Reading

I have always loved to read. I can't imagine my life without books. I don't leave home for even a weekend without at least 3 books with me because I am afraid of running out of reading material. I will have plenty of time to read on the trains; my only problem is that I am traveling light and can only take so many with me. I plan to read and discard/trade books as I go. Luckily, I am sure there will be plenty of bookstores wherever I stay. I am posting a list of most of the books that I have read in the past 2 years. If you have any questions about them or want to give or receive suggestions, feel free to write me an email at emeryvilleamy@gmail.com

Some books that I have read in 2004-2005

Reading Lolita in Tehran, Azar Nafisi
Bold Spirit, Linda Hunt
Learning, Richard Dry
Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress,
The #1 Ladies Detective Agency
Three Junes
The Magnificient Ambersons, Booth Tarkington
The Purpose Driven Life, Rick Warren
The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald
The Blue Diary, Alice Hoffman
Me Talk Pretty One Day, David Sedaris
Holy Fools, Joanne Harris
A Beautiful Mind, Sylvia Nasar
A Fine Balance, Amitav Ghosh
Middlesex, Jeffrey Eugerides
Highflyer, Susan Howatch
Tricky Business, Dave Barry
The Glass Palace, Amitav Ghosh
French Toast, Harriet Rochefort
The Da Vinci Code, Dan Brown
Morgan's Run, Colleen McCoullough
The Five People You Meet in Heaven, Mitch Albom
Coastliners, Joanne Harris
The Rule of Four, Ian Caldwell
The Epicure's Lament, Kate Crenshaw
The Lord's of Discipline, Pat Conroy
The Coma, Alex Garland
Tender at the Bone, Ruth Reichl
Father Joe, Tony Hendra
Pompeii
The Piano Tuner, Daniel Mason
The Necklace, Guy de Maupassant
Bone in the Throat, Anthony Bourdain
Atonement, ian McEwan
Bastard out of Carolina, Dorothy Allison
The Magician's Assistant, Ann Patchett
Body and Soul, Frank Conroy
The Box Garden, Carol Shields
The Confessions of Max Tivoli, Andrew Sean Greer
The Sweet Potato Queens Field Guide to Men, Jill Browne
The Treasure of Montsegur, Sophy Burnham
The Time Traveller's Wife, Audrey Niffenlger
Hitler's Niece, Ron Hansen
Time Expired, Susuan Dunlap
Olivia Jules and the Overactive Imagination, Helen Fielding
To KIll a Mockingbird, Harper Lee
Queen of Dreams, Chitrs Divakarumi
The Unthinkable Thoughts of Jacob Green
The Book of Joe, Jonathan Trupper
The Kite Runner
The Devil Wears Prada
The Job
On Paradise Drive
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime
Prey, Michael Chrighton
How to be Good, Nick honrby
The Book of Eight
Death Comes to the Archbishop, Willa Cather
The Paradox of Choice, Barry Schwartz
Beach Music, pat Conroy
Things You Get For Free, Michael Mc Greir
Portnoy's Complaint, Philip Roth
The Human Stain, Philip Roth
Seabiscuit, laura Hillenbrand
Angle of Repose, Wallace Stegnar
Crossing to Safety, Wallace Stegnar
Bel Canto, Ann Patchett
The Blind Assasin, Margaret Atwood
What Should I do With My Life, po Bronson
The Frog Prince, Jane Porter
Bergdorff Blondes, Plum Sykes
Garlic and Saffires, Ruth Reichl
1776, David McCollough
My Sister's Keeper, Jodi Picoult
The Pact, Jodi Picoult
The Heart of the Sun, Louis D. Rubin, Jr.
Dress Your Family in Courdoroy and Denim, David Sedaris

The Year Everything Got Cancelled

I am scrambling to redo my travel itinerary in light of the tragedy in New Orleans. It reminds me of another time when my plans were cancelled 16 years ago.


I had big plans for the summer following my senior year at Cal. My friends JoAnn, Erik, Ron and I decided to go on the Trans Siberian Railroads across China and the Soviet Union. We spent months planning out our itinerary, getting visas and passports, plane tickets and train reservations and reading up on the areas where we were going to go. We were very excited and practically had our bags packed when our attention was drawn to the horrific news on the TV. We watched the footage of hundreds of students being killed while they stood helplessly in protest of their freedoms in Tiananmen Square. China closed its doors to visitors from the West and effectively cancelled our trip. So I spent the summer temping for Kelly Girl Services and lived at Joann’s house in San Rafael. Not quite the grand adventure that I had hoped to have.

I began my internship with the senior high students at church in September. One of the fun perks of the job was being able to attend the National Youth Workers Convention, this year being conveniently held in San Francisco. It would just be a quick drive over the Bay Bridge. The day before the convention my suitcase was packed and I met a friend to play tennis in Berkeley at the tennis courts on North side of campus above a parking structure on Hearst St.

