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~ The adventures of Richard and Julie Lary

Rajalary

Monthly Archives: November 2009

Los Angeles of Yesteryear

29 Sunday Nov 2009

Posted by rajalary in Travel

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After visiting Tarzana – during our October whirlwind trip to California, Arizona, and Nevada – we headed to San Pedro, which is kissing cousins to Long Beach. Stacey, Rich’s daughter, was staying on a tall ship affiliated with the Los Angeles Martime Institute (LAMI) in San Pedro (below). Ship in San Pedro

Long before Los Angeles became a mecca of millions, navigating through miles of multi-laned bumper-to-bumper traffic, it was an oasis of adobe bungalows, Spanish-inspired, tiled buildings with narrow roads that wove through the foothills through orange groves, eucalyptus trees, and blossoming bougainvillea. The pace was slower. The west coast was new and clean, a haven from the crowded, grimy, tenement- and sweatshop-filled east coast cities.

Annexed in 1909 by the city of Los Angles, San Pedro was a major seaport. A working class neighborhood dominated by fishing. The hills circling the water are dotted with small homes once owned by fishing families that came from the Mediterranean and Adriatic. They established commercial fishing docks and helped turn San Pedro and Terminal Island into the largest fishing industry in the United States with nearly 500 boats and 15 canneries in the 1930’s. San Pedro

The depleted ocean coupled with work moving offshore to lower-wage countries like American Samoa, Puerto Rico and the Philippines has reduced the size of the San Pedro fishing feet to a few dozen boats. These photographs by Wayne Oberparleiter capture what is left of the once mighty San Pedro fishery.

Location made San Pedro ideal for Navy ships. In 1934, fourteen battleships, two aircraft carriers, fourteen cruisers, and sixteen support ships were based in San Pedro. The charming downtown with tile-roofed two- and three-story buildings soon sported tattoo parlors and other haunts that buoy mariners.

The town and surrounding area seem to have frozen in time. The marinas, once crowded with fishing vessels, are now filled with pleasure boats, many in disrepair, long forgotten by their owners. Rich’s father once had a 45-foot sailboat, called the Pyewacket, moored in one marina now named the Dill Pickle Yacht club. Dill Pickle Yacht Club

A short walk from the marinas is Ports O’Call Village, a tourist destination built in 1963, which I remember visiting as a child. At the time, it had quaint New England style shops and restaurants, cobblestone walkways, along with street performers. I recall being delighted with the plantings and had purchased a bouquet of dried straw flowers.

Many of the shops are now closed or rundown. The Los Angeles Board of Harbor, however, recently approved federal funding for the San Pedro Waterfront Project, which includes a network of public promenade and walkways, renovations to the Ports O’ Call Village, and other amenities to support more year-round tourism.

One facet of the area that is strong is the San Pedro Fish Market. In a warehouse-sized space are a dozen or so fish markets with large refrigerated cases and open tanks of fresh and prepared seafood. The variety of fish is extraordinary as is the selection of fried, steamed, and marinated platters of seafood and bowls of ceviche. For twenty dollars you can get a platter of steamed jumbo shrimp with garlic bread, bag of sliced lemons, and condiments. Seating is outdoors or under large canopies with rough wooden benches and tables, and roving seagulls looking for hand-outs. 

We were at the fish market on a Sunday morning. As the sun burned through the fog, the tables at the Fisherman’s Market filled with Hispanic families who’d spread newspapers on the tables to create a “clean” eating area. Young girls in frilly San Pedro_3dresses and long, lustrous ebony braids tied with showy satin ribbons darted between the tables, followed by rosy cheeked boys in pressed jeans and boots. One the tables were platters of seafood and pitchers of beer. The mood was festive with grandparents doting on grandchildren, young parents with babies in their arms, and older people enjoying the food and mariachi music. Stacey, whose boat is docked within eye- and earshot of the market, said that the music plays until the wee hours on Friday and Saturday evenings. San Pedro_2

There are also traditional restaurants in the area. We ate on the patio of the Acapulco Mexican Restaurant and Cantina, where were could see the Vincent Thomas Bridge, which connects San Pedro to Terminal Island and directs your eye to the massive container and cruise ship facilities in the area. I took quite a few photographs of Stacey’s ship and the other sites. Here’s an online gallery, which shows the breadth of the San Pedro maritime industry.

