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Our White And Blue Christmas

12/30/2022

...Continued from previous post:
And so, Columbus, Ohio, having been hit along with much of the rest of the country with the arctic blast event that will go down in meteorological history as the bomb cyclone of 2022,

...we woke up on December 23 to several inches of snow, a temperature of minus 7 degrees, and a warning from the National Weather Service to stay behind our ice-covered doors for the next three days.

Now, having a white Christmas is nice;

...but I wondered how well we'd do with a blue-from-the-cold, frozen-in Christmas, especially with the children being stuck inside the house - and likely bored, I feared - for days.
But in fact, we all did fine. We built gingerbread houses.

We baked cookies.

We decorated the tree.

And though we couldn't set out luminaries on our street as we do every Christmas Eve,

... I did burn a bayberry candle down to the socket, as I also every Christmas Eve, and as my mother did every Christmas Eve as well, to bring good luck in the new year.

We did Christmas, with presents for the children,

...but not the adults, as we've subscribed to the joy of Christmas non-gifting for years.
We watched movies.

We cooked.

We ate,

...and ate,

...and ate, the Christmas Eve feast,

...the big Christmas breakfast,

...the Christmas dinner,

...and all the other meals we shared.

My daughter and son-in-law settled into their work,

...and my grand daughters seemed to find plenty to do, content to play,

...(the nativity Naciemento being fair game),

...help with the chores,

...and otherwise occupy themselves around the house.

And, in spite of the admonition against going outdoors, everybody - except me - ventured out into the sub-zero, turn-you-blue weather to shovel our driveway,

...as well as the driveways of a few elderly neighbors.

My daughter had heard of and wanted to try the trick of tossing a pan of boiling water into freezing air so that the water turns immediately to snow. So she did try it, while I watched from the backdoor and my grand daughter filmed the event.

And a couple of subsequent times our two young Californians wanted to try going outdoors - very briefly, as it turned out - into the blue cold, I suppose just for the experience.

Or perhaps it was that they liked coming back inside and pulling a chair up to the fireplace - which I kept burning all day during the cold days - to get warm.

And somehow the magic happened.

On Monday, the day after Christmas, the worst of the fallout from the bomb cyclone began sweeping out nearly as quickly as it had swept in, and over the next three days the temperature climbed into the teens to the 20's, 30's, and, by Wednesday, to the low 40's.
Now we were ready to venture out to Kroger's to replenish out provisions,

...which we needed to do, as we'd invited Tommy and Emily over for dinner on Wednesday night.

...with their poochies, Ronan and Suzy.

Yesterday, Thursday, December 29, six days after the bomb cyclone plunged Columbus into a deep blue freeze covered by a white blanket of ice and snow, the sun shone brightly and the temperature was in the low 50's. And it was time for our loved ones to return home to Los Angeles.

Our white Christmas was over. And I was feeling a little blue.

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The NIght Before Our Blue Christmas

12/27/2022

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THE NIGHT BEFORE OUR BLUE CHRISTMAS

My daughter, son-in-law, and grand daughters flew in from warm, sunny Los Angeles, California to Columbus, Ohio on December 21, the eve of the bomb cyclone that caused massive Christmas snow storms and freezing sub-zero temperatures from Colorado to Connecticut and points south.
Weeks before the bomb cyclone was on the weather radar, I made plans to take the family to see the holiday display at the Franklin Park Conservatory, Columbus's indoor/outdoor botanical garden.

I vacillated between buying advance tickets for Monday, December 26 or Thursday, December 22. Fortunately, I settled on Thursday, December 22. That night the temperature was 43 degrees, and so we were able to enjoy the beautiful outdoor lights in relatively warm weather.

After we saw the outdoor lights we strolled around among the indoor sights, among which were a number of permanently displayed glass pieces by artist Dale Chihouly.

The halls were decked with plants, lights, and ornaments,

...and a gingerbread house exhibit.