In the middle of our game we suddenly heard a lot of car alarms going off all at the same time. Then the chain link fence started to rattle and the ground to shake. We crouched into a surfing position, trying not to fall over as the cement shook violently under our feet. A German couple who were playing next to us headed for the stairs and we yelled at them to not go down them in case the entire structure was about to collapse.

After a number of very long seconds the shaking stopped. Then, in true Californian fashion, we casually made a guess to the number on the Richer Scale that we thought the quake was and then went back to our tennis game. We played for another half hour and noted that part of Berkeley was on fire down by the main library. As I drove to BART to drop Michael off, I noticed that the radio in my car wasn’t working, but didn’t think much of it. I then drove over to my brother Thomas’ house on Oxford St. and joined my friends there watching the TV. The reports were crazy, there was talk of the Bay Bridge collapsing, freeways crumbling and killing thousands, fires and gas leaks everywhere. I had had no idea of the magnitude of the quake, even though it had felt quite strong on the tennis courts. BART was closed and Michael was stuck in the East Bay, but I knew that it would be too hard to try to locate him.

We were glued to the television for the next few hours and days as the extent of the damage was revealed. The Youth Workers Convention was cancelled and the new hotel where it was to be held was declared unsafe. I was disappointed, but it was hard to feel too sorry for myself when so many people had died and everything was turned upside down in the Bay Area.

A month or so later at a Jr. High mini golf outing we had to stop mid game due to an electrical storm that suddenly came up. Having a bunch of kids swinging golf clubs in a lightening storm just didn’t seem like a good idea.

In February we had a big high school ski trip planned. We named it,”Bill and Ted’s Excellent Ski Adventure,” playing off the hit movie. We spent days making a home movie starring the youth leaders and pastors on staff. I was keeping an eye on the weather forecast which wasn’t looking very promising. Everyone was supposed to meet at 3:00pm on Friday at church to load up and head to Tahoe. But that morning a killer storm moved in and by noon the roads were shut due to blizzard conditions. With much frustration we decided that we had no choice but to cancel the trip. All of our planning and organizing again going to waste because of circumstances out of my control. By this time I was starting to get a bit paranoid about planning anything. It seemed like some disaster was ready to happen if I cam close to packing a suitcase.

Luckily nothing occurred to cancel our high school choir tour that summer. Maybe that was because we were only going to go down through the central valley to LA, instead of some exciting location. Nature did have something in store for us along the way though.

The tour wound its way down through the central valley stopping in Fresno and Visalia for a few days of concerts and then heading out to the coast of Santa Barbara. We spent the morning at the beach, playing volleyball, and swimming in the ocean and getting sunburned and then climbed back on our air-conditioned bus to go to Glendale, my home town which is next to Pasadena. At the front of the bus there was a thermometer which showed the outside degrees in big digital numbers. The Northern California kids assumed that it must be broken because the number rose to 114 as we pulled into Glendale. I knew that there was a good chance that it really was that hot outside. One by one the students climbed out of the bus and let out cries of shock as the dry hot heat slammed them in the face. Many of them had never felt heat like that before. The church, St. Mark’s Episcopal, did not have air-conditioning. A faithful few showed up for the concert, mostly those who had promised home stays for the students. Students were passing out right and left during the concert and had to go sit down and the clarinet player could not get her reed to stay moist enough to play.

Somehow we made it through the concert and the students and leaders went off to their various homes for the evening. We decided that the only sensible way to pass the next morning and early afternoon was to take everyone to the local ice skating rink and then to the air-conditioned mall. This decision was agreed upon unanimously. So, we spent the morning in relative comfort until it was time for the students to practice before their next concert in Burbank.

I took advantage of their practice time to head back to my parents house for a quick dip in the pool. Driving on the side streets towards Glendale, I encountered unusually heavy traffic. I didn’t know why the streets were so busy in the middle of the day. Then I noticed a lot of dark smoke in the sky in the direction of my parent’s house. I arrived home and joined my family and some of the neighbors who had gathered in our backyard by the pool. Everyone was looking across the narrow valley to the hills across from ours at the roaring fire that was quickly burning houses and vegetation. The temperature was still above a 100◦ and the wind was gusty and strong. More people kept arriving and peering over our fence to get a look at the hill. Since we were at the top of a hill and had a good vantage point we invited everyone in by our pool to watch the progress of the fire. A few of the people who arrived had just evacuated their homes and watched them burst into flames. People were calling out the names of the home owners as their houses caught fire. The erratic wind caused some houses to be skipped over while homes all around burned to the ground. Soon there were helicopters loudly circling around dropping water and fire retardant chemicals. The sky turned black with soot and the red and gold flames danced around the hillside.

The atmosphere in our patio was tense and surreal, at times almost festive with displaced nervous energy and excitement that a natural disaster can arouse. It was getting towards dinner time, so I went in and made pasta for 30 to feed the growing crowd in our yard. I decided to skip the concert that night, feeling that the fires took precedent. Over a hundred home were lost in that blaze, including my parent’s first home on Ridge Drive, where I spent the first 7 years of my life. It was listed as partially destroyed, but only the slate fireplace and entryway remained.