The Port of Los Angeles World Cruise Center in San Pedro hosts numerous major cruise lines, including Celebrity, Costa, Crystal, Cunard, Disney, Holland America, Norwegian, Princess, Oceana, Regent Seven Seas, Royal Caribbean, and Catalina Express. Carnival Cruise Lines depart from the neighboring Long Beach.

Just for fun, I looked at the cruise calendar. There are forty-one cruises to Mexico in December, ranging from three to twelve nights. The least expensive is an inside room on a three-day Carnival cruise for $149. The twelve-night Royal Caribbean “Christmas” cruise costs $4,049 per person. Bottlebrush

In a sense, the cruise ships, shipping facilities, and traffic that streamed across the Vincent Thomas Bridge seemed like a mirage that clashed with the rest of San Pedro. The town remains picturesque with walkways lined with bottlebrush (left), adobe and brick buildings, tidy bungalows nestled in a bowl around the harbors, ethnic population, and the return of the historical Waterfront Red Car Line. If you squint your eyes, you can see the Los Angeles of yesteryear. Bottle brush_2

Twelve Cookies and Five Candies

25 Wednesday Nov 2009

Posted by rajalary in Food and drink

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The halcyon days of the holidays is now upon me with twelve types of cookies and five types of candies, cooked, boxed, and ready to be assembled and given away. Yeah!

Starting in mid-October, I turn into Martha Stewart and start plotting out the cookies, and this year, candies, that I want to make. I then tally up the ingredients that I’ll need and set about purchasing. The latter can take several weeks if I need an esoteric ingredient like rose water to make Turkish paste.

This year, I needed 18 eggs, 7 pounds of butter, 20 pounds of flour, 15 pounds of sugar, coffee powder, chocolate, three types of chips, 5 types of flavorings (mint, peppermint, almond, vanilla, and lemon), an orange, oatmeal, powdered sugar… several types of nuts, and candy canes.

Prior to this madness, in early October, I cut up pounds of candied fruits, nuts and dates for mini-fruitcakes. I then marinate everything for a week or two in rum. This year, I made over 100 mini-cupcakes and three little loaves. These yummies are basted several times with more rum, prior to packaging in late November.

The week before cookie-making, I made a candy-a-night for five nights. They were:

  • Turkish Delight or Paste. The recipe I chose used gelatin. The resulting candy was very tasty and somewhat similar to Knox Blox. I then tried another recipe, that seemed more authentic using walnuts, cornstarch, and rose water. Many years ago, I decided that I hated cornstarch and switched to rice and tapioca flour… which usually provide the same stiffening properties as cornstarch. Well, my second batch of Turkish Delight will be used on top cake as a sauce. It didn’t thicken!
  • Fudge. Cheated and used sweetened condense milk and chocolate chips. Success!
  • Peanut brittle. Rich and I panicked at the end and the peanuts weren’t evenly distributed, but the brittle looks and tastes good.
  • Cappuccino caramels. I wrote about this darlings in an early blog posts. They’re so hard that they should be labeled as "dangerous" if chucked at one’s eye.
  • Macaroons. Easy to make with coconut and sweetened condensed milk. I’m starting to appreciate the ease of using this product!

