Tropical Post Election Post smeared with Chocolate Croissant

Les Amis du Vent 

Bonjour bloggers! 

 I have been trying to think of a way to describe what the election was like for us here in paradise, and the best way is for you to imagine a cartoon where the characters are on a roller coaster. You know the one where they descend a near vertical slope in a tiny car? And their eyes are wide open but they are not screaming? But then they go up again? and then down...up and down, up and down. Like idiots. 

 On November 3, we were assembled at our table (happily so because we thought we were going to crush this due to last minute tropical confidence), waiting for our talented and lovely chef, Margaux, to serve dinner. Then Thomas tells us Florida is going for Trump and all hell broke loose. I blame Thomas because he was the one that told me. Andrew starts to moan; Margaret (thank god we married her) goes into therapist mode and tells us something useful and kind that we ignore. The poor chef...she presents dinner: TA DA!! and none of us eat. This lasted for a maximum of an hour or two before I decide to retreat to my beautiful, silent bedroom to stare at the overhead fan. That is all I could think to do. Andrew does the same in his room (Brighams fell first..like the largest trees in the forest). Thomas stays near MSNBC and his secret stash of polls. Peter calls Andrew from London and cannot fathom that we are scattered around the house and "don't know where Ellie is".  If there were any doubt about having Andrew or me in the fox hole with you, let this make it clear that you probably don't. 

So we somehow sleep for a few hours, and then stumble awake to what I think will be a new world hell-scape, but instead see a beautiful St Barths sunrise and a tiny ray of hope: 

Biden won Arizona. Fox news called it; Trump is pissed. 

So we have breakfast. Every morning between 6 and 7 am our disturbingly handsome "butler" drops off baguettes and chocolate croissant and regular croissant and orange juice. We eat it all, because Arizona is worth a croissant. The yoga teacher we have hired shows up and is such a mean, critical person that we fall in love. She is all sharp edges and competence; she hates Trump, and us...and we welcome her loathing, because we hate us too. It had a distinct dominatrix vibe to it actually: all pain and insults. But we stay in the moment and now we feel better. Votes are still coming in. The odds have gone from 70 percent chance Trump win to 70 percent chance he will lose. Andrew is now dabbling in euphoria and decides to drink at lunch. He doesn't tempt fate with champagne, but he downs a few beers. Now the mini rollercoaster car is chugging up a steep rise hill, and we are virtually on our backs looking at the sky. 

And so it goes for the next few days...but each downhill ride is shorter. Until finally, mercifully, my phone blows up while we are scouting a lunch place and then and only then we drink champagne on the beach. But truth be told Trump screwed us on that too...it just wasn't the same as that night when Obama won.

Ok I know you just want to hear about St. Barths. I am here to report that it is in fact as good as they say. I was thinking that I wouldn't be seduced, that it was all rosé and celebrities; but it is beautiful. Yes, there are many drunk people- depressing couples where the man is penniless and gay and the older woman is the only one who doesn't know. And there are the armies of 20 year old girls who spend 82.5% of their time taking selfies in front of the restaurant. But there are also the largest collection of handsome French men I have ever seen. (Who knew this was where they all went?) The pilots who flew us, and couldn't figure out why we didn't want champagne on the flight, the man who takes care of us, the construction workers, the waiters...it is crazy land of beauty. And the whole island is filled with happy people, except for the yoga teacher (who comes 3 times a week). It is almost shocking to hear that accent paired with a cheerful smile. I would say the island is so spectacular that it deserves a little more reverence than it is given: less traffic and fewer Russian oligarchs would be nice perhaps. But St. Barths can withstand it-such is its grandeur. 

One side of St. Barths looks like Scotland, but with turquoise water crashing below cliffs. .The island has numerous natural pools, and there are goats and turtles everywhere, including our house. We love the turtles so much, we stop the car wherever we are to help them cross the road (they really are slow.) Some of the beaches we go to are at fancy hotels on the beach with lovely service and models wandering through showing what is available to buy; and some are more remote. Below is a photo of me at Columbier beach, below the old Rockefeller estate, that can only be reached by 20 minute hike, or by boat. 