After the scorching heat of LA we detoured to Catalina for a day and then headed on down to San Clemente and to only slightly cooler weather. On the morning of the last day of the tour we had a time of sharing and then went out to load up the bus. But the power was out in the bus, meaning no lights or air-conditioning. The driver spent the next two hours attempting to fix it while the high school kids ran around getting sweaty in the heat. It finally was decided that we should just start driving, with the hopes that running the engine would help recharge the power. So the sweaty smelly teenagers got onto the bus, which was no longer air-conditioned and the windows didn’t go down, with the hatch open over the now stinky bathroom and the front door open and we started up the I-5. The heat continued to rise as well as the odor as the day wore on. We had 2 vans in addition to the bus and everyone was clamoring to be the lucky ones to ride in them. Even though I usually did not like driving them, I was more than happy to take my turn that day.

The power never did come back on and it was growing dark as we approached the Altamont Pass. Tim, the youth pastor, insisted that the driver call for another bus to come and change with us so that we wouldn’t have to go over the pass in the dark without any headlights and other lights working. We had to wait a couple of hours to complete the switch and completely unload and reload the buses, but we all made it back safely. And that was the end of what we like to refer to as the “Heat Wave Tour.” And the end of the run of events going awry.

Hurricane Katrina

I do not usually watch news on TV. I get frustrated with the way things are presented and with the images that I see. However, every now and then I find myself glued to the TV watching some disaster play out. Hurricane Katrina has devasted the New Orleans and Gulf region. The water is still rising in the city and the situation becomes more dire for those stranded in their homes or in places like the Super Dome which now has over 30,000 refugees.

I have to confess that my first thoughts about the storm were selfish. I planned on going to New Orleans on my train trip. I have never been there and was really looking forward to it. I wondered if it would be cleaned up by the end of October when I was scheduled to visit. My heart has now gone out to the people of that region. I find that I am crying for their losses and pray that people will survive and somehow find the courage to pick up the pieces of their lives. I pray that our country will be compelled by compassion to reach out with support for the millions who will have lost everything they own.

I am glad that I had planned on going to New Orleans because it has made me focus and care about that city. I might have tuned out the news, just glancing at the headlines and then moving on to the next news item, if it weren't for my trip. I am in the process of changing my plans and will probably head to Chicago instead. I will be following the recovery in New Orleans and will keep them in my prayers. Although I had planned on writing some light, amusing stories for my blog, my heart feels too heavy at the moment. It almost feels wrong to write about anything that isn't of vital importance. I am sure that I will be wanting to think and write about other things soon, so stay tuned.

The Mink Stole

Some people have one or two embarrassing moments that they can recall. I, on the other hand, have more than I can count. Things just seem to happen to me. My life has been filled with embarrassing moments. So, I have learned to laugh at myself over the years. I also love to laugh at other people's embarrassing stories. Here is one of mine and a couple of ones from a friend.

The Mink Stole

During my junior and senior years at Cal I often studied at Café Milano on Bancroft near Telegraph Avenue. “Studying” for me as a double English and Psychology majors often meant reading a novel in a café. A friend of mine named Mike used to study there as well. Mike was a very funny person and we used to spend as much time laughing and telling stories as we did studying.

One day he told me about his parents’ recent 30th wedding anniversary celebration. His parents live in ritzy La Jolla, Ca. His dad decided to take his mom to a fancy restaurant that she had been dying to go to, a real see-and –be-seen sort of place.
So they both dressed up fancy, he in a suit and she in a nice black dress with a lovely black mink stole. She wanted to take some pictures before they left so she had Mike snap a few. She took off her stole and laid it on her bed for the photo shoot. Afterwards, she grabbed it, swung it over her shoulders and they got into their car. At the restaurant they parked and went in and were promptly led to their table. Heads turned to stare at them as they passed, his mother thinking that it was because they looked so nice. After sitting down they noticed that people were still looking their direction and now they were giggling. A waiter finally came over and asked her to look over her shoulder at her mink stole. Hanging off her lovely mink was an old white cotton bra that had gotten hooked on it when she tossed the mink onto the bed. That was the reason for all of the heads turning and watching them. Mortified and red in the face she yanked off the embarrassing old bra, stuffed it in her purse, stood up and left.

So she never got her dinner at that fancy restaurant, but she did get to “see and be seen” by the upper crust of La Jolla.

Later that year we were at a Bible study together at his house along with about 10 other friends including my brother Thomas. Mike lead off in prayer in a very serious tone. He had some heavy things to pray about, so he was very intense. He started his prayer fairly normally, “Oh Lord, my heart if full”. At least that was what he meant to say. What really came out was “Oh Lord, my FART is full.” Then he paused as if he was thinking “What did I just say?” The silence continued until Alexa, who had been frantically trying not to laugh, let out a huge snort. Everyone else then burst into uncontrollable laughter for about 15 minutes. Just as we thought everyone was under control someone else would lose it and snort, causing another round of hilarity.

