HOUSTON – SWEETS FOR THE SWEET

You can find almost anything in Houston. After nine years I have ferreted out some of the best places for desserts, a good thing to know, especially with Valentine’s Day this week.

In my own neighborhood, Houston Heights, we are lucky to have Dacapo’s Pastry Café. A full-fledged bakery with award winning pastries, they also serve lunch. Not to be missed are the fabulous sugar cookies. I limit how many I buy, as cannot leave them alone.

Dessert Gallery has two locations, Post Oak and Kirby. It may take you some time to make a decision, they do it all. Red Velvet Cake, Pecan Pie, Lemon Bars, Key Lime Cheesecake and my all time favorite, Luscious Lemon Cake. If chocolate cake is your thing, they have several varieties.

On West Alabama is the original Chocolate Bar. Cakes as big as top hats, divine chocolates made on site. But I stop in for a scoop or two of their Cape Cod Crunch Ice Cream, deep chocolate loaded with nuts and cranberries.

From Central Market I get their unusual Butterscotch Brownies, a nut studded cake brownie with generous lashings of butterscotch frosting.

Rice Market (all locations) offers Sees Candy. I still think Sees makes the best chocolates out there. Stop in for a single piece (who can do that?) or a pound or two. I’m partial to the dark coconut/honey. My husband prefers the Dark Chocolate with English Walnuts. Sees does sugar free chocolates, we have tried the Chocolate Walnuts and they are very good. (So far the sugar free have not been available in Houston, we had to order from Sees online.)

Something cool? We love the gelato at Piccomolo in Meyerland. (4848 Beechnut Street-77096). I prefer their Fruit Gelatos. A tangy Mango and fresh tasting Lemon. My husband goes for Cappuccino , a milk based gelato.

Many of the local restaurants offer satisfying desserts with Indika winning our vote. Their Chocolate Bread Pudding with Cardamom Crème, fantastic.

And if you like being home for Valentines, try these Coffee Blonde Brownies, a recipe I have been making for years from Silver Palate Cookbook.


COFFEE BLONDE BROWNIES

1 Pound Light Brown Sugar
¾ cup (6 oz.) Butter
2 TBSP. Strong Instant Coffee Powder
1 TBSP. Hot Water
2 Eggs
2 TBSP. Vanilla Extract
2 Cups Unbleached All-Purpose Flour
2 tsp. Baking Powder
½ tsp. Salt
1 Cup Chopped Nuts
1 Cup Semi-Sweet Chocolate Chips

1.Heat the brown sugar and butter in a saucepan over medium-low heat until butter melts. Dissolve the coffee in the hot water and stir into the butter mixture. Let cool to room temperature.
2.Preheat oven to 350’. Butter an 11 X 8 inch baking pan.
3.When the butter mixture is cool, beat in the eggs and vanilla with a hand-mixer.
4.Sift the flour and baking powder and salt together and stir into the butter mixture with a wooden spoon. Stir in the nuts and chocolate chips.
5.Spread the mixture evenly in the prepared pan. Bake until lightly browned, 25 to 30 minutes. Do not over bake.
6.Cool completely and cut into 2 inch squares.

It doesn’t really matter what sort of sweet you choose, but share it with someone.


Note: Check out the March issue of National Geographic’s Traveler Magazine, an article, Small Town in the Big City (Pg. 43), a nice article on Houston Heights. I even learned something… I can stop in at The Original Henna Company and have owner Soniya Ekici (a third generation henna artist) decorate my vast body canvas!

Tripping With the Zimmerhoffs

To travel with friends can either be a blast or a big mistake. The early 80’s we lived in London and became friends with a couple from NY. They had three young sons, we had one, so it worked out great to celebrate holidays together and go on outings, and it was nice. Then occasionally we adults would leave our kids with sitters and get away for a night or two.

Often it would be a road trip to an English destination, but there were those infrequent escapes to more glamorous spots on the continent.

A weekend trip to Amsterdam was one of those… in the city; most memorable was our visit to the Anne Frank House. We walked, we shopped, we ate and signed up for a bus tour to visit Keukenhof Gardens and the seaport fishing village of Zuiderzee (now called Ijselmeer). Included was a stop at a Cheese Farm and a shop selling Delft Pottery.

Keukenhof Gardens was at its peak, with thousands of bulbs in bloom. How many photos can you take? Too many! How many bulbs can you order to have shipped home? Way too many!

We watched Gouda being made at the Cheese Farm, we sampled and bought. At the Delft shop I bought a vase I still have today and use often.

