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"Can You Pick Us Up?"

12/31/2023

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"Can You Pick Us Up?"

...Continued from previous post (https://www.ailantha.com/blog/my-covid-christmas-or-my-christmas-of-magical-thinking-and-the-cookies-that-saved-christmas):
I once saw a thought-provoking movie called "What the #$*! Do We Know?" that propounded, among other things, that when we see something we don't expect to see the image doesn't immediately register because our perceptions are so heavily influenced by our expectations that when our brains are hit with some unexpected data they need a moment to figure out what to do with it.

My brain had just such a What the #$*! moment when at 9:30 pm on Christmas Eve I saw the email from my daughter with the subject line "Can you pick us up?" and only this for the message:

  Soon as my cerebral neurons regrouped and I recovered from my drop-jawed astonishment I let out a joyful whoop then called my daughter to let her know that, hecks yes, we could pick them up!
   As it turned out, my Los Angeles daughter's cold was much better, my grand daughters were begging to go to Ohio for Christmas and, considering that I was now COVID-free and feeling fine, my daughter made the command decision on Christmas Eve night that the family would catch the first available flight from Los Angeles to Columbus, Ohio. The first flight she found was on December 26.
"We thought about just showing up at the door and surprising you," my daughter told me when I called her, "but we know that you hate surprises."
It's true that I generally hate most surprises. But I was overjoyed with this one.
I immediately called my Chicago daughter, Claire,

...to ask if there was any way that she, too, could come home for a few days. Sadly, that wasn't possible for her, as she had rescheduled herself to work at the hospital on the days of her cancelled Columbus trip.
My local daughter, Theresa, - who was equally thrilled that at least one of her sisters, and eventually her brother, would be here for the holidays - and I immediately got to work and stayed up late Christmas Eve wrapping the presents we'd bought for my grand daughters. (Frankly, I wasn't sure what we were going to do with those presents when we learned the children wouldn't be coming. Would it be feasible, I wondered to ship all those containers of slime?).

Our Christmas day plans likewise changed. Instead of Tom, Theresa, and I having a big Christmas breakfast then later going out for Christmas dinner then driving downtown to look at the holiday lights along the river, we hit the ground running on Christmas morning and spent the day making up the beds and cleaning and straightening the house (though I don't know why I always feel compelled to bother with the cleaning and straightening,

...when soon enough after everyone's arrival the house invariably devolves into a happy mess).

Theresa also set up an art table in the basement for the girls and, upon discovering that our neighborhood CVS was open on Christmas day, zipped out and bought lots of stocking-stuffers for them and two more gingerbread house kits to replace the ones I bought then gave away (see previous post, https://www.ailantha.com/blog/my-covid-christmas-or-my-christmas-of-magical-thinking-and-the-cookies-that-saved-christmas).
And then finally on the next afternoon, December 26, Christmas arrived.

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My COVID Christmas, Or My Christmas Of Magical Thinking And The Cookies That Saved Christmas

12/25/2023

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My COVID Christmas, Or My Christmas Of Magical Thinking And The Cookies That Saved Christmas

On Friday, December 15, ten days before Christmas, I arrived home from a wonderful visit with my daughter and son-in-law in Chicago.

Before the day was done I came down with a cough, a positive COVID test, and the sinking feeling that Christmas was shot.
My daughter from Chicago was due to arrive on December 23 and my daughter from Los Angeles was due to arrive with her husband and children on Christmas Eve. My son and his wife would be back from Christmas with his in-laws on December 26. I was planning a beautiful family Christmas, full of food, laughter, and cozy holiday gemütlichkeit. What I read in the pink line on that COVID test card was, Ain't gonna happen.
And, indeed, it didn't happen. My loved ones sorrowfully cancelled their plans and plane reservations, and I sorrowfully gagged down my PAXLOVID, which gave me a horrible case of PAXLOVID mouth and three days of nausea, but did, nonetheless, knock out the COVID symptoms.
By Wednesday, December 20, I tested COVID negative and was feeling bad that I felt so well. But I decided I'd make the best of the situation. Though we'd be missing two of our daughters and our son, our local daughter would be here for Christmas, though she was feeling equally bummed that her siblings and nieces wouldn't be coming.
And so over the next couple of days I set myself to the task of creating Christmas cheer, buying a tree, decorating the house and making plans for fun things for the three of us to do, like going to see the downtown lights and eating Christmas dinner out at a Japanese steakhouse and making some fancy desserts. But my whirl of holiday activity was doing little to lift me from my holiday blahs.
I found myself engaged in magical thinking: If I got the house looking Christmasy enough,