On the cookie front, there was: 

  • Israeli sugar. I’ve been making this recipe since my late teens. It’s made with oil and not margarine so they’re very crisp. I like to sprinkle sugar crystals on the top after them prior to baking.
  • Cappuccino thins. Decadent thin cookies made in food processor using chocolate, coffee powder, cocoa, butter, and flour. The resulting dough is very soft and rolled into logs using plastic wrap then refrigerated until firm.
  • Peanut butter squish. I used fresh ground peanut butter. They’re rolled into small balls then "squished" with ornate ceramic stamps.
  • Pepper. Rich puts fresh ground pepper on EVERYTHING. I thought I’d pull a fast one with this recipe, which called for fresh ground pepper, cardamom, allspice, cloves, etc. This cookies is so tasty!
  • Spritz. Rich is the Spritz King. He handles the Spritz gun as if it’s a fine instrument. This year, we made white and green Spritz cookies
  • Mexican wedding cakes. These are scrumptious balls of finely chopped walnuts, butter, flour, and powdered sugar.
  • Oatmeal. I added butterscotch chips and white raisins this year.
  • Chocolate chip. This year, I used chopped Heath bars instead of chocolate chips. The resulting cookies were a little soft, but exceptionally tasty.
  • Dark chocolate with mint chips. I made a chocolate chip cookie recipe and substitute some of the flour for cocoa then added mint chips with mint flavoring.
  • Thumbprint. Heavenly with raspberry and apricot/pineapple jams.
  • Ginger coin. This cookies are the size of quarters, but super easy to make with candied and ground ginger.
  • Peppermint pinwheels. Slice cookies can be so challenging to make!!! I decided to tempt fate and make a white layer that was rolled with a pink layer made with ground candy canes, peppermint flavoring, and red food coloring. Pinwheels are nasty hard to make!

How do I make twelve different types of cookies without going nuts, you ask. Simple. I gather all of the necessary ingredients, which I’d previously scoped out and purchased. I then plugged in the handy-dandy KitchenAid mixer/masher/grinder/etc. that Rich recently bought me for our anniversary.

I then start with the lightest dough, such as Spritz or sugar. The margarine and sugar is blended, followed by eggs and flavoring. The dry ingredients are then poured into the mixer as it’s running. I’m was astonished at the time-savings of using the KitchenAid!

The completed doughs are placed in plastic wrap, labeled then placed in a tin or container. My manager had given me five flat tins that provided INVALUABLE for storing the doughs.

This year, I made all twelve doughs in one day… marathon Sunday.

The following Friday, the doughs were loaded into a large ice chest (above) and brought to Mount Vernon along with a box full of of necessary cooking gear — rolling pin, lucky wooden rolling board from my Grandmother, Spritz gun, cookie cutters, parchment paper, spatulas, seven air cookie sheets, four cooling racks, hot pads, etc.

That evening, Rich and I made three drop cookies. Saturday morning, I launched into the time-consuming sugar cookies, followed by three other types of cookies. We then broke for lunch and errands. When we returned, we tore through the remaining five batches.

Rich and I are very consistent in responsibilities. I assemble the cookies, except the Spritz. He’s in charge of baking and cookie removal. I then transfer the cooled cookies to plates then containers.

For the past few months, I’ve been purchasing interesting dishes at the Bellevue Goodwill. This afternoon, I placed the cookies and candies on these dishes, wrapped them in colored plastic wrap… and will bring them to people that we’ll be seeing tomorrow at Thanksgiving!

When we return, from Thanksgiving in Camas, Washington, I’ll assemble several other boxes of cookies to send to friends and family… and the people at the work.

What’s left will be frozen and enjoyed by Rich and I throughout next year!

A Unique Childhood

16 Monday Nov 2009

Posted by rajalary in Travel

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The day after my high school reunion in late October, we zipped to my old digs in Tarzana (San Fernando Valley).

My father had followed his father in business, opening as garment factory in downtown Los Angeles on Santee Street, the heart of the garment district. His factory was called Doriann, a combination of my mother’s first name (Doris) and my middle name (Ann). Five days a week, he left early in the morning to miss the traffic and oversee the operation of his factory, which made dresses for Fred Rothchild, a designer and manufacturer of high-end women’s dresses and suits. Fred Rothchild dress

It was the era of polyester. Amazingly, you can occasionally find Fred Rothchild dresses for sale online, such as the dress to the right. My father contracted to make a similar dress. The top half of the sleeveless dress was white with a lime green, orange or pink drop waist skirt. The large sailor collar matched the color of the skirt and was finished with a patterned tie in a range of psychedelic patterns and collars. I still have several dozen scarves and ties from my father’s factory.