In Zuiderzee, a fishing village, the wind blew strong and cold. We saw the houses on stilts, the village itself and ended the tour by having our photo taken in traditional dress. Over the years I have thought of the photo but could not locate my copy. The Zimmerhoffs recently moved, and while going through files found their copy and I share it with you here. Please remember this was years before the famous Amsterdam Coffee Shops (Cannabis Cafes), so we had no excuse.

Rye Sussex, a Cinque Seaport was a popular destination with us. Our base in Rye was always The Old Vicarage B & B. We introduced the Zimmerhoffs to The Old Vicarage, in fact, that is where they got the name, Zimmerhoff. At the time of our visit the establishment was run by a couple, the wife in the background cooking and cleaning, her more social husband, upfront greeting and serving breakfast to their guests.A proper Englishman he always wore an Ascot.

On arrival we introduced our friends, the Simanoffs, to our host. You can only imagine our surprise at breakfast when they were introduced to the other guests as the Zimmerhoffs! And they have remained the Zimmerhoffs ever since. At a later time I took my sister for a weekend at the Old Vicarage, her last name is Burningham; she is now forever, Mrs. Buckingham.

It was at the above mentioned B & B that we sat on our bed waiting on our friends to go to dinner. After being out most of the day we had returned for a late afternoon snooze, agreeing to meet at a set time. Five minutes, ten minutes, I was just going to check on them when there was a knock on our door. I opened it to a shoeless and shirtless Mr. Zimmerhoff. He had a flushed happy face. “We are running a little late, I got lucky.” We could only laugh and wait for our friends, parents of three young boys who didn’t always have time to themselves.

While visiting Rye, an interesting side trip is Bodiam Castle.

In Broadway England in the Cotswolds we stayed with the Zimmerhoffs at a B & B, the name now forgotten. First morning at breakfast we placed our order and as we waited we discussed our plans for the day. As the waitress set our plates in front of us I glanced at Mr. Zimmerhoffs plate and made the comment that we had the same thing, an English fry-up. He quickly glanced at mine and back to his, “No, yours doesn’t have the hair.” We all looked, and sure enough, there was a large, black hair strung across his bright yellow yolk. We came unglued.

I doubt Mrs. Zimmerhoff wants to remember our trip to Lisbon, a city my husband I love and wanted to share with our friends. The first night we took them to our favorite seafood restaurant where Mrs. Zimmerhoff came away with food poisoning or at least that is what we figured. She spent the entire weekend in their room at the comfortable Hotel Principe Real, a little hotel we had found years ago and love, while the rest of us saw the local sites.

More recent we reunited in San Antonio, Texas on a Thanksgiving weekend.

Thanks Zimmerhoffs, it has been a blast.

(The Zimmerhoffs are presently in London for a month and I am green with envy!)


The Old Vicarage
66 Church Square
Rye TN31 7HF
Rye England
(01797 22 2119

Tlaquepaque Mexico Part II

At Casa Fuerte we had been too late for dinner the night before and obviously we were early for lunch. Although the doors were open, not a soul in sight as we entered the beautiful bar. Glistening mirrors and crystal lights, dark rich wood, upholstered chairs and settees, all very inviting. Beyond we could hear voices; so we stepped from the bar into a huge courtyard with a massive tree in the center, vines overhead and up the walls, greenery everywhere, very jungle like, a beautiful setting for a meal. Seated at a table of our choice, for a short time, we were the only diners then a few others trickled in.

There was no question what I was having, mole. Still I read the menu like my life depended on it. We read, and mulled. Finally we were ready to order. Two starters, both regional dishes. Of course I didn’t write the names down as figured I could get the info from the Internet. No… at the restaurants web site, no menu posted, but one dish we tried was dried beef. Not the sort you cringe at on the grocery store shelf but dried like jerky, however, not chewy. It was accompanied by avocado, tomato, cheese and a hot sauce. Our other choice, a house made sausage with walnut sauce. Walnut sauce is often used in Mexican cooking, it was also on the Chile en Nogada my sister had.

Of course there were Margaritas and cold beer poured over ice with fresh lime.

I cannot imagine us not having dessert, but I have no memory of one (or two, I don’t share!)?


The service at Casa Fuerte is topnotch. The bus-boys wore beautiful vest s with colorful embroidery. We were so taken with the vests we tried to buy two. Perhaps something was lost in the translation; we were finally told they were not available.