Of course when we got there a group of four rather fit, middle aged nudists came strolling by, rosé in hands; and yes they were Americans. 

The tans made me think they may have been partial to Trump. 

Email from MMB 

 

Holy hell...this thing is in less than two weeks. As you know, Margaret and Andrew and I will be raising our little power fists from under the shade of a palm tree on November 3; because we are cowards.

A little while back, a judge told the Trump administration to re unite the border children with their parents without delay. But the Trumps just came back and reported, one presumes sheepishly, that they can't find them. Seemed to have lost the parents. 

So I ask, if by some chance a one issue, Pro Life voter accidentally stumbled upon this blog: shouldn't a living, breathing child be protected as dearly as a four day old fetus from a rapist? Asking for a friend. 

Luckily, I recently read the book "Breath" and it shows how one can change one's entire life simply by breathing through the nose. So while I have no tips for getting through the next few months of civil war between fat, Covid lunged gun owners and suburban women who have been on the Peleton for 6 hours a day; I can offer this: breathe slowly from the nose. Just do that. (Laughing is also always a good plan- I mean just thinking of our elite team of drag queens in camo leggings will get you through a few days.)

What do we do if democracy is over? I don't know...but I do get solace from the fact that on our side we have Richard Feynman (I know he is dead) and Stephen Colbert. We have Obama, and George Clooney and the Pope; Larry David and Steve Schmidt and Steph Curry and Tony Fauci. (And I haven't even gotten to the girls yet). So the underground resistance meetings will be fun.

As a Republican anti-Trumper recently said: 

"It's all over now but the voting and the cheating."

Photos sent from Taco Bell parking lot in Susanville Ca

 Hellllooooow! Here comes quickest blog ever:

On our way to another camp but first we had to stop in a small town to do some work- Thomas yelling in German about money wiring and trading instructions from a taco bell parking lot, while Frederick talked to Chicago Astrophysicists about the van. He got some real Nerd Street Cred being in this baby. That is all they wanted to walk about. 

Then a truly unadvisable visit to the drive through where Thomas refused to speak to the person through the intercom because he is convinced people don't understand him..so I had to and then when we had ordered exactly 1,000 items, and heard the total was $23 dollars we all simultaneously started laughing. 

We don't need to be snobs, but it is a different planet here honey. 

Field with volcanic rocks 

Visit to a Salt Lake (terrible smell)

Please note that I am as always fully accessorized 

Dirty feet making bed

close up

Paulina Lake

Crater Lake

RV park with tiniest RV ever

Inhabitant of space 26 cooking marinated flank steaks

My ridiculed but successful salads

Ellie speaking in the local dialect over her little German's head.

Sloshing Down Route 66

“If it don’t rhyme with America, I don’t even Careica.” 
'A Statement of Freedom' from Gus Johnson’s youtube channel found by Frederick; "Subscribe unless you hate freedom."

Greetings latte liberals!

I am writing to you from an RV park by a river about 90 minutes east of Ashland Oregon via Route 66. The river is beautiful and cold (we dipped in) even though behind us is the freeway- so we are sandwiched between two sounds of rushing- ness. 

RV parks are not to be confused with trailer parks. Trailer parks are (and I speak from experience stumping for Obama in Nevada) permanent housing with a strong whiff of guns and leashed pit bulls. An RV park however is filled with retirees who seem to be fly fishing and reading books on butterflies. I was pleasantly surprised by the clientele. 

We have been on this adventure about one day and I can say that I will probably not be buying one of these Mercedes Sprinters. I had visions of owning a car that would allow me to see the nooks and crannies of the country without having to go into a bathroom meant for truckers. Indeed these vans are cool…but it feels smaller than a boat. The shower is in the same tiny cubby as the head, and it’s just a little too close to my own bed. The bed is a dream though- king sized and made with our crispy Peninou ironed sheets. 

