10086 Sunset Boulevard

I had heard the phrase as a child, not attaching it to a song, but rather a strange gift from the Universe at large. A messy, painful and rather humiliating blessing.A year ago my Mother visited England for a month and, after years of always having someone around, I was finally all by myself. I had looked forward to this alone time and all the things I would accomplish in that month. Instead I had a meltdown. I was free to grieve fully for all that had taken place in the years before and I did. It was one of the worst months of my life and the month that I finally let go of all the pain. It was a deep cleansing of the psyche. It was the bird of paradise flying up my nose. I feel fortunate and grateful to have been given the bird.

Once I was all the way down, things started getting much better. Much, much better. People came into my life; a new friend to remind me that there are good men out there and several old friends reappeared in my life to remind me of the importance of good friendships. They are all at such interesting places in their lives. They inspire me and I realize that they too have been given the bird.

I have one friend who I have known since we were 21. We both turned 51 this year. I’d like to tell you all about her life and how she arrived where she is at now, but she and her husband are very private people. They live in a large, beautiful house in the middle of their organic farmland. They work all the time to bring good, clean healthy food to the people who shop at the farmer’s market and their regular clientèle includes some of the finest restaurants in the bay area.

My friend’s time restraints don’t give her enough time to keep up with paperwork. She and her husband would like it all to be organized. She remembered that I used to do those kind of jobs years ago, and when we were talking recently she said “I wish I could hire you to come and help me”.Her wish was my command. The timing could not have been better. I was on the famine cycle of my work as a transcriptionist. My book is nearing completion, and I’ve been spending far too much time on the computer and was feeling the need for balance. Working on a farm is just my cup of tea. I’ll be working there on Tuesday’s and Wednesdays, returning home on Thursday. This past week was my first week on the job.

I have friends who are quite envious and want to hear about life on the farm. I don’t want to disillusion them because there is no way I could keep up with the kind of work my farmer friends do, or deal with just how hard the lifestyle is. I sometimes wonder if the rewards are worth it, but they are a passionate couple - passionate about what they do and passionate about each other, so it all comes together.

My life on the farm is idyll. I worked hard this week, but I loved every minute of it. I lost 3 pounds just moving around the expansive house and going up and down the many stairs. I ate like a horse. My friend cooked four meals a day and made sure that I was stopping for a snack break in between. My meals were not exactly low carb. The day started off with fried eggs, potatoes, tomatoes and squash. Two slices of toast with jam preserves made from their oh-so-sweet Seascape Strawberries, washed down with organic coffee, made fresh from beans that morning. “My” bedroom is on the second floor of the house, with an indoor balcony off my room, which pleases the princess in me. Can you believe they actually pay me as well?

At the end of the first day, my friend and I strolled outside, watched the full moon rising and ate a tomato here and a strawberry there, and finished up with a fig. I probably won’t sample figs again, unless they are in a Newton.

The second evening, I went outside and played with their two dogs, and afterwards two of the farm cats came to join me on my stroll.

When my friend came out later, I asked her what the tropical plant was that grew near the house. I had been admiring it and taking pictures.

“That” she said proudly “is a giant Bird of Paradise”.

Word of caution – don’t watch this movie alone. Not because it’s too scary to watch by yourself, but because misery loves company. I love a good “bad” movie, but I didn’t find it here. In my search for a perfect bad movie, I once watched From Justine to Kelly. Really.

The premise of this movie is to kill the witness on his way from Hawaii to Los Angeles to testify against a mob boss. The bad guy has managed to get a “Lethal Snakes of the World” variety pack placed in the cargo hold of South Pacific Airlines flight 121. He’s also arranged to have all of the flowers in the leis sprayed with pheromones, you know, just so that the movie makers can have an explanation of why the snakes viscously invade all human orifices.

The dialog was juvenile and I can only imagine how some of it came about:

“Hey, like wouldn’t it be cool if we have some guy and this hot chick doing it in the john and she’s naked and like this snake comes down through the air vent and bites her nipple?”