Woozy with too much food and perhaps a bit of tequila, we stumbled back out into the sunlight. Knowing we were short on time, we hit a few more shops. Exiting one shop we were greeted by a man carrying a huge iguana. He asked if we wanted our picture taken holding it. “No thank you.” I did take a photo, it was an amazing thing… the only iguana I saw while in Mexico.

Although not as hot as on the coast, the humidity seemed to be high. We stopped for an iced coffee. It was near 4 o’clock and the restaurant was packed with locals, an all female Mariachi Band played to everyone's delight. A few more shops and our pace slowed, we agreed a nap was in order. We hustled back to Casa Armonía and the cool, quiet of our room.

Refreshed, we headed back out before restaurants closed; God knows we wouldn’t want to miss a meal. With no shame at all, we trekked back to Casa Fuerte. This time we were the lone diners. After a Margarita or two it didn’t matter. The menu had brought us back, things we felt we wanted to try before leaving Tlaquepaque. My Shrimp in Tamarind Sauce was a mild choice compared to the Chicken stuffed with Huitlacoche (Corn Fungus sometimes called Corn Smut) that my sister ordered. We passed on appetizers. A few more tables filled up with tourists, but you could tell the waiters were antsy to finish their shift even though it was just 7:30. Again our meal was fabulous, memorable. The surprise was the Corn Fungus, not nearly as pungent as we had thought it would be.

Leaving the restaurant we heard a Texas twang, “Hey! Did you all just eat at Fuerte?” It was Texans we had met our first morning at Quinto Don Jose. We answered indeed we had. “We are going there now,” and off they trotted. We knew they would not get in; the restaurant closes at 8PM. We stood and watched from a distance as the group filed in, only to file back out minutes later. They went off down the cobbled street scavenging for food.

Our day to travel back home dawned cool and clear. Packed up we stepped out of our room onto the patio. A woman was behind the small bar cutting up fruit for breakfast. Victor, the cute manager brought us coffee. An engaging fellow, a ringer for Robert Downey Jr. The breakfast offered at Armonia is not as sophisticated as Quinto Don Jose’s, but absolutely adequate. My only complaint would be the powdered milk for the coffee. Yet that would not stop me from staying there again.

We had decided we would take a different route home, but first we had to get out of Guadalajara. We felt smug making it happen on our second try. Traffic eventually thinned as we headed towards Lake Chapala, Mexico’s largest lake and expat mecca.

The little town of Ajijic is right on the lake. The streets are tree lined, the plaza beautiful. We weren’t yet hungry and chose to keep moving. As we left Ajijic we saw one gated community after another, fine for some, but not to my liking. As my sister said, “You would never have to learn Spanish.”

Soon we met up with the main road and hoped to find a small place for lunch but there really wasn’t anything that enticed us, so we broke out the South Beach Bars.

The sky was perfectly blue with only a wisp of cloud, allowing us to view Colima Volcano from the highway, the first time my sister had actually seen it.

Still wanting real food we watched for turn-offs, somehow missing the one we thought we remembered. Only miles from the coast we spotted a sign to the small town of Tecumán. Knowing nothing of the town we just followed our noses to a restaurant specializing in tacos, what could be better? The menu was in Spanish. My sister ordered us fajita beef tacos. I was curious about the others listed and pointed to one. “Tongue,” she said. Ok! “I’ll have one of those.” With that I went off to find the bathroom. On my return our order was on the table and after tasting my tongue taco, my sister ordered herself one. As kids our mother cooked tongue, if she had made tacos maybe we wouldn’t have objected so much! Our tacos were served with a roasted onion wrapped in foil and Nopalito (Sliced Cactus Paddles) salad. Content,we were back on the road and nearly home.

More Mexico:

The best fish tacos were found at a car wash between La Manzanilla and Melaque.

You can vacation in Mexico and never have Montezuma's Revenge.

There is more than one way to cut decorating costs, as seen at Quinto Don Jose Hotel.


The side mirror on an a Ford Exhibition CAN be reattached with duck tape. And you can have a 'totaled' car door repaired like new in twenty-four hours.

The best roommate you can have in Mexico is a gecko.

Tlaquepaque Mexico

During my November trip to Mexico, my sister and I took a road trip from her home in La Manzanilla to Tlaquepaque.

Tlaquepaque is a city, but according to Wikipedia, during the 20th Century the city has been absorbed by the spread of the state capital and is now thought as part of Guadalajara.

With some experience driving in Mexico, my sister chose the toll road route. With a bag full of pesos at my feet and plenty of snacks, we were soon on our way.