When I was eight and my brother ten, my parents purchased a quarter-acre lot in Tarzana on Shenango Drive (four miles south of Venture Boulevard, off Vanalden Drive) with a view of the Braemer golf course (below). At the time, there weren’t many houses in the area and at night you could hear the coyotes howling in the hills. Being Southern California, my neighborhood was also the home of rattle and garter snakes, horny toads, rabbits, gophers, roadrunners, and an occasional deer or bobcat. Braemar Golf Course

My parents built a sprawling four bedroom, four bathroom ranch house (below) with the latest gizmos and amenities, including an indoor char broiler, built in osterizer, huge walk-in closets, wood paneling, and 100% wool, live green shag carpeting.

They hired a Japanese gardener to landscape, using mature bonsai bushes and trees along with attractive foliage that needed little water. My parents were big on conservation and gardening. On both sides of the house were areas to plant vegetables and herbs.

A year after the house was finished, my father died of a heart attack. He was fifty. 19401 Shenango Drive

Following my father’s death, my mother reached a new level of paranoia and not only put bars on the windows, but installed a home-made burglar alarm that worked sporadically. She also had heavy metal posts cemented into the ground from which were stretched heavy chains to prevent drivers from turning around in our circular driveway. Adding to the glory was my mother’s sharp tongue and intolerance for most people and tasks – from carpooling kids to school once a week to cleaning and cooking.

Nevertheless, the location of our house presented many opportunities to find and sell golf balls to good-natured golfers, race across the golf course on our bikes (infuriating the golfers), buy junk food at the course’s food shacks, and hike in the surrounding hills (and get poison oak). Shenango Drive house

It also exposed me to people in the movie industry. The Moders lived towards the top of Shenango Drive. Mike Moder was the director or production manager of dozens of movies and TV series, such as Little Big Man, Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore, Matlock and Perry Mason. He and his wife, Patty, had five kids.

Jane Moder was the same age as me. Her older sister, Debbie, married Steve Stone (or was it Jeff) who lived at the very top of the street. John was a few years younger than Jane. He gashed open his face when he attempted to ride his bicycle down one of the drainage culverts cut in the hill opposite the golf course. Jyl was the youngest girl. Like Jane, she was a bit of a tomboy, slender with light blonde hair and freckles. Danny, who married Julie Roberts, was the youngest. My first recollection of Danny was him running down the street in his diapers.

Next door to us lived DeeDee Copeland who was the sister of actor, Bill Barty. DeeDee was a stewardess (before the advent of “flight attendants”) with two rambunctious Labrador Retrievers who I used to pet-sit. I also helped serve food at several of her parties. At one of these gatherings, a famous astronaut attended. I have his autograph… somewhere.

Across the street (below) were the Rices’ – Joey, Wayne, Darrell, Babe, and Denice. Wayne, who was a year older than me, hung out with several Taft High School football players. Scott Blakeley was one of them; he drove a very cool, custom-painted blue Corvette. I was enthralled with the car and spent many hours staring out it from my barred window. Actually, I was hoping that Vince Pone, another football player, would grace the street.Rice's house

All of the Rice “boys” were popular, personable, tanned, and primed for success. Joey Rice supposedly grew up to be the agent for Robert Englund (a.k.a. Freddie Krueger). Wayne is the producer of “Dude, Where’s my Car?, Chasing Liberty, and other flicks. Denise writes screenplays. And their father, Alan, is also a producer.

My mother was good friends with the Vlahos who lived a few houses away on Vanalden Drive. Petro and his son, Paul won an Oscar for Blue Screen Compositing Technology. Prior to their invention it was challenging to blend together an image shot on a blue screen with a stationary or moving background, such as people in a moving car or flowing hair.