The first night we were in Shasta which was so beautiful. We had a little hike up the actual volcano and then settled in to a camp site with a view of the mountain. Being a city girl, I fear no meth heads on the streets of San Francisco, but am highly suspicious (and frankly terrified) of any hippie campers. I kept calling them ‘grifters’ and told Frederick who slept in a tent next to our van to bring a knife. It was surreal….there were all these attractive young people who had just dropped out and were sleeping in tents around the land. Shasta of course with its crystals and astrologers, is a big draw. The campsite wasn’t crowded because it was so big, but there were a lot of happy greetings of fellow drop out/rainbow clad travelers. One guy had long, rich kid dreadlocks and was draped in a rainbow blanket with short rainbow socks. Rather stylish actually. When they saw us they all - to a one-shouted: “welcome to sand flats camp ground”….as if we were moving in. One guy had been there for 18 days due to some snafu with free lodging he was promised in Sedona, but told us he had had the best 18 days of his life here in this meadow at the foot of Mount Shasta. He wasn’t really up to speed on the whole fires ravaging the state thing. Hadn’t heard of it. 

The trouble with camping is it is so much work….the dinner, the fire, the beds, the tent, the clean up…not a lot of time to relax. Also on our first night we had (unwisely) chosen a camp site at 7,000 feet elevation, so the sun went down and we literally froze all night. F was ok in his sleeping bag, but we had been too afraid of the heat to bring eiderdown, so there we were in short pajamas under a little blanket. It wasn’t until the morning that we realized there was a heater we could have used without the whole thing being turned on. 

Rough night. 

I am obsessed with something called “black water” on board. There is gray water - the water from the shower and the sink, and then there is black water…I won’t connect the dots for you. So here we are cranking Willie Nelson and Don McLean ( I am DJ and I am crushing it) cruising through lovely, long-suffering California, heading up to beautiful Oregon, and I am filled with love for the land and love for the goofballs that inhabit it. I actually think if we can sing American Pie really loudly together with the red staters, all will be healed, and I want to buy a Mercedes Sprinter!! Then it dawns on me that we are carrying around what is in essence an extra large toilet. I then spend the next few hours wondering if we are adventuresome kids with the wind in our hair, free men who can control their destinies, or are we simply middle aged people with a Mercedes toilet sloshing down route 66. The sound of all the undrunk wine bottles clinking doesn’t help the visual (we are drinking practically nothing but brought a ton). Clink clink slosh slosh are not exactly the sounds of Jack Kerouac.  

To combat this, I fully embraced our plan for the second night- to sleep in an actual park with other large RVs where one can have a shower outside of one’s van, and best of all remove the dark water from the camper. Very refreshing.  When we arrived, we had a lot of interest in the sprinter. People approached and oohed. said they wanted one, but gosh they were so expensive….we assured them we were renters. 

Today we go to Crater Lake; we found lamb shanks frozen in the bottom of the cooler so we will be grilling lamb shanks I suppose. First night we had marinated chicken (ginger lime); second night marinated flank steak (teriyaki). Thomas says due to my skill at marinating while driving, I may just have real latent camping skills. More on that later…

Many photos to upload as soon as I can...but precious time and wifi. Must rush. 

Now leaving Ochoco National Forest after a coffee in Prineville where love for Trump is on full display. Heading back towards my home state after place called Wagon Tire Oregon. Much to tell, but Ill get this up now. 

Few photos!

Winding down here, and we boy will we miss it; it has been such a happy dumping of sunshine and warmth and blue water on our souls. Thomas is especially skeptical of a return to civilization...he is so relaxed here. For me it is of course a lovely place to be quarantined, though it has a bit of a Truman Show vibe. That is the movie where Jim Carey is unknowingly in a reality show in a fake set where he cannot leave. At one point he literally butts up against a wall that looks like the sky. Whenever we get even close to leaving the property- even approaching the front gate, there is a security kerfuffle. Part of it is Corona Virus, and the rule on the island that one can come to the Amanera, but has to stay here. They practically threw a butterfly net over us when we tried to walk back from the spa on the absolutely stunning golf course.  We can walk up and down the beach, but it is not for the faint of heart. It is really, really hot and the sand can be so thick, that the way back is a bit reminiscent of Alexander's Gedrosian desert march. Very dangerous for couples hoping ot avoid divorce...must have water and a hat and a dive into the sea as soon as one is back.  It is a very hard earned 4,000 steps. 