We weren’t far down the road when we needed a bathroom. Where I might have squirmed and worried in the US at the thought of using a gas station loo, not a problem in Mexico. Pemex gas stations always have CLEAN bathrooms, not once did I have to walk away. Some also have small stores making it convenient for travelers.

My sister might only be 5’2” and slight of build, but she drives like a trucker. Over the years she has scared the crap out of me. Not that she does dangerous things (well...), but behind the wheel she’s the boss! In the past I have experienced anxiety ridden moments, but this trip I treated myself to half a valium, it made for a smooooth ride.

Posted along the highway, near the turn off to Colima, a large yellow sign with a coiled rattle snake, área de serpiente cascabel’, there was no confusion on that warning! I didn’t even want to stop for a picture.

Tempted to take several side trips, we decided against it, our destination was Tlaquepaque, and we hoped to beat the worst of Guadalajara’s rush hour traffic. We had reservations at Quinto Don Jose, a small hotel where my sister had stayed before.

To avoid the downtown traffic my sister took a “short-cut”… uh, huh, one of those. As we passed the same school for a third time we were weak with laughter and travel fatigue. (About a four hour drive) A Coca Cola truck stopped to make a delivery ahead of us. I was convinced the driver would know the fastest route to our hotel; he probably knew the entire city! He probably did, but “No English.” But the handsome, Bermuda shorts attired young man told us to wait. (At least that was our take on it.) He soon returned with a man who spoke English. Basically he told us to go back the way we came, get back on the freeway. Duh!

So we did… but not before entering a gated community by mistake and again asking directions.

Soon our SUV was parked within the hotel grounds, our luggage was in our room and we were in the hotel bar toasting each other with what would turn out to be the best Margaritas of the trip. (Of course we didn’t know that until the trip ended.)

We thought we were booked both nights at Quinta Don Jose but due to a ‘mix-up’ they could only accommodate us the one night. Much to our delight they were able to secure us a room down the street at Casa Armonia for our second night.

Hungry, we grabbed our shawls and headed out to find dinner. It had been unseasonably hot on the coast, so it was a delight to find cooler temperatures inland.

Even though it was not yet 9PM, but well after 8, restaurants were already closed. Not sure where to go and not finding anything to our liking we decided to return to the hotel in hopes their restaurant would still be open. It was and we plopped down, probably more tired than hungry.

The waiter approached carrying a large wooden easel with a chalkboard atop, which listed the day’s offerings. It set us off… we embarrassed ourselves laughing, confusing the poor waiter. Earlier, while in the bar having Margaritas we had discussed eating at the hotel… as my sister made her way to the ladies room she passed a waiter and mentioned I was at the bar and would like to see a dinner menu. There I was, sipping my drink when I heard a scraping noise behind me, I turned to see a very diminutive waiter pulling this large easel and chalkboard. He put it next to me and walked away looking perturbed. He was no more confused than I was. On my sisters return she looked a bit puzzled, I raised my eyebrows in question. She then told me she had asked the waiter to bring me a menu. Needless to say we made asses of ourselves laughing.

Both early risers, we were up and waiting for breakfast with other tourists on the patio. Everywhere, there were colorful pots over flowing with flowers. Canaries in outdoor cages chirped. A cat balanced on the rim of a fountain getting a drink of water. There was a slight chill to the air; the sun was just working its way across the flagstone.

That was the morning I fell in love with ‘chilaquiles’.

Packed up, we moved over to Casa Armonía. Well, easier said than done. The street access to the hotel’s parking was a narrow lane. The young woman who greeted us opened the gates giving us access. Hoping for an easy turn onto the property, my sister maneuvered the Expedition (a vehicle she was not use to driving) and slowly pulled forward. Nope. She was going to have to swing out more to clear the small entrance. She backed up again. The narrow street was enough of a hazard, but directly across the street from the drive was a make-shift restaurant. Under an awning women were cooking up breakfast for locals seated at plastic tables next to the portable kitchen. By the time my sister had backed up for her third go, she had the attention of the folks at the eatery. Two men had stepped into the street giving her instructions in Spanish. Before long it was a comedy. I stood next to the hotel lady in the drive, she fidgeted, and I could tell she wasn’t so sure it was possible. I even had a flash of doubt. Silly us… she had no idea who was behind the steering wheel and I momentarily forgot. The men in the street also realized this woman was not going away. They cleared the table and chairs out of the way, customers stood back holding their plates. Bearing down, my sister swung the SUV further to the left and turned sharp to the right, and successfully slipped into the drive. Shouts of glee came from the crowd on the sidewalk. My sister climbed out of the SUV, a huge smile on her face.