By the time we arrived home from the Conservatory at around 9 pm there was light drizzle in the air and the temperature was still in the low 40's.
The bomb cyclone dropped on Columbus just before midnight, and by the following morning, Friday, December 23 at 7am, the ground was covered with four inches of snow over ice and the temperature was negative 7 degrees with a wind chill of minus twenty. The news stations were warning us to stay off the roads and indoors for the next three days.
It was clear that we were in for a blue Christmas, to be brought on not by the funky holiday malaise that Elvis crooned about,

...but by this bout of freaky frigid weather fit to turn us blue from the cold and, it being too cold to venture out, keep us home for the holidays.
To be continued...

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Doing The Chicago Christmas Things, Part 2

12/22/2022

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DOING THE CHICAGO CHRISTMAS THINGS, PART 2

...Continued from yesterday:
The following morning, Monday morning, our daughter Claire rode a Divvy bike the five miles from her house to our hotel, Divvy being the Chicago bike-sharing system whereby one can one can pick up a bike at one bike station and return it to another, there being Divvy bike stations all over the city.

After Claire met us at our hotel we walked several blocks through downtown Chicago,

...to a cute little eatery on Lake Shore Drive called Kanela Breakfast Club,

...where Tom and I had some very good bacon and eggs,

...and Claire had a veggie omelet,

...and some interesting-looking veggie bacon, which she also very proclaimed very good good.

After breakfast we walked to Michigan Avenue,

...across the Chicago river,

...then we walked through town,

...to the Christkindlmarket, a German Christmas market held annually in Daley Plaza,

...which was quite crowded even at 11:30 am on a Monday morning.

After we'd made the rounds of the Christkindlmarket we walked across the street to Macy's, which was festively decked out for the holidays, inside and out.

From Macy's we walked to the Blue Line train,

...which we rode back to Claire's stop, from which we walked to her house.

That evening we drove back downtown,

...to my favorite of all favorite Chicago pizza places, Pizano's,.

...where the deep dish, thin crust Chicago-style pizza was a sublime as ever.

Then for Tom and me it was back to the Aloft,

...and our cute but creepy little traveling robot friend.

The following morning, Tuesday morning, Claire drove over to the Aloft and picked us up.

She then drove us back to her neighborhood where we had breakfast at another of our favorite Chicago breakfast spots, the Cozy Corner,

...which is, in fact, a very cozy corner,

...with retro decor,

...and great food.

After breakfast we ran errands,

We spent the rest of the day at Claire's house with the kitties..

When dinner time rolled around we went to a nearby burger place called Small Cheval,

...for some yummy take-out.

The next morning, Wednesday, December 14, at 5:30 am, Tom and I were out in the rain at the bus stop around the corner from our hotel,

...(though fortunately the bus stop offered a shelter),

...and soon were on our way to the Blue Line train stop where we caught the train to O'Hare.

A few hours later we were back home in Columbus.

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Doing The Chicago Christmas Things, Part 1

12/21/2022

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and the sequel, "Hail Mary" https://www.amzn.com/1684334888
Available on Amazon.

DOING THE CHICAGO CHRISTMAS THINGS, PART 1

...Continued from yesterday:
After Claire and Miguel finally found Tom and I wandering around with our luggage on Damen Avenue in the Bucktown neighborhood of Chicago (see previous post),

...they shepherded us back to Milwaukee Avenue where we'd been supposed to meet up,

...along which we walked until we reached one of our favorite Chicago brunch/lunch spots, the Yolk Test Kitchen,

...where we had lunch.

I can unequivocally say that the Yolk Test Kitchen serves the world's best veggie omelet, and the potatoes, whimsically served in a tipped-over metal basket, are likewise in the running for Best Breakfast Potato.

After lunch we walked to Claire and Miguel's house,

...passing along our way a circus school,

...and the neighborhood chicks known as the Bok Bok club,

...whose coop matches their family's house.

We arrived at Miguel and Claire's house,

...a cute, cozy place,

...that they share with their three kitties, Rosie,

...Siri,

...and Frank.