We did do another jungle walk this morning and F came along. Too funny- S is just so happy to be in the jungle with all those delightful creepy crawlies, and when she is there we seem to stumble on things that our guide says he rarely sees- he almost jumped up and down over a special gecko, and then she found amid all these leaves, a very rare butterfly wing. The two of them were over the moon. F tries to get in the spirit, but this was the baby that cried the first time I put him on a lawn. 

The other guests here have been odd and disproportionately prop Trump. We heard one guy complaining about "all these masks at home" and another guy-who is from the Bay area and here for a month, is head of some sort of Jewish Republican group (we googled him). Lovely chap, but one wonders why only the Wehlens and the Trump die hards are traveling. Attractive people without boob jobs seem to be staying home. 

Beach walking soon, then rum and dinner with the delightful kiddies, then tennis mañana. D.C. Thursday night, home Friday morning. 😞 

xx

My daily lunch date and view. Tacos and Thomas. 

Hard at work

You can see how much studying F has done by his tan. 

Amazing architecture here...this is the front "lobby"

Thomas working on our puzzle

view from our bed. The clouds were a show every day...rainy dark ones and huge fluffy pink ones and everything in between

We made a run for the tiny beach next to ours...small freedom

Jungle walk again- this time with the physicist. 

S trying to show F how much fun a jungle walk can be

A Dominican Fishing Boat, a World Champion Kite Boarder and an Englishmen who speaks like an Aussie

 I figured I would save some time writing the blog by putting the most important things in the title. Maybe it will even be the whole entry.

Greetings! All is well. The climate is hot and, in the middle of the day, quite windy. We play tennis most mornings in the heat, although today it was in a full rainstorm. I am used to tennis being cancelled for the rain, but here in the jungle they don't know of this tradition.

Lunch is down at the beach and no matter how much I try to veer from the usual, it is always one shrimp, and one fish taco. They split the orders for me...I am hoping they name it "The Ellie" soon.

We do not drink rosé at lunch which seems to be de rigeur for the people who come for a few days only. We are part of an elite crowd of eccentrics who stay and stay and stay. Our only competition in this area is a family of five who live in New York but the father -whom we refer to a 'Fuzzy' due to his wild hair and half grown beard and slight caveman posture..(but in a dashing caveman way. I am sure his wife thinks he is quite handsome)-he apparently grew up in Florida which is exactly what I told Thomas. Thomas pegged them for Upper West side NYC and I said no way, no how....Florida. I guess we were both right.
They seem to laugh a lot and are quite the insulated little group...they do not associate with outsiders or, it seems do anything other than go to meals.

You might ask why we care...and I would remind you that the main reason one goes to a hotel like this is the people watching. It is like an expensive zoo. Everyone it seems flew privately here and no one wears pink. Men have things like shirts that tie on the sides and wear backward baseball hats. Kanye West was or is here (I couldn't understand the man who told me).

No one uses any of the beach toys except for us, and our team is carried by the heroic S who tries them all. She was seen paddle boarding in rough seas while her absent minded boyfriend was calmly reading A brief History of Time under an umbrella. Thomas and I were watching her over tacos and Thomas was wondering when he should jump in before she paddled herself to Turks and Caicos. But the biggest news in sports and perhaps the biggest news at the hotel is Thomas and the kite boarding. I gave him a kite board for Christmas a few years ago, and he has never had any lessons. Since the D.R. has a huge kite boarding scene, we arranged for lessons here. It wasn't easy..normally clients go into the tourists town nearby, but because of Covid, we have to stay on campus. After much negotiating, they arranged for a teacher who moved here in 2001 from England, who comes with the Dominican world champion: Luis Alberto Cruz. Please google him. Lastly, they bring an old guy in a fishing boat to follow Thomas and fish him out of the sea.