Finally Mike started to pray again, and he kept using the word “heart”, I guess to prove that he could say it right. But every time that he did Thomas and I would start to shake and laugh silently. I don’t know what exactly is so funny about farting, but even the word can send me into the stratosphere laughing. Maybe because it is so inappropriate almost all of the time and yet it just happens, to most of us anyhow.

I wish that I could say that I have never had an embarrassing public flatulence moment, but that would just not be true. The most humiliating event occurred during my French final exam at Cal. It was in a small class of about 20 students. I had several good friends in the class and there was also one person who a few years later became a really close friend. We were in the middle of the final and we were sitting in some uncomfortable molded plastic chair-desk combinations. I knew that a little gas was going to slip out, but I thought that it would be silent. Instead it was like a BB gun ricocheting off the back of the chair in a very loud popping sound. All heads turned to stare at me while I vainly tried to look innocent and blame it on my friend Sean sitting next to me. My bright red face belied guilt and I knew that I hadn’t fooled anyone.

After a little snickering, everyone went back to their exams. When I was done with the exam I quickly left, talking to no one. My friends in the class never mentioned it to me, but I lived in dread of someone bringing it up.

Seventeen years went by and I was sitting at the kitchen table at my friend Melissa’s house. Somehow farting got brought up (she has two boys, so that happens occasionally) and I decided to tell her about my embarrassing, never told in public before, humiliation during my French final. It then occurred to me that Melissa was in that class with me even though we didn’t really know each other back then. I asked her if she remembered me tooting during the final and she just looked at me and then started to giggle. “Oh, I remember” she said. She then decided to confess to me that she had told her boyfriend (now husband and good friend of mine as well) about it. They went to the same church as I did and whenever they saw me they would say “There goes the flatulator!” to each other. My secret nickname became “The Flatcher”.

A couple of years later we became good friends and they dropped the nickname and they never told me about it. It wasn’t until 17 years after the 1 second incident that I finally found out the effect that it had. I am still friends with them as they are wonderful people and funny as can be, even if they made up mean nick names about me. I have learned that nothing truly embarrassing ever goes unforgotten. Lucky me.

Too Deep

Too Deep

I have been going to church my whole life. I was baptized when I was 6 months old at St. Mark's Episcopal Church in Glendale, California. We attended St. Mark’s faithfully and I sang in the choir every Sunday. I have taken Communion more times than I can count, but I still have trouble getting it right all of the time. One of my earliest mishaps occurred while I was in junior high. I went up to the far right side of the altar rail and knelt down. I placed my right hand over my left as always, except that I was a little lazy or tired that day and my hands were slanted down a bit. When the priest placed the wafer on my hand it proceeded to roll off, drop on the floor and roll like a quarter all the way down in front of the entire rail. Twenty sets of eyes followed the amazing communion wafer until it finally did a little twirl and fell flat against the floor. The priest, who had been chasing it, bent over, picked it up and ate it (you can’t throw it away after it has been blessed). Then with all the heads swerving back to see who the careless parishioner was, the priest walked back to me and said, in not a very soft voice, “Let’s try this again Amy.” Mortified, I obediently held out my hands as level as possible and managed to get the wafer in my mouth while listening to the muffled laughter flowing down the row.

My great fear in that church was the ever-present possibility of tripping. The floor was tile and when it had been polished up really well it was dangerous, especially to any woman who wore heels or otherwise slippery shoes. They always had ushers posted at the steps going up and coming down and more than once I broke what could have been a bad fall by grabbing a hold of their proffered hands. I am a gal who just should always wear sensible shoes, but most nice shoes aren't sensible. Oh, the risks I have taken in the name of fashion. Now I know better.

When I moved up to Berkeley to attend Cal, I began attending the First Presbyterian Church of Berkeley. It is a wonderful church and I am still worshipping there now, twenty years later. I have been working on staff there for the past eight years.
Often we have communion together as a staff on Tuesday mornings. We follow the style known as ‘intinction’ which means that you take a piece of bread and dip it into the chalice of grape juice. One morning I received the bread and then looked up at Mark, our senior pastor, as he offered me the cup. I wasn’t paying attention to my dipping and ended up sticking my whole hand in the cup. I had to lift my hand out sopping wet and let the juice drip off while Mark just looked in wonder at me. Tim, another pastor, who was standing next to me, simply said, “Too Deep.”

After communion came the other hard part. We all held hands in a circle, mine sticky and wet, and then spent some time in prayer. The one thing that can be as funny to me as flatulence is hearing someone’s stomach growl really loudly. At that time of the day it was not an infrequent occurrence to hear one or more people’s stomach make incredible sounds. Generally, raucous laughter or even muffled giggles is not appropriate during prayer, but sometimes I can’t help myself. And the more inappropriate the laughter is the harder it is to control. Most people are quite composed, but if the stomach music is loud enough it is a daunting challenge for a few of us.