Early in the evening we drove to the Chicago Botanic Garden (which is not actually in Chicago but 24 miles outside the city in the suburb of Glencoe) to see the holiday exhibit called Lightscape,

...a mile-and-a-quarter loop of an ethereal fusion of lights and music amidst the flora and fauna.

After we finished walking the Lightscape loop we returned to Chicago and parked in the Logan Square neighborhood then walked a few blocks,

...to charming little Italian restaurant called Buona Terra,

...where the pasta was deliziosa.

After dinner Miguel and Claire took us to our hotel, the Aloft on Ontario Avenue in the Chicago Loop.

In the lobby was a little R2D2-like robot that scooted around the place,

...and communicated via a screen on its face.

I found the little guy kind of creepy.
Our room was bright and clean and cheery,

...and the beds oh, so comfy,

...for which we were very thankfulful.

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Losing My Brains On The Way To Chicago

12/19/2022

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LOSING MY BRAINS ON THE WAY TO CHICAGO

Tom and I returned home from a three-week stay in California on December 6 (see previous post).
Five days later, on Sunday, December 11, we were back in the Columbus airport,

...for a flight to Chicago to spend a few days with our daughter Claire and her husband Miguel.

Now, maybe I was still jet-lagging from the last trip, or maybe I was doing the kind of muddle-minded stuff that you start doing when your brain is shot from kicking around the planet for seventy-plus years. Or maybe I was just having a bad brain day. In any case I was definitely having a bad brain day.
It started at the Columbus airport after we'd checked in and checked our luggage and I realized that I didn't have my camera. When traveling I always keep my camera close at hand, usually slung over my shoulder, so as to be able to catch any good shot that might come along. I'm constantly checking for my camera, running my hand over my shoulder to make sure I still have it. But this time when I ran my hand over my shoulder my camera wasn't there.
Now, this wasn't the first time I'd lost my camera in an airport. A couple of years ago I left my camera behind on my way home from Los Angeles (See post from 8/19/2019: https://www.ailantha.com/blog/it-happened-with-and-without-pics). To make sure I'd never again leave behind my camera I bought a bright red camera case.

   Apparently a bright red camera case wasn't enough.
Trying to keep my inner panic at bay, I said, "It's all right. I must have left it in the car." We'd driven our car to the airport and parked it in one of the long-term lots, from which we'd taken a shuttle.
"No, you didn't," said Tom. "You had it when we got on the shuttle."
While I stood frozen in my dismay, Tom sprung into action. "You go outside to the shuttle drop-off and see if you see the bus we took. I'm going downstairs to the shuttle pick-up." The pick-up area was where the shuttle buses waited around for passengers.
This was truly a needle-in-a-haystack kind of a venture, as there were several airport shuttle lots to and from which the numerous shuttle buses ran. Still, I followed Tom's directions because I didn't know what else to do. As I stood at the empty shuttle stop waiting and looking for I knew not which shuttle bus, a Marriot bus pulled up. The driver got out and asked me if I was waiting for someone. It hit me that I must have looked as distressed as I was feeling. I told him my tale of woe, trying not to cry. The driver, who was about 3/5 my age, was very kind and solicitous, though he spoke to me in the indulgent, grown-up tone that people use to speak to children and old folks.
   In fact I wondered if I reminded this nice Marriott bus driver of his dear old mother. Or maybe even - gulp - his dear old granny. Anyway, the driver explained to me in grown-up tones that there wouldn't be many shuttle drop-offs at this hour and he directed me to go to the downstairs shuttle area and tell any airport shuttle driver there about my lost camera. They'll surely send out an APB to all the shuttles to look for my camera, he said. I imagined him adding to himself, you being such a sweet little old lady.
  So I channeled my inner sweet little old lady and thanked the Marriot driver profusely, and then hurried towards the lower level where Tom already was. I was at the top of the stairway to the lower level when I spotted Tom coming up the stairway...my bright red camera case in his hand! By some Christmas miracle he managed to locate the particular bus that had picked us up from the shuttle lot and, by a further miracle, my camera was still in the back of the bus where we'd been sitting.
I was beyond grateful to my stalwart mate and beyond determined to keep track of my personal items from now on. And this I succeeded in doing until we arrived at our gate and I discovered that I'd lost my boarding pass. But how did I do this? I was sure that after going through security I'd put my boarding pass into my wallet. Or my backpack. Or my pocket. But my boarding pass was in none of those places.
"I'm losing my brains," I wailed to my mate.
"Just go up to the gate agent and get another boarding pass," he sighed.
And so I went up to  the gate agent, feeling like a nitwit, prepared to be nitwit-shamed for losing my boarding pass in the 1,000 feet from security to the gate.
But the gate agent did not nit-wit shame me. Rather, she smiled, called me “Honey”, and spoke in the same indulgent grown-up-to-old-person tone as the Marriott driver had. As she handed me my new boarding pass she said, “The flight’s full, but I’ll see if I can shuffle things around to get you seated next to your husband.”
“Uh, that’s okay,” I said, “The flight’s only an hour.”
              “I’ll see what I can do,” she said sympathetically, but what I heard was, This poor little old lady should not be left to her own devices.
              The flight was only one hour during which I did not move from my seat, but spent the time trying to be mindful, my hands, eyes and brain continually making the rounds: Here’s my backpack on the floor; my camera is in my backpack; my wallet is in the lower pocket of my cargo pants; my phone is in the upper pocket.
              I continued working on mindfulness and brainfulness as we deplaned at O’Hare and made our way through the airport to the Blue Line train,