The first day is almost three hours on a Saharan type sand-scape but with wind. It looks awful. Then he gets in the water and stage one (this sport is apparently difficult) is basically being dragged around in the water by the kite. Day two is more water and I go up to the top floor where there is an open air bar with views of the sea. I see what I think is my husband dashing back and forth on what I think is the board. Then I see him leap in the air and I assume he has done this on purpose. Alas he had not. He landed (I didn't see it) on his back from high above the sea. Every waiter and concierge and driver and taco hander-outer is talking to us about Thomas and his kiteboarding. They feel he is an exceptional talent. They also think my taco order is a thing of poetry, as it my forehand and where did we pick up this incredible Spanish. It takes a while to catch on, but we are getting there.

Thomas is as sunburnt as I have ever seen him, and his eyes were puffy from so much sand, sea and suntan lotion over the three hours. We had room service with the kiddies and watched separate movies. He is back at it tomorrow.

Ok I will get this up with photos now because I know you are clamoring for fewer words and more photos.

Oh God Kanye is here. He is sitting in front of us. Weird entourage, Camo pants, strange fishing vest with things in it ...weird is my normal now.

View from where I eat tacos

The gym

Watching Thomas

Civilization Successfully Flee-ed!

our footsteps....yes of course we are counting.

 The demand for the blog has never been this keen! Such is the fascination with the garden variety United airlines flight, not to mention a Caribbean jaunt, everyone is checking in daily! thank you Corona. (I guess) 

I have to get this down quickly, so no editing. 

Flight was normal, but with masks. Once you are on, you are on and it is weirdly ok. So don't fret if you have to go somewhere. The private flight was also good...although I had visions of champagne and tea sandwiches but all we had were vegan scones brought by heroic S and a mini, mini bottle of tequila I made Frederick get for me in case of turbulence. It was more like a New York taxi than something the Kardashians would fly. 

The pilot seemed to want to feel out Thomas about his politics, and mentioned he "couldn't vote for Biden because he was senile" Poor Thomas, these types always flock to him in the mistaken belief he is a secret German right winger with a hedge fund that makes money off of orphans. If they only knew he wept on the street in D.C. on July 4 listening to MLK's I have a dream speech. It was being played out of a lone man's car while traffic whizzed past and it was indescribibly poignant. A perfect Corona July 4. 

But alas, Thomas does tends to exude a vaguely bond villain vibe; and it is only worse when he is tan. 

Onward to the Aman! Short answer is the beach is one of the prettiest I have ever seen- it is sublime. Water is turquoise with perfect little waves to bob in. Staff is super kind, and while they didn't exactly graduate from Swiss hotel schools (forks are often on the wrong side, and wine is sort of plunked down then forgotten) BUT! they are utterly charming and because our little group represents 40 percent of the entire guest list, we get nice treatment. 

It is not like one forgets totally abut Corona; I woke up one night and started in with the usual worry, but during the day it is so beautiful and, frankly, hot; one cannot really worry for long. 

We went on a 3.5 hour nature hike in the jungle. It was supposed to be an hour and a a half, but S (F had a class and didn't come) is no ordinary nature walk attendee. Lol. Guide did not know what he was in for...but AP bio at Exeter and 18 years of fixation on all animal and plant things, has made her the single greatest Aman nature walk guest in history. I think he knew he was in for a good day when she asked him if he could please catch a snake for her to hold. He then proceeded to catch a crab, two snakes, and a gecko. Then he taught us how to find passion fruit and eat termites and build shelter out of palms we have dried. (spoiler: you need a machete).

 Coming home might not be necessary. 

Our room has this nice pool (below) and a rather enormous garden. Today we will eat grilled fish for lunch at the beach restaurant, then collapse (we played tennis at 9 am and the humidity was insane.) 

Ok Ill send more photos, later today, but let's get this up...more soon. 