About a year after the “Too Deep” incident I suffered another communion mishap. This time we were all in our choir room which had rows of carpeted levels going down to the center. The worship leaders that day created a very nice contemplative atmosphere with the lights dimmed and candles all around. We had had a quiet worship time and then Mark stood up and took a step down to be in the center to do communion. Since I was right in front of him I got up first to take communion. I successfully did the intinction process and then turned to go. But I forgot that there was a step right in front of me and so I ended up falling flat on my face in one "graceful" flop. It appeared that I was “slain in the spirit” as one moment I was standing and the next I was lying on my face. The entire staff (about 35 people) was watching me. I was so embarrassed that I couldn’t even look up. I just quickly turned over and crawled, head down to my spot. People didn’t want to be rude and laugh, but I did hear some gasping and suppressed giggling. I was hoping that maybe some of the staff had had their eyes shut and missed the whole thing, but apparently most had seen it clearly.

Thankfully,I haven't committed any communion gaffes recently. But there is always a next time...

Carmel Bars

One of my favorite family recipes is the one for Carmel Bars. Our friends always requested them for parties and looked forward to Christmas when they would be included on my cookie plates. My brother used to take them on Boy Scout trips and bribe his way out of doing any chores he didn't want to do. They are best fresh, but can last for awhile if you have the will power to eat them slowly.

Carmel Bars

2 cups flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1 cup brown sugar
1 1/2 cups oatmeal

1 cup cold butter cut into 1/2" dice

1 jar carmel topping
8 oz chocolate chips

Directions:

1. Pulse the flour, salt, soda, brown sugar and oatmeal a couple of times in a food processor to mix.
2. Add in butter and pulse to combine until butter is just mixed in and everything looks crumbly. Don't overmix.
3. Press half of mixture into greased 9"x11" pan.
4. Bake 10 minutes in 350 degree oven.
5. Take out of oven and pour carmel over crust. Spread evenly. Sprinkle chocolate chips on top. Put the other half of oatmel mixture on top and lightly pat down.
6. Bake for 20 minutes more, until lightly browned and bubbly around the edges.
7. Let cool and then cut into bars of whatever size you like. They can be a bit crumbly.

For an extra special treat, serve warm with vanilla ice cream.

Bon Appetit!!!

What Women Say...What Women Mean

Most of the time on my blog I will do my own writing, but I received a very funny email today that I wanted to share. I don't know who the author is or I would give her credit. I think the following message can be helpful for men in understanding what women are really saying...

WORDS WOMEN USE

FINE
This is the word women use to end an argument when they are right and you need to shut up.

FIVE MINUTES
If she is getting dressed, this is half an hour. Five minutes is only five minutes if you have just been given 5 more minutes to watch the game before helping around the house.

NOTHING
This is the calm before the storm. This means "something," and you should be on your toes. Arguments that begin with 'Nothing' usually end in "Fine"

GO AHEAD
This is a dare, not permission. Don't do it.

LOUD SIGH
This is not actually a word, but is a non-verbal statement often misunderstood by men. A "Loud Sigh" means she thinks you are an idiot and wonders why she is wasting her time standing here and arguing with you over "Nothing"

THAT'S OKAY
This is one of the most dangerous statements that a woman can make to a man. "That's Okay" means that she wants to think long and hard before deciding how and when you will pay for your mistake.

THANKS
A woman is thanking you. Do not question it or faint. Just say you're welcome.

WHATEVER
It's a woman's way of saying *!#@ YOU!


Isn't communication fun? I guess it is very important to know how to read between the lines and really pay attention when you are talking with someone. Knowing the meaning of a few key words could help as well...

Last Supper

SFO and Beyond

I just took my brother Thomas and his wife Gretchen to San Francisco International Airport. They are returning to southern China to teach English for a second year. Before they left, we had dinner at my place with her parents. Thomas' request for his last meal in the USA was for Cheeseboard Pizza. I went by the Cheeseboard after work and picked up a "lightly baked" pie. Today's pizza had fresh corn, green chilies, parsley, feta and mozzarella.

If you have never had a Cheeseboard pizza, you don't know what you are missing. They sell the pizza from the counter in a tiny little shop in the "Gourmet Ghetto" in Berkeley on Shattuck Avenue between Cedar and Vine. You can buy it by the slice or by the half or whole pie. They only offer one kind of pizza a day. It is always a thin crust and made with wonderfully fresh vegetables and great cheeses. The Cheeseboard shop is two doors down and it is a fabulous co-op with 100's of cheeses(domestic and imported) that you can sample before buying and delicious breads, scones and other baked goods.

There is always a line snaking out of the pizza shop whenever they are open. Often there is a jazz trio entertaining the customers as they wait or while they munch on their pizza and sip their wine, beer or Oranginas. Another nice thing is that they give you an extra sliver of pizza with your order. To me that sliver is my favorite part. It feels like a little bonus gift and I always eat it first when my taste buds are eager for the flavor sensations.

