Last weekend took me to the magical land of California for a whirlwind weekend of Bob's birthday revelry, art acquisition and wine-drinking. I flew into Sacramento on Friday and had dinner with Mom and Dad in Lodi (sloppy joes, a food I never ever think about but really really LOVE) and then the next day we hopped into the car and drove over to Vallejo to surprise Bob. We drank champagne in the middle of the day and then went wine-tasting in Sonoma, at Bartholomew Park. A short hike up into the hills above the winery, a short hike back down, then on to Buena Vista for a few more sips of something or other and a whole lot of attitude. But I promised to quit bitching about it already. Then several fierce rounds of petanque, then dinner - New York strips, pasta tossed with parmesan and favas from Karen's garden, salad. Wine. WINE. Wine.
Sunday we went to Alameda for the flea market, which you aren't supposed to call a flea market but instead something la-ti-da like the Alameda Old Stuff Sale or WHATEVER. They had everything you can imagine there except an ATM, which was weird and insanely frustrating. I ended up getting an engraving of a birds' nest just by being nice: the guy said "oh, send me a check whenever." So that was nice (and yes, I've since sent the check). Then we ate and window-shopped in Berkeley for a little while, then home to Lodi for outdoor hamburgers with the neighbors.
The whole weekend was a big fat argument for moving to California: champagne, wine, fava beans, free stuff. On the way back Monday, I got my usual coming-back-from-CA blues, trying to figure out why I live where I live. La la la. Maybe one day.