Post beach walk guacamole and beer discovery. yay

Bitter Sweet Symphony

Deborah's genius and Ellie's determination in one box

For his 60th birthday, Bono published a list of "60 songs that saved my life." Some of his list was patently absurd. Could 'Killing me Softly with his Song' by the Fugees save a life? I hate to quibble, but the only plausible life saving song on his list was Bitter Sweet Symphony.

Javier came back (we suggested he start with three days a week) and it took him 8 hours to polish and shine the contents of exactly two rooms. We open the silver drawer now and gaze at the forks and knives. Such is our worship of the sight, we will eat with our hands for a while.

MMB is attracting a lot of hummingbirds to her "all you can drink- diabetes is also for birds" buffet
She seems to think it is a miracle that they come to her of all people; but she is offering a high sugar safe house on her deck. Tommy says she is affecting the ecosystem of the Richmond district and obese hummingbirds will lead, somehow, to saber tooth tigers roaming lake street.

In entertainment news, we had a little gathering with Amy R and family of San Francisco, CA in the garden. Deborah and I invented individual boxes of her food with plastic wrapped glasses and disposable forks and knives. I haven't decided if they are really cute, or kind of sad.

Then tonight MMB came for dinner and we were all a twitter. She had not eaten in the house for two and a half months; Javier set the table as if there were a small wedding, and Thomas put on his old tuxedo. Footwear was optional.

why did I ever blow dry (or cut) my hair? Am loving the aging hippy vibe. 

I am not certain, but I believe sometimes when I am watching the Office, Frederick's physics lectures are slowed. (I won't back down, so may the best man win). Amazingly, he let me eavesdrop on a zoom call he had with the professor for whom he is doing research (I had to sit on the bed out of sight) It was all I could do not to lean over his shoulder and invite the guy to stay with us. Can you imagine? All that black hole explaining in this house??!! Frederick is accusing me of having a crush on him, which is ridiculous, because I have never laid eyes on the man. But of course I do.

In many high density urban areas people come out and clap for the healthcare workers and firemen and Amazon deliver people. It is by far the best part of the whole Corona thing; but here on Pacific avenue, there is no clapping. It is not because we are against it, it's just that we have no leadership. Plus everyone is in the second house in Napa.

What if we put the youngest, fittest people in a stadiums and let them catch the Coronavirus but then made them stay in tent cities for three weeks after that? The tent cities could have hospitals in case people got sick. Some would die maybe but not many.
I am now fantasizing about things like that.

Both Thomas and I think our eyes have gotten worse during Corona. We also have slight allergies for the first time ever and the sniffling and scratchy throats make us think we have the virus. We go from storming the beaches bravery (and yes that will be the blog title if we get to Turks and Caicos), to Woody Allen level hypochondria.

In Athletic news- I took a one hour Bikram class, in- wait for it- the sauna! Seriously it felt like a victory. It was so very close to the real thing.

Why would anyone go back to high rises or gyms after this?
Why make Eloise leave her beautiful and amusing babies to go downtown or to the Silicon Valley? I know there is a connection between the world's obsession with the show The Office- it is the number one downloaded show of all time- and our recent illumination that not  working in an office, is not only possible but less absurd. Prepare thyselves for my Opus on this.

Things will change after we have peeked at a world without conference rooms and assigned parking, and maybe all that pretend stuff associated with work will disappear. Other fun things will come out of Corona- Donald Trump may dissolve into dust. People may begin to worship scientists; they might keep taking walks after dinner; might keep bringing their neighbors food and toilet paper for no reason. We might keep saying hello to strangers and drinking on our front steps.

I hope that once we are vaccinated or easily cured, we don't go back to rushing around not noticing each other. And as cliche as it is, as much death and misery as Corona has indeed unleashed, we will miss some of this. We will miss our bittersweet symphony.

Vikings fear no virus

Getting Drunk in your Underwear will work against most Plagues.

They should have Feynman posters in teenagers' bedrooms. 