A few tables fit inside next to the piano and there are a few more outside. People grab a seat where they can or just stand out on the sidewalk and chat with their friends. Some people cross the street to the grassy median and plop down there under the trees. A sign saying something along the lines of, "Don't use the median" doesn't deter the happy diners. In fact someone altered the sign to say, "Don't use the media, covering the 'n' in median," which seems very Berkelyesque.

The flower stall next door adds color and cheer to the scene. On the other side of the flowers is Bank of America so you can fund this culinary trip. The next door down is the French Hotel which is known for their cappuccinos and the artistic way they decorate or dot the foam with espresso. You can shop at the Cheeseboard for bread and cheeses and olives and then go next door to produce market to fill out your menu. Across the street is the world renown Chez Panisse and the tapas bar Cesar. Down the block from them is a good Thai place called Cha Am. Around the corner is another tiny gem called Gregoire which serves the best French food to go (or you can try to grab a seat at one of the two tables outside or two stools inside.) Gregoire has a way with potatoes that render them irresistable. I could go on and on. They don't call this the Gourmet Ghetto for nothing.

But I digress. I just was trying to say what we had for dinner and then I got carried away. To my dismay, the Cheeseboard shop was closed for the week. The pizza part was open, but I had told Thomas that I would pick up some bread for him to take on the plane. In Emeryville there is a sister store called Arrizmendi which sells the same pizzas and breads. I made a detour there on the way home and picked up another half pizza and baguette pieces and scones for them. To my surprise (and delight!) I noted that they were serving a different kind of pizza. To get 2 kinds of cheeseboard pizza in one day is almost more than I could believe. This one was topped with red potatoes, red onions, smoked mozzarella and olive tapenade. What a treat. I served the pizzas with a peach, pine nut and spring mix salad and white wine. For dessert I had some homemade chocolate shortbread heart cookies.

After dinner we had a quick photo op, some last minute repacking of carry on items and good byes with Gretchen's parents. Then we hopped in the car and headed to the airport. The fog was in thick over some parts of the bay tonight but the Bay Bridge was clear and sparkling. There was no lines at the toll booth and traffic was light all the way there. I love driving over the western span of the bridge, especially if the traffic isn't bad. The city is so lovely from that angle. The Ferry Building and all of the piers around the bay with the steep streets running down the hills to them look so picturesque. Tonight the moon shone bright and almost full. When we passed the curve around Candlestick Park (or Monster Park now) the moonlight spilled across the water on the bay. The beauty of it silenced us for a moment. What a wonderful last drive for them before they go back to China.

Jerk-O-Meter

I am a big SF Chronicle fan. It just doesn't seem right to start off my day without it. Once in a while mine will be taken (stolen) from my front door and then I feel somewhat lost (not to mention frustrated...) until I can get my hands on a copy. I am also the type of person who will clip out fun or interesting articles for my friends and relatives. (Who may or may not want them, but hey, at least they aren't coupons...) I have been known to quote the paper and can frequently be heard saying, "Well, in the Chronicle I read that..." I often bond with others that have read the same articles but occasionally get caught passing off some idea as my own when I had really "taken" it from the paper and a fellow reader says, "Hey, that was in the datebook section..."

An article that caught my interest today was about a new software developed by researchers at MIT called the "Jerk-O-Meter" which analyzes speech patterns on cell phones and can tell if you or the other caller are paying attention or if they, or you, are being a jerk. If you are worried that you might be a jerk on the phone you could have this program send you messages that say, "Don't be a jerk! or Be a little nicer now!" The software looks at your speech patterns and can discern if you are really paying attention.

It seems to me like people ought to be able to tell if someone is paying attention to them or not (or being a jerk!) without technological help. I think that I know when people are cooking their dinner or paying bills or watching TV while talking to me. Sometimes I am fine with the other person multitasking, especially if they can actually be engaged in the conversation at the same time. But some people really shouldn't. For example, one of my brothers isn't a multi-tasker. I can tell when he gets distracted on the phone and I ask him what else he is doing. When he confesses, it can be something as simple as twirling a pen in his hand. Just doing that is too much for him to do while he is having a conversation. He is not a cell phone owner, thank goodness.

While they are at it, maybe those MIT guys could have the "Toilet Tip-Off" which cuts the line if someone is using the bathroom and talking at the same time. If I got going, I could probably come up with a lot of suggestions for those guys.

As cell phones become more and more prevalent, we are all subject to hearing other peoples' inane conversations. I have noticed that lots of times people are just narrating what they are doing to the person on the other end. "Ok, I am getting up now and walking over to my car...there is a girl in front of me with a great top...you would really like it...Ok, I'm at my car now and opening the door..." What is that about? Why are people on their phones all the time? Nobody wants to hear someone else's life described in boring detail like that! The new technology should automatically terminate those calls.

The only thing worse than being on the other end of a call like that is to be stuck next to someone who is making the call. Airports and airplanes are places that cell phone users really drive me crazy. It seems that everyone who has a cell phone feels compelled to pull their phone out and use it the second that the flight attendants give permission after the landing. There is absolutely nowhere you can go to escape hearing the one sided conversations because you can't get out of your seat. Ahhh, it is torture.