“Oh Dude, that would be so cool. You know what else? We could have some guy use the other john and we’ll have him talk to his penis and say “how’s my big boy doing?” just so the audience knows he’s got a big dick and then like, he looks in the mirror while he’s taking a piss and then the snake comes up through the toilet and gets pissed on and so the snake attacks his penis”

“Oh, yeah, that would be rad! And his last words could be “You f*cking Bitch, get off my dick”.

Yeah, it’s that bad. There was a moment I thought things could turn around, when the oxygen masks deploy and masks and snakes come streaming down on the already terrified passengers and someone says “What the F*ck?”. It made me laugh out loud, just that once.

The height of ridiculousness comes when an enormous python makes an appearance and devours the annoying Englishman, after he’s just tossed a passengers yappy little accessory dog to the snake hoping to quell it’s appetite.

The move is bad and repulsive. You would think that in the making of a movie like Snakes on a Plane there would be some decent bloopers, but the gag reel is pathetic.

Even Samuel L. Jackson couldn’t save this movie. His explanation for wanting to be in the movie?

It’s all about going to the movies on Saturday when I was a kid, sitting in a dark theater with all my little friends and screaming and yelling and doing s— to people while the movie’s on, like taking a piece of wire or something and running it up somebody’s neck and making them scream.

Do you still want to watch the movie? Check out Ruthless Reviews before you do and you just might have a good time.

Here is the promised lunch ad from the 60’s (click picture to enlarge):

Ad:  What’s so hot about lunch? Ice cold Coca-Cola, of course. It has the taste you never get tired of. Always refreshing. That’s why things go better wth Coke after Coke after Coke.

It’s been a while since I posted any of the ads from the 60’s. Here is a classic American Soda Fountain treat from the 60’s, but check in tomorrow at lunch time and I’ll post the classic American lunch - the kind you used to order when you sat at the counter at Woolworth’s way back when.

Ad: Things go better with Coke after Coke after Coke. With or without, it’s always refreshing. Because ice cold Coca-Cola has the taste you never get tired of. (Click on photo to enlarge).

At last September has arrived, my favorite month. It’s supposed to be another 100 degree plus weekend, but it’s tolerable knowing that fall is just around the corner. It’s also the month that I am now free of picking the endless bounty of grapes that the vine produced this summer. Last year we had about three bunches of grapes - small and a little sour, so there was no way to anticipate that this year we would be overwhelmed with grapes. They grew and grew and the bunches cascaded over one another like a big purple waterfall.I asked the previous owner about the vine. Her Uncle lived in Chicago and brought back vine cutting from a visit to family in Italy. He made the trek out to California to present her with the vine cutting and it’s lived here ever since. It’s about thirty years old. A vine with a history.

My neighbors all received grapes. Family, friends and our mailman received grapes. I made a trip over to Rona’s house to give her grapes and I came back with a large bowl of homegrown tomatoes and some more plant cuttings to add to my garden.

We have friends who live nestled in the heart of the wine country and I enjoyed driving through the vineyards to present them with grapes from our vines. It was like Carrying coals to Newcastle and they enjoyed the joke and the grapes.

The the grapes are really good. Seedless red, sweet and delicious. The kind you can’t stop eating. But I can’t pick any more. The last of the harvest lies deep in the vine and since I don’t believe in spraying for pests, there are scary things back there. The kind of things that if I saw, would make me fall off the ladder. I have cleared some of the leaves away and have given permission to the birds and our resident squirrel to help themselves. We’ve had an understanding this year, as I’ve made sure they had their share of grapes in exchange for them leaving the ones on the vine alone.

Next year I’ll be ready. My sister in law told me she’ll come down for the day and teach me how to make grape jelly. I hate grape jelly. Maybe she’ll come down and help me make wine instead? Josephine Gillis, Vintner. It has a certain ring.