Down the street from the Vlahos was the Manner family. Several times, Kim Manners, who was in his late teens, early twenties at the time, would drive me to my ballet lessons when my mother was out-of-town. He had a cool Mustang. Kim grew up to produce and direct the X-Files. His father, Sam, was also a director for TV shows like The Wild Wild West and Route 66.

I just read that Kim died in January from lung cancer. Hard to believe. In a sense, my childhood of growing up around movie people is also hard to believe. My “Valley Girl” accent has long faded away. I prefer the cloudy Pacific Northwest to sunny Southern California. Instead of longing for the latest fashion I prefer “gently reused” clothes from the Bellevue Goodwill. As Thomas Wolfe wrote, "you can’t go home again."

Kitchen Karma off…

11 Wednesday Nov 2009

Posted by rajalary in Food and drink

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As I write this entry, I’m nibbling on some homemade chicken soup, which is quite tasty, but seriously flawed. While making the matzah balls, one half of my brain said, “Add an egg.”

The other half of my brain said, “Save the eggs for cooking baking.” In the end, I didn’t add an egg and most of the matzah balls dissolved into gruel. My soup is akin to a bowl of hot cereal with carrots, onions, parsnip, and failed kreplach.

Kreplah are small dumplings filled with chopped meat. I used wonton skins along with some of the chicken from the soup to make my kreplah. Because I only make a dozen or so for a soup, I freeze the wonton skins until I need them. On Sunday morning, my brain said, “Take out the wontons and let them defrost on the countertop.”

Sunday afternoon, the wonton skins were still in the freezer. When I needed to use them, I hacked away at the stack of wontons, breaking most of them. I tossed the broken pieces into the soup, further turning the soup into a gluttonous mass. I did manage to separate a few skins; however, I liberally peppered the chopped chicken that I tucked inside… my kreplah is very over seasoned. If I was on Top Chef, the judges would deliberate ten second before telling me to “pack my knives.”

Last night, I attempted to make another candy… coffee caramels. The execution was flawless. I patiently waited until the mixture reached “firm-ball” then poured in the nuts, grated orange peel, and vanilla. “Success,” I thought until it was time to cut the caramels.

“Cut” took on a new meaning. In the end, Rich resorted to heating a never-used drywall taping knife, coating it with butter then exerting pressure to “slice” through the caramel. I then “squared” up each piece of caramel and placed it in a dainty paper cup.

The caramels taste wonderful… they’re just a tad chewy.

Adventures in Candy-Making

09 Monday Nov 2009

Posted by rajalary in Food and drink

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This year, I’ve decided to supplement my cookie extravaganza by also making five different types of candy. For the record, I don’t like making candy. Producing pots of scalding sugar is not only scary, but prone to error. Nevertheless, I’m determined to replace my terror of candy-making with the satisfaction of creating delectable goodies to give away.

On Sunday afternoon, I cleaned off the counters, wiped down a large slab of marble, and launched into my first batch. I aimed high, choosing to do peanut brittle. In the past, I’ve had a 50% success rate with brittle. You need to bring sugar, corn syrup, and water to a nasty hard crack (305 degrees), add baking soda and peanuts, stir rapidly, and then pour onto foil or an oiled marble slab. What could go wrong?

· I asked Rich to help at the last minute. He was too hasty and after quickly mixing in the baking soda and peanuts, he tipped the entire pan of brittle onto the slab instead of spreading it across the slab. The result… a pile of crunchy peanuts not thin brittle with scattered peanuts

· I used light margarine to oil the marble. Dumb. Light margarine contains water, which doesn’t curtail scalding brittle from sticking to marble. After unsuccessfully prying some of the brittle off the marble, Rich resorted to using a wall scraper (after thoroughly washing it)

In spite of these “challenges,” the brittle didn’t turn out too bad and left me with enough courage to attempt Turkish paste. The recipe I chose used gelatin. When I shopped for my ingredients at Winco (barrels of bulk food), they only had a large box of gelatin for $9. I didn’t want to buy a year’s worth of gelatin, so I bought a small box of four packets at Safeway.