So, if you can't beat them join them. I bought a cell phone a couple of weeks ago, yes, I finally caved. I really only got it so that when I am on the road I can still be in touch with people. My friend who went with me to buy it tells me that I need to turn it ON occasionally, or what is the point of having one. I have used it a couple of times and even did a couple of text messages. Now that I have one, I probably shouldn't complain about people using them. Or I can just hope that the researchers at MIT keep coming up with software that can help people know when they are acting like a jerk!

Amtrak Extravaganza 2005

Hello!

Here is my travel itinerary as it stands right now. I am very excited about taking this trip and I hope you will enjoy following along in my blog. I plan to write frequently and download to blogspot whenever I am able to. Please feel free to write in the comments space or email me at emeryvilleamy@gmail.com.

AMTRAK EXTRAVAGANVA 2005

Amy’s Itinerary:

September 14-15 train to Portland
September 16-17 Portland
September 17 train to Seattle
September 17-20 Seattle
September 20 train to Bellingham
September 20-22 Bellingham
September 22 train to Vancouver
September 22-25 Vancouver
September 25-28 train to Toronto
September 28-29 Toronto
September 29-
October 4 Montreal and Quebec
October 4 bus to St. Albans
October 4-8 (rental car) Vermont
October 8 train to Boston
October 8-11 Boston
October 11 train to New York
October 11-14 New York
October 15 train to Washington, DC
October 15-17 Washington, DC
October 18 train to Durham w/ stop in Richmond VA
October 18-22 Chapel Hill
October 22 train to Charleston
October 22-24 Charleston
October 25 train to Savannah
October 25-27 Savannah
October 27-28 train to New Orleans
October 28-31 New Orleans
October 31-
November 1 train to Austin
November 1-4 Austin
November 4-5 train to El Paso
November 5-18 (rental car) El Paso through New Mexico and Colorado
November 18-19 train from Denver to Emeryville

THREE FEET FROM HELL or IT'S A "DRY" HEAT

Now that it is the middle of summer, I am especially thankful that I live in Emeryville next to the water. I love the cool bay breezes and the fog that pours in. Most days it is nice and sunny for most of the day and cool in the evenings. Just right. It does remind me of "hotter" times, especially of one summer vacation.

Three Feet From Hell or It's A "DRY" Heat

My father was convinced that we were located 3 feet from Hell on our family vacation. Actually, we were house boating on Lake Mead during the middle of the summer and it just FELT like we were that close to the fiery furnace. I am not sure if it was the hottest place on the planet or not, but it was darn close.

And, yes, I know it was a dry heat and not horribly humid, but after a certain point regardless of whether or not it is humid it is just plain hot. Luckily I wasn't yet acclimated to the lovely Bay Area weather which boasts of one of the most pleasant climates in the world. People here complain if it gets out of the 65-75 degree range. No, I was still more used to LA, home of smog and at least a couple weeks a year, of temperatures over a 100 degrees.

But in LA people are prepared for the heat and either have air conditioners and pools or they haul themselves off to the local mall and loiter around in the cool air there. When you are on a houseboat on a lake in a desert and it is 110-120 degrees there are no malls to run off to or even fans to turn on. Our only recourse was to jump off the boat into the lake. The top 8" were at least 90 degrees, so you had to sink below that to get refreshed. For those of us who love being in the water for 18 hours a day this wasn't too much of a problem, but my Dad likes to be dry for the most part.

Water skiing was our main diversion. Every time the boat stopped everyone jumped in the water and stayed there until the person skiing was almost ready to start. It was so hot and dry that our hair completely dried between each ski run. The sun beat down on us as we kept reapplying the highest level sunscreen available. Hats and sunglasses were a necessity.

If you think that we got a respite from the heat at night, think again. All day long the sheer rock walls surrounding the lake absorbed the sun. As the sun set, the wind picked up and that heat from the rocks came blasting at us. It was like standing in front of a HUGE hair dryer. Before going to sleep on the roof of the boat, we all jumped overboard in our bathing suits and T-shirts with a towel and then scrambled back up to the roof and tried to fall asleep before we dried off and began sweating.

One night the wind started blowing even more profusely than usual and it managed to kick up the sand from the little bit of shore to which we were anchored. Soon we were howling from the sand stinging our skin as it blasted against us. We knew we would have to move inside the sweltering houseboat. Carefully trying to clutch our flimsy blow- up mattresses we climbed down the ladder to the main deck. Someone realized that the houseboat had broken away from shore and was probably going to smash into the ski boat. The other family and couple we were with (who thankfully knew about boats, since we didn't at all) jumped over and swam to the ski boat and got it out of the way. The rest of us were not much help and just tried to stay out of the way of the sandstorm and of those who knew what they were doing. Eventually both boats were secured safely and the wind declined a bit.