....where we boarded and rode to the Damen stop in Bucktown, our rendez-vous point with Claire and Miguel.

When we arrived at Damen I called Claire, who informed me that they were walking down Milwaukee Avenue towards the stop, five minutes away. I told her that we'd start walking up Milwaukee and meet them.
"No that's okay," said my daughter, "you stay put. We'll find you."
"No, we can start walking," said I. "Why should you have to walk extra out of your way?"
So it was decided that Tom and I would walk from Damen Avenue, where we now were, to Milwaukee Avenue, then start walking up Milwaukee to meet Claire and Miguel, who were walking down Milwaukee.
"Just make sure you walk straight," said Claire, "stay on Milwaukee, check the street sign. It can be confusing."
My daughter was referring to the convergence of six streets corners, one of which was Milwaukee, at the upcoming intersection.

"I'll walk straight," I assured her. "I'll check the street sign." This small mission was something I needed to take on. I needed to prove that I could at least find my way from point A to point B, that not all my brains had leaked out of my brain pan.
"Follow me," I said to my mate.
Now, after it was over, Tom said that it hadn't been made clear to him which street we were supposed to be on, but after we'd been walking a few blocks - on Damen Avenue - he and I both wondered why we hadn't yet come upon Claire and Miguel. A few moments later my phone rang. It was Claire.
"I think you must have taken Damen Avenue by mistake," she said. "Just stay where you are. We'll find you."
It was true. I'd led us up Damen Avenue by mistake. But how had that happened? I'd followed the street sign that said, "Milwaukee."
My daughter explained that at the intersection, the street that the "Milwaukee" sign appears to be signifying is actually Damen. "It's confusing," she reiterated.
Confusing it indeed was. Which was what saved me from further woe over brain leakage. It wasn't my fault that the "Milwaukee" sign pointed towards Damen. Or kind of towards Damen. Also, it's said that bad luck comes in threes, and after losing my camera and boarding pass, this street mix-up made three, so I figured that the rest of the trip was due to roll out more smoothly.
Which, fortunately, it did.

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The Daily Things Of Life That Are So Dear

12/14/2022

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THE DAILY THINGS OF LIFE THAT ARE SO DEAR

...Continued from previous post:
During the two-plus weeks Tom and I spent in Los Angeles visiting my daughter, son-in-law and grandchildren, though we were plenty busy, we didn't really do anything much out of the ordinary.
We went shopping at Target,

...and Old Navy,

...and Ralph's,

...sometimes bringing along a friend.