The Turkish paste recipe called for four tablespoons of gelatin. “Surely four packets was equal to four tablespoons,” I assured myself. Nope. Four packets are equal to a little over three tablespoons.

Trust me, I aspire to follow recipe instructions, but I also relish “punting.” And punting I did on Sunday. I supplemented the missing tablespoon of gelatin for an entire box of sugar-free orange Jell-O that I found in the cupboard.

To create Turkish paste, you boil two cups of sugar with 1¼ cups of water, the juice and peels from one lemon and one orange. The peels are cut into strips. It smelled heavenly. You then add the gelatin, stain, and pour into a pan. After it hardens, 24-hours, you cut into squares and roll in a mixture of powdered sugar and cornstarch (I prefer tapioca or rice flour).

Even though I probably added way too much gelatin, the Turkish paste turned out wonderful! I’m anxious to try it again, using rose water. I also found another recipe that doesn’t use gelatin and includes walnuts. Stay tuned for more adventures in this season’s candy-making.

Valley Girls All Grown Up

05 Thursday Nov 2009

Posted by rajalary in Travel

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A few weeks ago, I attended my high school reunion. No, I’m not going to reveal the year. Many people who attended William Howard Taft High School in Woodland Hills, including myself, also went to Wilbur Avenue Elementary School and Gaspar de Portola Junior High School in Tarzana (named after Edgar Rice Burroughs who lived in the area and introduced the civilized world to Tarzan of the Apes).

The summer before my senior year, however, I moved to Oregon and completed my final year at Beaverton High School in Beaverton, Oregon. As the years passed I longed to know what happened to the people I knew from first through eleventh grade. When the reunion was announced, I wrote to the organizer, asking whether I could attend. His response was “Yes.”

A month or two before the reunion, I pulled my eleventh grade album off the shelf and flipped through the pages; I was surprised at how few faces I recognized. The people who seemed so important to me decades earlier were now simply pictures of strangers. Even though Rich had purchased the tickets for the reunion, I wondered whether we should go.

I was so on the fence that I never bothered to buy a “cocktail” dress for the upscale event that was going to be held at the Woodland Hills Country Club. Instead, I wore an outfit I’d bought in Texas (probably at Ross or Marshalls); black silk pants with a red silk jacket with black and gold oriental symbols, mandarin collar and red frog closures. I added sassy black shoes and chandelier earrings with red rhinestones.

For Rich, I chose black slacks, navy blue checked dress shirt with blue and black patterned tie. He looked very dashing.

Our trip started at 3:30 a.m. on Saturday morning when we caught a 6 a.m. flight to Las Vegas. After loading our luggage in a rented Suzuki Firenza, we grabbed a bag of pretzels and drinks at a 7-Eleven then drove to Anaheim, California to see Rich’s step-brother, Ralph. On the way, we stopped at Carl Jrs for Santa Fe Chicken sandwiches (wickedly good with charbroiled chicken, green chili, cheese, and gooey sauce).

We luckily encountered little traffic and were zipping by Knotts Berry Farm (Anaheim) around 1:30. Rich had plotted out the entire trip, assigning times for when he expected to reach each destination. He was only off by half an hour. After a quick visit with Ralph, we aimed for the freeway and speed to “the Valley.”

By the time we got to our motel, we were both tired from the early flight, long drive, and pelting California sun. I continued to have doubts about the reunion. Nevertheless, once we got into our “dress-up” clothes, we were eager to go and more importantly, quite hungry. We arrived early. Once we had our “memory” pictures taken, we awkwardly stood in the nearly empty banquet room, waiting for others to arrive. Every time someone walked by, Rich asked, “Do you know him or her?”

“No.”