It seems that Finland has overtaken Denmark as the happiest country on earth. Many of you may have heard of the Danish word Hygge, which translates (approximately) to 'cozy'- it is the word one uses when describing staying in, lighting candles, and drinking wine on a snowy evening.  I am not sure how happiness is measured, but Finland seems to have a lot of it. This appears to be due to their version of Hygge- or Kalsarikänni, which means "pants drunk." It is the moment when a man comes home, takes off any constricting clothing; and drinks beer in front of the television. A little less refined than the Danes perhaps; and more like the American version, "The Corona Shuffle".

Shelter at place week 4 and I have somehow gone down this rabbit hole of binge watching The Office. I won't tell you about the extent of my obsession, because you won't look at me the same way after. But let me assure anyone else out there struggling with a dirty, Covid created addiction, that she is not alone. And if that addiction should also be The Office re runs, may I share that there is also a podcast in which the person who plays Pam and the person who plays Angela (they are best friends in real life !!!) break down each and every episode. It gets so granular that they refer to things in terms of the exact time it happened: "At four minutes and two seconds we see Dwight's desk, and that photograph is of his actual niece." I am  telling you, it is not at all normal what I am doing. New levels of weird, people. New levels.

In other news, we have returned the vacuum cleaner to what Thomas calls its "rightful place" in the closet. Frederick and I tried to argue that if the vacuum cleaner were in the closet or behind the couch- it didn't matter, because it was hidden. Furthermore, the expression 'out of the closet' and 'out from behind the couch' could conceivably be interchangeable. So if a person wanted to announce he was gay, he could just as easily say he was 'coming out from behind the couch'. We are trying to make it a thing.

Before I really lost my mind and started to watch The Office, I had returned to my old favorite eras of history- those that saw the Bubonic plague. Few things are more comforting during Corona than reading a little Bubonic plague trivia. Did you know the Bubonic plague also came from the East? Hard to say exactly how many people died- One third the population of Europe? half the population of earth? Entire towns died out (can you imagine being the last to go?) Did you know it also had a short flare up here in San Francisco from 1900-1904? And keep in mind in 1906 we had the earthquake and fire that burned everything down. Fun family fact: MMB's great uncle whose initial donation to the University of California Berkeley is still today churning out millions of dollars for scholarships, wrote a law relating to property rights after the fire burned down all the records. Anyway, the Bubonic plague was so much deadlier, so much more contagious and don't forget a much uglier way to go ( a girl doesn't need large black pustules) than this Corona thing. My point being of course, San Francisco has had worse times. So as that meme says- other generations were called upon to war, we are called upon to sit on our couch (watching the Office). By these standards I should get a purple heart.

Finally, we heard such a cool podcast on one of our longer strolls: one that featured a few words by none other than Richard Feynman of Caltech. Feynman was an absolute rock star even before he won the Nobel prize: good looking and very cool. The reporter who researched him said she envisions him walking around when he first arrived at Caltech, hair blowing in the wind; the soundtrack to Saturday Night Fever playing in the background: John Travolta with chalk in his hand.

Caltech told him he had to revamp freshman physics 101, because so few people were choosing to study physics. They said he only had to do it for one year, but he needed to jazz it up because it was thought to be so boring. On the podcast, they played a few minutes of his very first lecture where he in essence threw out the rule book and started with a question:

If, in some cataclysm, all of scientific knowledge were to be destroyed, and only one sentence passed on to the next generations of creatures, what statement would contain the most information in the fewest words? I believe it is the atomic hypothesis (or the atomic fact, or whatever you wish to call it) that all things are made of atoms—little particles that move around in perpetual motion, attracting each other when they are a little distance apart, but repelling upon being squeezed into one another. In that one sentence, you will see, there is an enormous amount of information about the world, if just a little imagination and thinking are applied.

So to translate: from the knowledge of perpetual motion we got to steam engines, rockets, cars, tea kettles, and hot tubs; the attracting and repelling part gave us phones, radios, light bulbs etc. Basically every single thing on the planet, every single thing- is made of Jiggliing atoms, and their behavior is the key to almost every cool thing we humans ever did.
You can see why this man was married multiple times. I mean this is Mick Jagger panty throwing potential.