We fell in love with Casa Armonía. Our room was huge, set up giving both Queen beds privacy. All was light and bright and sparkling clean.

Then we headed to the Plaza. Known for its shopping and food we were excited for a full day to explore. We laced in and out of shops, up and down the cobblestone streets. Soon it was lunch time and we headed to Casa Fuerte, the restaurant we had tried to get into the night before.

Our adventure continues next week.
Food, food, and more food.
A man shows us his Iguana!
Tripping back to La Manzanilla

Traveling in Mexico, two sites that are very useful:
Mexico Guru
Mexperience

Confessions of a Sugar Junkie

Six or so months ago I was very aware of my sugar intake, which was very, very low. Here I am once again atop a sugar dune. Can’t kick it. Well I can kick it, but find it tough.

November vacation, “Oh, its vacation.”

Halloween, “What’s a little candy corn?”

Thanksgiving, “Ditto”.

Christmas? Well Christmas was a whole new ball game…

All those holiday cookies I baked. Pumpkin Bread. Then commercial treats I found. Namely, the Giant Caramel Apples from Williams Sonoma, Moose Munch from Harry and David, etc, etc, etc. I ordered two of the giant Fuji apples for our holiday party; they arrived in plenty of time. Time enough for us to cut one… okay, so maybe one would be enough for our guests; they are pretty big (apples, not guests). No… better order more my husband said. He mentioned two, I ordered four. (By that time they were on sale!) I have always been a lover of caramel corn. My grocery store featured Moose Munch form Harry and David. Bingo! Not only do they have plain, they have one with dark chocolate, one with milk chocolate. And so it went…

With the holidays winding down I was abandoned on the same day by my husband (off to Nigeria on business) and our son and his partner, returning home to California. Leaving me was one thing, leaving me with a house full of sweets was cruel. It was a test I flunked.

I munched, I crunched and shamed myself each and every day. Finally disgusted I tossed what was left. It felt good, noble. Tomorrow would be another day!

The hankering started right after dinner… I cursed that I had been so stupid to toss EVERYTHING! Slumped in my chair in front of the TV I mentally searched my cupboards. They seemed bare. Then I remembered HIM… my little Christmas Reindeer, the one that poops jelly bellies. I jumped up and ran to the dining room where he stood amongst other Christmas items waiting to be packed away. I gripped him, gave him a shake. Yes! I stood him on the table, touched his back and a green jelly belly popped out of his rear-end. I grabbed the sweet and popped it in my mouth. Sweet Jesus… I gave him another hit. Amazing how four jelly bellies can quiet the sugar beast. It wasn’t until I was back in my chair I remembered party guests getting a kick out of the candy dispenser. In turn they would make the red and green candy pop out his rear, then replace the candy for the next person to give it a go. Disgusting. How many hands touched the candies I just ate?

Next day I was off to buy veggies at Costco. Lettuce, spinach, butternut squash, brussel sprouts. Oh I was back on track! As I exited the cooler through the bakery department on the way to paper goods something pink flashed in my vision. Pink! Cherries? Oh crap, a Cherry Pie! I walked on… I slowed; then flipped a U and picked up the giant pie. Was I out of my mind? Uh-huh.

Two days later and three large slices of pie eaten, I tossed the remains. It didn’t feel good or noble. It felt like the desperate act of an out of control sugar addict.

I am happy to say I have improved. Not quite there, but sliding down that dune.


In an earlier blog I gave thumbs up to Roundman’s Smoke House in Ft. Bragg California. Big disappointment this year, their smoked salmon not what it has been in the past, I will have to find another source in the New Year.

Looking for a get-a-way in the New Year? Check out Enchanted Meadows on California’s Mendocino Coast.

INTO THE NEW YEAR

Just before New Years I lapped up every article about the up-coming blue moon, the first since 1997. It was to be lucky for everyone and I was jazzed.

Then the day before it was to appear I read, ‘a blue moon’ is a creature of folklore. It’s merely the second full moon in a calendar month. I guess it didn’t matter, fog was so thick in Houston the moon could have been turquoise with purple stripes, couldn’t have seen it anyway. New Years Day I did eat black-eyed peas to insure ‘prosperity’ in the New Year.