The first thing we did after leaving the lake was to drive to the nearest grocery store. We raced to the frozen section and each grabbed a box of popsicles and some cold drinks. We lingered as long as possible. My dad made some comment like, "We are NEVER going to do that again!" He hadn't complained when we were actually on the boat because he simply isn't a complainer. He did find a way to express his frustration though by cranking up opera tapes on the crackly houseboat stereo at the first light of dawn. What brought sanity to him brought groans and frustration from the rest of us.

The family we went with continued to go on house boating trips because they apparently enjoyed them. It was the first and last time for us. I have gone on other house boating trips and had fun on them, but never back to Lake Mead. It was just too darn hot, even for a "dry" heat.

Chicken Cassoulet

Hello! This recipe is a quick, easy, light version of the French classic. It is perfect for a fall dinner.

Chicken Cassoulet

1# boneless, skinless chicken thighs
8 oz turkey kielbasa sausages, cut into 1/2" pieces
1 oz french bread
olive oil
1 large onion, peeled and medium diced
2 large carrots, peeled and medium diced
2/3 cup chicken broth
2 teaspoons fresh thyme leaves, or 1 teaspoon dried
1 bay leaf
2 cans (15 oz each) white cannellini beans or small white beans, rinsed and drained
1 tablespoon chopped fresh parsley
salt and pepper

Directions:

1. In a food processor or blender make bread crumbs with the bread. Toss with 1 teaspoon olive oil and toast in the oven or in a pan on the stove til light brown and crispy.

2. Lightly salt and pepper the chicken. In a pan on the stove, brown chicken and sausages over med heat in a little olive oil. Remove them from the pan.

3.Saute the onions and carrots in a little olive oil until the onions become translucent, stirring frequently.

4. For stove top: Add everything to the pan except the bread crumbs and parsley. Reduce heat to low and let simmer until chicken is cooked through, stirring occasionally. Top with bread crumbs and parsley before serving.

For oven: Put everything into a pan (9"X11" works fine), top with bread crumbs and cook 30-45 minutes at 375 or until cassoulet is hot and bubbly and the chicken is cooked through. Top with parsley and serve.

This should serve 4 generously. It doubles, triples or does by x100 just fine. When I do it x100 I cook the chicken off in the oven first and saute the sausages with the vegetables.

A nice green salad and some good french bread turn this into a complete meal.

Bon Appetit!

Bumper Stickers

Bumper Stickers

When I was in high school, everyone had to take a course called Health and Guidance their sophomore year. It included topics ranging from health issues to sex to marriage to drivers ed. The class could have been design to be very helpful about all sorts of practical matters, but instead it was more of a joke. For example, my teacher, who was married to another teacher at our school, was in the middle of a divorce because he was having an affair with a recently graduated former student of his. That made his talk about marriage a little less trustworthy.

We all saw the movie, “Red Pavement” and others similar to it to teach us what not to do when we were driving. Generally they were quite gory and either scared us or became a source of humor for those who like that sort of thing. Throughout the year a handful of students would be taken out of the classroom every week to go to the “Simulator” otherwise known as the “Stimulator” to practice driving. The simulator was set up in a portable bungalow and was equipped with a dozen drivers’ seats which had a steering wheel,gas and brake pedals and a dashboard. A movie would be played on a big screen up front and we were supposed to react to the scenes as they came up as if we were actually on the road driving. One problem with this is that no matter what YOU did, the movie played out as it was filmed, thereby totally confusing any sense we had about the results of our steering or braking.

The movies always had balls or small children coming out of nowhere or from between parked cars, jaywalkers, cars slamming on their brakes in front of you or vehicles not staying in their own lanes. I thought, “No way does this happen in REAL life. They are just trying to freak us out!” And for the most part I was right. There were a lot of things that made driving difficult for the new teenage driver, but it wasn’t really like the simulator movies.

Then I moved to Berkeley. Driving anywhere near the campus quickly showed me where they got the inspiration for those drivers Ed films. In one city block you can easily have four or five of those scenarios take place on a regular basis. Now people have cell phones and things have become really crazy. Nonetheless, I routinely navigate the streets with relatively few problems.

One big distraction for me can be the bumper stickers on the cars here. The variety and, shall we say, “creativity” is amazing. I sometimes scoot forward a little close to the car in front of me just to get a good look and to read the fine print. Today a little old blue Toyota Tercel sported 3 interesting ones. The first read, “PILLAGE FIRST, THEN BURN.” Helpful info if you are about to go out pillaging somewhere.

The second one said, “BUCKLE UP! IT MAKES IT HARDER FOR THE ALIENS TO SUCK YOU OUT OF THE CAR!” The third said, “IT ONLY FEELS KINKY THE FIRST TIME.” After I read these lovely stickers, the car turned into the fabulous produce market, Berkeley Bowl, and I was left to wondering what that guy was like who had chosen to display those three messages to the world. I don’t know if he even gave much thought to them or if he took them seriously or not. I do know that I had a good chuckle on the way to work and that I will still pull up a little close at stop lights to continue reading peoples’ bumper stickers.