We went out a few times to Mandy's, a little hidden gem of an L.A. eatery,

...where they serve the best old-fashioned milkshakes.

And one morning we went for breakfast to an unconventional spot called Urth Caffé that was stuck back between buildings in an industrial park,

...where the patio was in the parking lot,

..and the food was sooo good,

...each cup of coffee a work of art,

...the pastries out of this world,

...and where poochies were welcome.

We strolled along the beach a time or two,

...and every morning Tom and I drove into downtown Manhattan Beach,

...to the Current Events store, where we picked up a copy of the New York Times.

But mostly we settled in around the family activities,

...including those of Pinky,

...Yajou,

...and Lily the gecko.

We set up the Christmas decorations;

...and the Chanukah decorations.

...and put up the holiday lights,

...and did the holiday cards.

We cooked and baked,

...and did chores,

...and did Legos,

...Legos,

...and more Legos.

It was, for the most part, two weeks of the ordinary: working,

...playing,

...and hanging out.

But how wonderful the ordinary can be.

On Tuesday December 6, before the sun came up, we waited outside,

...for an Uber to take us to the Los Angeles airport, from where we'd fly back to Columbus.
Five days later we'd be back on another plane, this time headed for Chicago.

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"Hot Cross Buns"; Or, In Pursuit Of A Tone

12/12/2022

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and the sequel, "Hail Mary" https://www.amzn.com/1684334888
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"HOT CROSS BUNS"; OR, IN PURSUIT OF A TONE

...Continued from 12/8/2022:
My grand daughters were off from school the week before Thanksgiving and we were having a fine week until bedtime Friday night when, while being tucked in, my 9-year-old grand daughter

...suddenly remembered something terribly important that she had completely forgotten about all week: She'd forgotten to practice her flute!
Her beginner band teacher had warned the class that they needed to practice their instruments over Thanksgiving break, as starting on the Tuesday after break - Tuesday being band day - each student would be tested on their ability to play "Hot Cross Buns."
My grand daughter tearfully recounted to her mother (who recounted to me) that, not only could she not play "Hot Cross Buns;" she could not play the flute at all, and she was going to fail her flute test in front of the whole class!
Upon hearing from my daughter of my grand daughter's distress, I sprung up and declared with raised finger, "No! She shall not fail her 'Hot Cross Buns' flute test!"
"But she says she doesn't even know how to play the flute," said my daughter. "Tomorrow is Saturday. She needs to know 'Hot Cross Buns' by Tuesday."
"I'll teach her," I said.
"Um, Mom, you're a piano teacher," said my daughter.
What my daughter said was true. I am - or was, until COVID shut me down - a piano teacher.

And now, I decided, I was going to become a flute teacher. Or maybe just a flute coach. Or a flute...something.
I figured that even if I didn't know one end of a flute from the other, my grand daughter likely did, and that, having sat through three months of beginner band class, she must have picked up something about playing the flute, even if she'd never gotten around to practicing any of it. In any case, I was determined that between the two of us we'd figure out how to kick some "Hot Cross Buns."
And so the following morning, Saturday morning, I had my grand daughter pull out her flute. I started off by playing the tune of "Hot Cross Buns" on the piano for her and singing the words:
Hot cross buns
Hot cross buns
One a penny, two a penny,
Hot cross buns

...I then asked her to play for me. She blew across the top of her flute,

...and produced something akin to a series of detached, tuneless toots of a small tugboat. My grand daughter was right. She couldn’t play the flute.
However, she did seem to know how to read the music and how to press down the three keys involved. What was missing was tone. Though the technical problems involved in producing a decent tone on a flute were obviously very different from those of a piano and a mystery to me, I figured we could try a little trial and error.
I had my grand daughter try taking bigger breaths. What came out were bigger tug boat toots. I tried holding her arm up higher.

That didn't help. Was her mouth in the right place, I asked her, was she holding the flute correctly? She thought so. "How are we going to get some tone out of this flute?" I wondered. My grand daughter didn't know. Neither did I.

