remember very clearly hearing him say, "Mom, are you OK?" This still makes me laugh my head off just thinking about it. I mean really, do you think your mom would be lying on the kitchen floor at 6AM, the day after Christmas, and be OK? We didn't even have eggnog the night before. What was he thinking? But I digress.

Anyway, knowing I probably wouldn't be able to take the rink on my own two legs I sat it out for a few minutes. But when I realized that even the youngins' were using crates for balance, okay, they said it was to push the kids around, but whatever, I decided to join them. I have long maintained that going and watching something somewhere is always fun, but participating is even more fun. That especially applies to the beach. A day at the beach is even better when you've gotten in the water.

Jordan and Annie circling the rink

Brittany, much braver and stronger than I, helping Jakey out

I used the crate to push my hat around

One wonderful thing about The Charles Hotel is that it's also next to Legal Seafood. I'd been craving their clam chowder during my last few Boston visits but we'd never gotten around to it. This time we scored. And yes, it was as good as I remembered. Some people are snobs against Legal Seafood's clam chowder, but not me--I really like it. And I so appreciate Jordan and Brittany making the effort to let me try it again. Another interesting thing about The Charles Hotel. There's a little cafe there called Henrietta's Table. It's motto is "Fresh and Honest". I'm not exactly sure what "dishonest" food is but I thought maybe this would be a good business tagline for me.... "Your Fresh and Honest Realtor-Serving Orange County!" I've retired the "Joyce Woolf--Even Red Riding Hood Loves Me" and "Joyce Storey--A Success Storey You'll Want to Repeat". Whether a troubled economy or one that's healthy, fresh and honest would be a good thing.

That afternoon Brittany, Annie and I had a special visit to The American Girl store at the Natick Mall. I got a kick out of watching Annie decide which "one special outfit" she was allowed to choose for her American Girl Bitty Baby. It was really a hard decision for her as it would be for any girl faced with so many options. I've included the picture below because, I don't know if you can see it or not, but the expression on Brittany was priceless. The tilt of her head, the somewhat "C'mom Annie, make up your mind" expression in her mouth, the glazed over eyes. I, on the other hand, was thinking, "Yes, darling beautiful granddaughter of mine, you may have the whole store. Anything, anything for you, my precious little girl whom I adore more than life itself!"-----But then, I wasn't paying for it.

Annie chose well. She got the swimsuit and sandles outfit, in memory of California

Early dinner at the store's Bistro which included cardboard-tasting kids' food at exhorbitant prices, but dollies get their own attached booster seats so maybe it's worth it

The visit ended too soon. I flew home the next afternoon. What takes 4 hours and 45 minutes going east takes 6 1/2 hours going west. I had a window seat and the person in the middle seat, having ingested something before take off, slept the whole way, which tended to keep me in my seat the entire time. I didn't want to wake her up. I'm talking stiff legs and potential blood clots. By the time I'd arrived in Dana Point and gotten into bed it was 3:30 am Boston time. I don't think my body has yet recovered. But lucky me! Two days later I joined Jordan's mom for a fantastic lunch at The Montage in Laguna Beach. Thanks, Margaret! And the day after that Marlene and Mackenna came to call.

Stay tuned for more fun adventures from this fresh and honest gal!