There were an occasional “yes,” but for the most part, the faces I knew from elementary through high school were indistinguishable. It occurred to me that I’d done little with these people outside of attending class. By the time I’d reached high school, my spare time was spent babysitting, working at Pioneer Chicken, cooking, cleaning, gardening, and doing “stuff” with my mother. The latter felt my school work and social life were secondary to her needs. And I was too beaten down to rebel.

I’d missed out on high school, and now, I naively believed I’d be recognized and embraced by my peers. I was an outcast then and remained an outcast that evening. I was determined, however, to delve into these strangers’ lives. I was convinced that they’d been commendably successful in their careers and personal lives. It was shocking to learn that Jay, who graduated with honors, was now selling first aid supplies in Reseda. Marc was a car salesman in San Diego and Karen a receptionist in a law office.

No doubt, the people who came to the reunion were a fraction of the nearly thousand who were in the graduating class. And most of those who came still live in California… and have a southern California attitude and physique. Many of the women were dressed in short, black cocktail dresses with strappy sandals, and long flowing hair – more brunettes than blondes. A surprising number came in groups or by themselves. One woman inquired about Rich thinking her was a friend rather than my husband. I wish I’d responded that he was simply hired for the night. I would have enjoyed seeing her response.

When one woman walked towards the more brightly light bar in the ballroom, there was no mistaking what she was wearing underneath. A while later, Rich turned to me and remarked, “I think I can see that woman’s belly button.” He wasn’t exaggerating. Her black sheath was almost sheer, except for a patterned area across her chest and around her hips.

To their credit, or perhaps self-control, most of the women hadn’t gained a pound since high school. Some may have lost weight! Squinted my eyes, it wasn’t hard to imagine that I was at a high school prom. Throughout the evening, people sang bad karaoke while groups of women and a handful of coupled danced. Others bounced from table-to-table, excitedly talking and gesturing.

The mediocre food further reinforced the prom atmosphere. On banquet tables were rows of steamer pans of overcooked broccoli, unseasoned carrots, lumpy mashed potatoes, cold poached salmon that was supposed to be hot, and sinewy slices of nondescript beef. Dessert was a table of cookies, brownies, and other pastries, fresh from the grocery store to the Woodland Hills Country Club.

We didn’t stay more than a few hours. It was apparent that I no longer had anything in common with these people. As we left, we paid $10 for two memory key chains, which contained teeny photographs of us.

I didn’t bother to take other pictures. The memory of the evening will linger in my mind for a year or two then drift away like most of my school years.

My Little Angel

02 Monday Nov 2009

Posted by rajalary in Cat Diaries

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This year, Pu’Yi, my wonderful silver-point Siamese puppy-cat wanted to participate in Halloween. The obvious costume was an angel. Here he is with his wings. PuYi sprouts wings

When it got dark outside, I put him on a leash and sat on our front steps with a bowl of candy waiting for tricker-treaters. I could hear some children’s voices, but none appeared. So we waited and WAITED!

After 15 minutes, it started to drizzle, which turned into a rain. Pu’Yi wasn’t pleased and I was concerned that his wings would start to fall apart… even though they were made from white duck feather.

Of course, Pu’Yi was thrilled to go back into the house and more pressing, remove his wings. He spent the rest of the night avoiding me until bedtime, when he and the rest of the cats got to roam the house because Rich was away in Vancouver, Washington helping his son, Chris move.PuYi sprouts wings_2

Usually, the cats are locked in our family room because Rich can’t sleep with them walking over him or sleeping on his feet.

If you’re curious, Pu’Yi is the only cat I’d "dare" put wings on. Rich’s wild boy Jujube would have run frantically through the house until the wings ripped or fell off. Ariel, Goldakevtch, and Lunetta would have gnawed and scratched, making it impossible to tie on the wings. And little Zephyra would have been too squirmy. She’s a very tolerant and sweet cat, but doesn’t like to be held and her fur is so soft that she easily slips out of one’s hands.

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