But I knew where to go to find out.
I googled, “How To Teach Beginner Flute." Google took me to a nice lady who gave several pointers on basic flutery: correct posture, mouth shape (aka embouchure), position of the lips over the flute.
With a few arrows of basic fluting now in my quiver, we tried again the next day. The first thing I told my grand daughter was the first thing the nice Google flute lady had told me: stand up tall with your neck straight and bring the flute to you; in other words, don't bend your head over your flute.

I asked her to blow me a B-flat.
My grand daughter then stood tall, straightened her neck, brought the flute up to her and blew...a B-flat! An actual B-flat! Mayhaps not the finest, smoothest flute tone ever produced, but a recognizable flute tone, nonetheless. Apparently she had been bending her head over her instrument and drowning the tone. But now that we'd cracked the mystery of the missing tone, we could hunker down for some serious practicing.
"Stand tall, bring your flute to you," became my mantra as I directed my grand daughter to play one note, then two, then three, then the next three notes, then the next three, isolating and repeating each group of three notes over and over before putting all the notes together and playing the whole song.
And by Monday night, the eve of the flute test, my grand daughter, if no Sir James Galway, could play an acceptable fourth grade beginner band rendition of "Hot Cross Buns."
As it turned out, the following day she was not among those students chosen to perform. Her turn would be next week. This week-long reprieve was a great stroke of luck. My grand daughter got on a "Hot Cross Buns" roll. She practiced every day.

She practiced for the family.

When her friend came over, they practiced a piano-flute "Hot Cross Buns" duet which they performed for her friend's mother.

She practiced while roller skating around the house.

So secure was she in "Hot Cross Buns" that we started on the next song in her band repertory, "Au Claire de la Lune."

The night before her test I made a video of her playing her pieces..
Alas, the next band class day was the day that Tom and I left for Columbus, but that night, after we'd returned home, we called to find out how the flute test went.
As related by my grand daughter, she was the last in the class to be tested, and as soon as she began playing some young cad blew his horn and disrupted her performance. By the time the laughter and disorder that followed was calmed, class time was over. The teacher told my grand daughter she could try again next week.
And though she's had to hang on another week before knowing whether she'll pass her "Hot Cross Buns" test, as I always told my students, one performance of a piece really isn't all that important in the grand picture. What's important is that you've conquered the song and can play it. And if, for some reason - such as another horn-blowing jokester - my grand daughter's test goes not as well as it might have, well, it doesn't matter because, however her test goes she can play "Hot Cross Buns," as evidenced by this video:

…not to mention, “Au Claire de La Lune”:

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Brittney Griner's Mom

12/9/2022

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I don't know Brittney Griner's mom. I don't know anything about her. With all the coverage of the the American basketball star since she was arrested, imprisoned and finally set free in Russia, I've read nothing about her mom. The anguish and worry of Brittney's wife and teammates has been shared publicly. But not her mother's.
And yet upon seeing that photograph last August of Brittney Griner during her Russian trial, the first thought I was hit with was of her mom.

What must Brittney's mother be feeling, I wondered, seeing that picture of her child, caged, frightened, and alone?
And I wondered what she felt when she saw this picture of her bewildered daughter being led from the courtroom after being sentenced to nine years in a Russian penal colony?

How much pain pierced Brittney's mother's heart every day, I wondered, how many tears did she cry over her daughter who, according to the news reports, was suffering physically and mentally but whom her mother could not rescue or talk to or comfort?
Somehow I couldn't help assimilating everything that I read about Brittney Griner through a mother's eyes and with a mother's heart; because somehow, for some reason I can't explain, in Brittney's sad face I kept seeing the face of one of my own children.

Likewise, when the news broke the other day that Brittney Griner had been released, that she was safe and on her way home, that she was feeling happy, that she was smiling,

...my first thought was again of her mom, the tears of relief and happiness she must be crying, how her heart must be bursting for joy.
And my heart rejoices, too, for her and for the child who's been returned.