Christmas rushed in and was over before we had emptied the cookie tins. All that preparation and then ‘whoosh’, it was finished. However, it was a grand Christmas spent with our son and his partner. The sun didn’t set that we hadn’t laughed long, ate hardy and expressed our love for one another. What could be better than that.

Gifts? I really don’t need anything, but when a gift comes with clear forethought from the giver, it makes it special. That is the sort of things I received this year and one in particular. We were well into the unwrapping, ankle deep in wrap and ribbon. A slim gift from my sister had no tag, but it had come with others from her. I told my husband to unwrap it; I was busy getting a cup of coffee. As he peeled the festive paper away he glanced at a note attached, “It’s for you.” He handed me a well worn photo album.

It must have been the strangled sob from me; everyone stopped what they were doing and listened as I attempted to read her note. I started to cry. My husband gently took the gift from me and continued. At one point he even had to catch his breath. Here is some of what she wrote.

Here you are! I know there seem to be few pages. I have only removed those that are just photos of me. I love those of you and I together… there are not many, but note that we are holding hands in nearly all of them. I still hold your hand.

What brought this about was our resent ‘sister’ trip to Mexico. At some point I remembered a long ago photo of us with our parents in Tijuana, a photo I had not thought of in years. The moment I mentioned it, without hesitation my sister blurted, “I have that photo!” I was shocked and happy, as so many of our family things had been lost over the years… I could tell she was trying to remember where she had last seen it. Obviously she went home and found the treasured album.

I am sorry to have not gotten them to you sooner. You are a far better guardian than I.

I am not so sure of that, but my first task of this New Year is to extract the faded photos from their pages, make copies and share with my loving sister and our sons.

TIS THE SEASON…

The tree stands naked, or almost. A miscalculation on lights, it will take another run to the hardware store to finish up.

Saturday afternoon we drove to our local nursery to get our Christmas tree. The car park was nearly empty so we had a bad feeling. Then we saw the last two trees available, one huge, way too big for us, and the other looked as though it had been run over by a car. Seems Houstonians rushed to buy their trees the first week of December, the weekend we had the snow.

Further afield we found another nursery, still lots of trees. Too many trees… up and down the rows we traipse pulling at boughs, checking height and width. Finally we point to one that looks like a dozen others; the man pulls it to the checkout stand. We pay; he drags it to our SUV and helps us secure it on the roof.

Its four days later and finally the tree is lit and decorated. It makes me smile. I like the lights, the familiar ornaments. Still there are storage bins and boxes in the dining room, the entry, the living room. The mantle is decorated, the Welsh dresser in the dining room. Still so much to do, time is short, but it is beginning to look like Christmas.
***

The Christmas Party

Sometime in November the topic raises its ugly head, the “Company Christmas Party.” I hate company parties. I understand a company wanting to treat employees to some sort of festivities, but have always been puzzled why spouses are included. Puzzled or not I have attended more than I care to remember. It’s not to say I don’t end up having a good time, I usually do.

This year was no different. First I was told it was just going to be a cocktail party, finger food, drinks, and go home. I could handle that. Then it suddenly blossomed into a cocktail hour, sit down dinner and dance. The only redeeming factor, it was being held at the Houston Museum of Natural Science. We would have access to the Faberge: Imperial Jeweler to the Tsars Exhibit and the Cullen Hall of Gems and Minerals with access to the vault. It already was sounding a bit more interesting than parties past

.
Sure enough, it was a smashing party. Things were going swell, the Chardonnay smooth. Dinner was good, the Chardonnay still smooth. Dessert divine, the Chardonnay smooooth. Tunes by Memphis Train Revue, and OH, that Chardonnay!

A good time was had by all.

Monday the party photos were sent to the company from the photographer, my husband forwards the attachment to me. I am rushed to meet him for lunch and don’t open it. When we meet up he asks if I had a look. I don’t like photos; I ask if they are bad? “No,” he says… It’s just that you have your finger up your nose.” Oh crap. I vaguely recall the moment, the photographer approaching our group lining us up for the shot. I put my finger in my nose and encouraged a friend to do the same.

“Do I look fat?” “No,” he answers. “Well then,” I state. I study the menu.

Perhaps next year there won’t be the push for me to attend.
***

November – La Manzanilla Mexico

I can’t remember the last time I swam. I’m immersed in Tanaccatita Bay. The water is warm, salty; it’s easy to ‘bob’. As the waves gently rock against me I recall this delicious feeling, I can’t remember when or where, but I feel weightless, warm, and safe. Why have I waited so long for such pleasure?