Happy Fourth from the North Coast

Pt Arena on the Fourth
Originally uploaded by suzipaw

It's an unusually gorgeous day in downtown Point Arena. Barely a breath of breeze, no trace of fog, the sun is practically beating down as the parade gathers in the high school parking lot, preparing to wend its way down the Main Street hill at high noon. I'm wearing my disco ball flipflops and no sweater, regretting leaving my hat in the trunk, that's how lovely it is. I'm in a newly opened cafe, very un-Point Arena like, all slate and cork floors and dark-walled hang out space, watching the town assemble for the festivities, squinting at new patrons to see if I went to high school with any of them. Art cars and be-bandana'd dogs and herds of jeeps and Harley riders are passing in front of the cafe windows, my private movie. I came here thinking I would get some work done, but seems a shame to waste such a good vibe on work. I just ordered a lemon blueberry crepe. A crepe for FSM's sake!

Friday was a good day. Another afternoon of leaving work a little early. I bought frames for the "old timey" photos from Virginia City, two Sookie Stackhouse books and another on drawing (the Betty Edwards classic), and deep blue velvet curtains for the bedroom. M has convinced me that we sleep better in the dark. While I was in Bed Bath and Beyond, I handed over two of my coupons to a fellow shopper who wanted a set of drapes that she said were too pricey, and that made me unusually happy. I treated myself to an order of fries at Mickey D's on the way home and was handed a free cup of mocha ice cream also, just cuz (and as we all know, french fries and ice cream are two thirds of a perfect meal). Instant karma, perhaps?

Yesterday I picked up a quarter of a cow for mom from an old school butcher and pasta-making outfit. The so-called (in Sonoma County anyway) king of pasta himself, Art Ibleto, waited on me. 85 if he's a day, still thick with Italian accent and memories. We talked ice cream and he told me about the times he would steal milk from his mother's cow and take it to his friend's house, the one with the ice cream machine, and after it was ready he'd gather 'round the bucket with his buddies, spoons in hand and finish it all in one sitting. One friend in particular would wait until it was almost gone, then dip his arm in the bucket and run his hand in the seam at the bottom, scooping up the last bits and then taking off with a fist full of ice cream. He has too many friends, he says, and they all want a plate of free pasta when he sets up at the Wednesday Night Market downtown. He's having a hard time seeing, so I helped him find the ticket, and then accompanied him to the freezer to identify the two crates of white paper wrapped meat.

Well, I'm about done with my crepes and it's just about time to take my place on the parade route. Later today: coleslaw making and a walk on the beach and more lounging with family. Ah.