The Dependable Wife

James gave me a hug this morning and said, "Thanks for being such a dependable wife. A lot of them aren't." Me being me, my first smirking thought was, "Where does he get such vast, sweeping knowledge of wives who aren't dependable? Who's he been talking to?" But then that loaded remark got to macerating in the back of my mind and started driving me crazy, just like when Chloé said she wished she'd known me when I was fun.

I think the universe is trying to tell me something, like: go out and buy some sturdy, sensible shoes and put a blue rinse in your hair already, why don't you? At this juncture in life, I feel an inherent disconnect. Is "reliable and boring" really my future? Looking back, I see someone spontaneous and funloving, daring and full of possibility. In the mirror, the reflection peering back at me (with her glasses on) says, "Who ARE you?"

Being dependable isn't such a bad rap, though, and if I could aspire to be a certain kind of wife, it would be the kind my grandmother Gigi was. When she passed away, her best friend read Proverbs 31 for the hundreds of people who came to pay their respects, and truer words were never spoken: "A good woman is hard to find, and worth far more than diamonds."

Okay, maybe James wouldn't take it that far, but I'll take a compliment wherever I can get one, no matter how backhanded it may seem. You can depend on it!

Horse Play

Claire's been tagging along with her friend Kiira on her riding lessons for the last few weeks, but today was the first day I've been out to the barn with them. I was absolutely astonished at her competence on the back of "her" pony, Robin Hood. She knew exactly what the instructor was saying, although it was a foreign language to me, and she seemed completely at ease on that little English saddle. I was impressed.

I was also smitten with the surroundings. I've always loved Nicasio, where the farm is, and today didn't dispel my notions that it's a magical place, a little slice of heaven. If I had my druthers, I'd pack it all up and move out there tomorrow. "Give me land, lots of land, with the open skies above..." And then Claire could teach me how to ride a horse like that.

Something Wicked This Way Comes

Chloé went with Debra to see Wicked this afternoon, and now she's hopelessly stagestruck, as if she wasn't before: "MOM! I got to STAND ON THE STAGE at the Orpheum!" Debra is lucky enough to have some backstage connections, much to Chloé's delight, so they got to meet Teal Wicks and Patty Duke. But probably the highlight of the day was trying on the witch's hat...

Boys' Day Out

Wynham's friend Dakota is spending the weekend with us, and since everyone else in the family already had plans, I packed the boys up and took them into the City for a day of fun. This included giant hamburgers at a greasy spoon, a couple of hours of ice skating, a matinee, a few rounds of virtual bowling, and $20 of tokens at the Metreon arcade. Now they're watching a movie at home, still going strong, but I can barely keep my eyes open. I hurt in places I didn't even know were there...

I Love Rock 'n' Roll...

...but maybe not that much. What was I thinking, on a school night? Those Fleetwood Mac tickets were supposed to be for James and Chloé (a father-daughter thing with several of her friends), but she had a performance she couldn't miss, so my friend Heidi and I went instead as last-minute fill ins. She's such a trooper, that Heidi, and she got better pictures, too.

The last time I went to a rock concert in an arena, parking was $3; now it's $25. Maybe it's a midlife crisis thing: there we were in the nosebleed section, our eardrums pounding, and what was going through my mind was, "I could see this better at home on TV, and I could be in bed." I think Stevie Nicks was wishing she was home in bed, too. But hearing Lindsey Buckingham do a killer acoustic version of "Big Love" made it all worth it. Just maybe. G'night.

Salad Days

The weather's been so swelteringly hot the last couple of days, I decided to forgo a hot meal for tonight's dinner in favor of several composed salads, topped off with some juicy watermelon slices for dessert. Chloé and Wynham have been on me to make a corn/tuna salad that they love to eat when they're in France over the summer, so we had a plateful of that, along with potatoes and olives, asparagus with prosciutto and shaved Parmesan, caprese, and an amazing chicken salad I call Tuscan Chicken.

A change in the weather breaks us out of our usual routine; dining alfresco, sipping rosé, enjoying the sun's warmth. The kids were so excited about our dinner plans that they jumped into the act, peeling potatoes. Watching them work reminded me of one of my mother's favorite sayings, from On Golden Pond: "What's the point of having dwarfs if they don't do chores?" She'd be so proud. Just don't tell them it's work; it would spoil all their fun.

How Mama Got Her Groove Back

"Blue Funk" would probably best describe my mood the last few weeks. It most likely started with a comment Chloé made while flipping through some photos of me in my 20s: "Wow, Mom, I wish I'd known you when you were FUN!" Ouch. When did I stop being fun, I wondered. How did it happen? Top that off with an imminent birthday that plants me firmly on the downhill side of forty-something, and my mood turns epic blue.

"We're having none of that!" says my friend Deb, "Get a babysitter; we're celebrating!" Let me tell you, when that woman does something, she doesn't do it by halves: she carted me off to the Day Spa at Cavallo Point, where we started the day with a private yoga session in the historic Mission Chapel, followed by a massage and unlimited use of the spa's steam room, hot tub, and pool. We ate salad under the pepper tree and finished off with a cacao drink that practically made us swoon...

Floating on air, we decided to tour the rest of the establishment, including the only Michelin-starred restaurant in Marin, Murray Circle. Having covered the entire premises, we made to leave and were heading down the stairs. At the bottom of the steps, we looked at each other for a split second, then made a complete U-turn: it's so hard to end a perfect day. Cocktails on the patio seemed in order, and sealed the perfection of the moment.

I feel ten years younger. I could even make a stab at being fun. I think I'll paint my toenails red and dust off my dancing shoes, who knows? Deb does; she's got my number, and it's definitely not forty-something...

Comfort Me with Apples

I was completely charmed by this photo Chloé took of Claire holding her afternoon snack. She has a new camera and has been experimenting with filters, to great effect. It reminded me of a verse from the Song of Solomon: "Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples: for I am sick of love." It's a long time since I've been lovesick (thank goodness), but I love the elevation of the apple to the upper echelons of Comfort Food.

Again, I was reminded of that verse when I went last Saturday with Karen to meet Ruth Reichl, editor of Gourmet Magazine. She's touring for her latest book, Not Becoming My Mother. The Book Passage bookstore does a great series called Cooks with Books, where you get to meet the author have a meal based on recipes out of their latest book. I've been to a few of these events -- all wonderful.

Ruth has written several memoirs, one entitled Comfort Me with Apples (second in a loose series, but entirely readable on its own). If you love food stories interspersed with recipes, you'll love her books. Her latest doesn't have recipes, though, so the meal we ate was out of the Boulevard cookbook by Nancy Oakes, who was there with her sleeves rolled up on Saturday. All I can say is, I don't get out too much any more, and it's a crying shame. Comfort me.