Speaking of Mick Jagger,  the Atomic fact, as awesome as it is, doesn't explain some important things- like music or love. Yesterday I heard a talking head say he turns on the Rolling Stones now during Trumps little temper tantrums/press conferences. Why hadn't I thought of this??? The Rolling Stones, at the right decibel are the cross to Trump's vampire. If anyone can snuff out that much stupid, it is the genius and joy of the Rolling Stones. I have had some intense and lovely Corona moments lately with friends reaching out to tell me they are glad we are walking each other home in this life. And then I listened to Let it Bleed; and I started to cry. Because I love my toaster, and the beautiful atomic hypothesis behind it, but I also love the inexplicable - like the perfection of that song.
"We all need someone to lean on...and if you want it, well you can lean on me. ..." 
Crank it people.

Arranging flowers on the Titanic/Scenes from a Quarantine in a Blue State

San Francisco quarantine essentials

Last night the doorbell rang and it was a woman holding a bag with one potato. Apparently instead of a bag of potatoes, I had ordered one. This was especially ridiculous because it was the second insta-cart delivery that day, so definitely the most expensive potato ever. In case we needed more proof of incompetence, peninou -the fancy dry cleaners that we use- delivered an elegantly wrapped paper package which contained a very old washcloth. Somehow that had gotten in with the linens, and it is still stained. We have ants, the dog has been stress eating with an emergency house visit from the vet; and there is sand in my bathtub that I can't seem to chase down the drain.  Frederick and I made a secret pact to keep the vacuum cleaner behind the sofa so we don't have to lug it up from its home in the laundry room every other day. We knew this kind of corner cutting would upset Deutschland, so we kept it secret for a few days, but I couldn't bear the burden anymore, so I told him.  As predicted, he reacted with all sorts of emphatic pronouncements. 

I am ordering food all the time, with little organization, but with the standards of the latest Danish celebrity chef. If I think I need a Vidalia onion for a recipe, then no other onion will do. But the good news is I now, after Coronavirus, know how to spell vacuum. two Us!!?

My ordering reflects other strange priorities- flowers for example. I had Javier order Costco hydrangeas from his bunker,  (they deliver!) and then because they only send this enormous amount, had to spend all this time arranging them. After I got a lovely note from our neighbors about seeing Frederick and how nice he blah was, and how much they love sitting at breakfast looking at our reflecting fountain, I promised her I would put floating candles in there at night. When the Amazon truck came, Thomas had to ask. He could deal with the potato, but this didn't look edible.
"what is that?"
"floating candles"
"why did you order floating candles?" Not that he was sure he wanted to know the answer, but what the hell it's quarantine.
"It's for the neighbors to look at."
He then told me if I didn't write about it in the blog, then it wasn't an honest blog.

Party is used loosely here but in the new definition I have had a few already- mostly in the driveway. I have big plans to have Tommy graduate to the backyard with his banjo, Easter will be quiche on Mom's steps; and we attended Chris N's  50th birthday gala complete with a song from Tom. I lived on the edge and took caviar from Simone hands.  If I end up in the ICU, it will have been worth it.

In any case, in these dark times, my priorities have come clearly into focus: flowers and candles and fake parties with real caviar. What has gone by the wayside is apparently my appearance. Below are selfies of actual things I was wearing for a good part of the day last week. Before I took the selfies, I hadn't noticed anything amiss.

In the hope of coming out of this with a few brain in cells left, I decided we might as well learn something while we watched all this T.V.  Enter Thomas' choice: the 12 part mini series on Vietnam, because nothing is more relaxing after a day of listening to Jarad Kushner's plans for CoronaVirus  than brushing up on the whole Nam thing.

I have more of course to say, but am so tired, so must feed dog, then bathe self. OH! and of course get ready for The Podcast in which Frederick tells Mimi and me "One thing you need to know" and we translate it to Kate and Brooke and perhaps even baby George (what can I say, he is very advanced).

coat, cowboy hat, slippers; dirty leggings. 

coat over Chinese silk bathrobe; high top slippers

Love my town...kids this is a reference to a band

Frederick approaches cake baking like the budding asteroid hunter he is