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Hopping On And Off In San Diego

12/8/2022

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HOPPING ON AND OFF IN SAN DIEGO

...Continued from previous post:
The following day, Saturday, we drove 38 miles south from Oceanside to San Diego, where Romaine procured us tickets for the San Diego Hop-On Hop-Off.
The Hop-On Hop-Off is a tour trolley that makes a loop of the city, stopping along the way at the sites of interest, where one can hop off the trolley, visit as one wishes, then hop back on a subsequent trolley to the next desired site, where one repeats the process. In this way one can hit all the city sights worth seeing without trying to figure out 1. what they are and 2. how to get there.
There's also a parking lot near the pick-up point where one can leave one's car for the day.
The Hop-On Hop-Off left from a historically Mexican area of San Diego called Old Town.

Our trolley was a cute, old-timey conveyance,

...festively strung on the inside with Christmas lights.

Our first driver of the day was friendly and accommodating, as were our subsequent drivers.

Our first Hop Off stop of choice was the San Diego Harbor,

...where we saw sea vessels hundreds of years old,

...and others not as old.

We saw vessels great,

...and small.

After a while we walked inland towards downtown San Diego,

...where we strolled for a bit.

Then we walked back to the harbor.

...and along the commercial district.

We walked for quite a while, and when we found ourselves near a Hop-On Hop-off stop, we decided to hop on and ride to our next destination, Coronado, a scenic island town across the bay from San Diego.
By the time we arrived at the Coronado stop if was well past lunch time and we were all quite hungry. Fortunately, the trolley let us off in front of a nice-looking restaurant called Mr. P's,

...that in fact reminded me of Tom's and my favorite eatery in our home town, the Gahanna Grill:

So we decided to try Mr. P's.

We found the food to be very good, and in fact rather along the lines of fare served at the Gahanna Grill,

...but at San Diego prices. ; )
After lunch we walked around the town,

...towards the main attraction of the island, the Hotel del Coronado.

The Hotel del Coronado, or Hotel Del, as it's known locally, was built in 1888 as a luxury beachfront resort, and remains so to this day, though the public is free to visit the grounds and patronize the shops, restaurants, beachfront, and other attractions, such as the outdoor ice-skating rink.

And so we joined the bands of tourists visiting The Hotel Del.

After we finished our tour of the hotel, we headed back to downtown Coronado,

…where we waited at the trolley stop to hop back on.

Because the day was now growing late, we decided to stay on board the Hop-On Hop-Off until it returned us to our starting point, where we hopped off and then headed back home.
The following morning, Sunday morning, we went out to a cute little Oceanside place called Swami’s,

…where the ambience was friendly and the breakfast lovely.

Then Tom and I said our good-byes to Stanley and Romaine, and we were back on the road north to Los Angeles,

....where we were patiently awaited.

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Seeing The Oceanside Sights

12/5/2022

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SEEING THE OCEANSIDE SIGHTS

...Continued from previous post:
On Thursday, November 17, Tom and I drove an hour and a half south of Los Angeles to Oceanside, California,

...for a few days' visit with my sister Romaine and her partner Stanley.

They were staying at a cute Airbnb near the beach,

...with a lovely yard.

Tom and I slept in the guest room, which opened out to the garden.

Tom and I arrived late in the afternoon and after we settled in we walked down to the beach,

...to watch the sunset.

On the walk back to the house we were treated to that phenomenon that my mother used to call "sky blue-pink."

For dinner Romaine and Stanley took us into downtown Oceanside to a restaurant called The Lab where the ceiling lights looked like molecules.

We sat on the patio.

The food was really good. We started with a charcuterie board to share.

Romaine had the Vegan Coconut and Curry Pasta,

...Stanley had the Steak and Mushroom Pie,

...Tom had the Lab Burger,

...and I had the Philly Cheese Steak.

After dinner we walked to a nearby hotel called The Seabird for some dessert.

We sat in the couch area, but as this opened out to the patio and the night air had turned brisk we were feeling chilly.

However the nice server brought us blankets, which were just the ticket.

After looking at the menu we realized that we were in the bar where no hot drinks were served. The friendly server directed us down the hall to the Piper,