...and hung up everybody's stockings,

...and if we rustled up the outdoor decorations,

...then my out-of-town children and grand children would somehow miraculously show up on Christmas Eve.
And yet I knew they weren't really coming. My Los Angeles daughter was down with a non-COVID cold and my Chicago daughter had rearranged her schedule to work over Christmas and all my magical thinking was accomplishing was to make me feel more blue.
But on Friday, December 22 my mate Tom was talking over the backyard fence with one of our neighbors. Our neighbor had just lost a loved one, was suffering from a case of bronchitis, and, like us, would now be spending Christmas without their children or grandchildren, all of whom were sick.
When Tom told me about our neighbor it hit me: I'm not the only person feeling lonely and blue. There's a whole world of people out there who could use some holiday cheer. I couldn't change anyone's life or bring their loved ones to them. But I could bring them cookies.
I shook off my doldrums and zipped out to Kroger's to buy ingredients for cookies and for chicken soup, a batch of which I soon after whipped up with some hot rolls to deliver to my sick neighbor.
That night my daughter and I - my daughter had been indulging in a bit of magical thinking herself - cranked up the Mariah Carey Christmas album, threw off our magical thinking and instead threw ourselves into a two-day Christmas cookie-baking marathon.

And as the batches of cookies grew,

...behold, our doldrums took off and our Christmas spirit arrived. For us, these were the cookies that saved Christmas.

My daughter and I finished up our baking on the afternoon of December 24 and began putting together the cookie plates.

The finished product:

I also lit my bayberry candle, which I burn every Christmas Eve, a tradition passed on from my mother, who used to say:
On Christmas Eve, a bayberry candle burned down to the socket
Brings health to the body and wealth to the pocket.

By late afternoon I was hurrying around the neighborhood surprising folks with plates of Christmas cookies. I don't know if any of those to whom we gave cookies were necessarily feeling any holiday sadness, but the cookies were appreciated and in any case we figured they gave the recipients a boost of holiday cheer, as giving the cookies gave us.
I also gave away to a friend whose grand children were visiting the gingerbread houses - with all the extra fixings - that I'd bought for my grand daughters to make.

I'd also bought for my grand daughters some chocolate Christmas tree ornamnets which I gave away to a neighbor's children.
After all the cookies and other treats were delivered it was time to start setting up the luminaries on our block, as our family does every Christmas Eve.

When the luminaries were set up and the street was all aglow, we had our Christmas Eve dinner of pasta, stuffed mushrooms, shrimp and hot rolls.

After dinner my daughter and I went for a walk around the neighborhood to enjoy the lights on this the clear, balmy night, where all was calm,

...and all was bright.

Then the three of us settled in the watch "Christmas Vacation," one of those movies that, no matter how many times you see it, still delivers the tear-inducing laughs.

After the movie I gave my email a quick glance before heading for bed. What I saw made me do a double take...it was a Christmas miracle!
To be continued...

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Ten Years A Blogger

12/23/2023

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Ten Years A Blogger

I've now been blogging for ten years. "Ailantha" was born on December 20, 2013, when I launched the first post.
However, "Ailantha" was not my first blog; it grew out of a previous blog, "Tighten Your Boots," that ran a few months earlier, from September 1, 2013 to October 29, 2013, as a chronicle of my first trek with Tom of almost 500 miles across the Camino de Santiago de Compostela in Spain.

That first blog, "Tighten Your Boots," was conceived from a suggestion by a friend a short time before we started on the Camino. I had been lamenting to my friend that when I traveled I usually kept a journal of where I went, what I did, what I ate, etc, but that I didn't like doing much hand writing these days, as doing a lot of writing tended to bother my blossoming arthritis.
My friend then suggested that rather than writing by hand I keep a journal on an online blog: this way not only would I not have to write, but all my friends and family could follow my journey.
And so, from my friend's suggestion, my first blog, "Tighten Your Boots," was born (https://www.tightenyourboots.net/).

"Tighten Your Boots" picked up a small readership, and after my trip - and the blog - was finished, a few people expressed regret that the blog was no more.
It was my sister-in-law, Mary Jane,

...who suggested that I continue blogging.
"But what would I write about?" I asked her.
"Oh, just whatever you're doing," she said. "Your impressions of things."
And so my sister-in-law's words became - and continue to be - my guideline for "Ailantha." If ever I feel stuck in my writing, I remember what Mary Jane said: Just write about whatever you're doing. Your impressions. And when I can't find the right words, I remind myself to just stick to description. Don't try to dress the writing up. Just tell it, and keep it simple.
There was one time early on when I thought I might be able to make some income from my blog. This time it was my son-in-law Miguel,

...who gave me a valuable piece of advice. He said that blogs that make money are usually in a niche category: a cooking blog, a music blog, a sports blog, a decorating blog, etc. He pointed out that people usually don't make money from writing about whatever they feel like saying. On the other hand, he continued, if you just write whatever you feel like saying, then you'll get it said.
That advice also gave me clarity on what I wanted from my blog: I didn't really want to make money; I just wanted to get it said. And so also I remind myself as necessary, just get it said.
And this is what I've been attempting to do for the past ten years.
For those who might be interested in where the name "Ailantha" came from, here is my first "Ailantha" post, published on December 20, 2013.

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A Visit To The Chicago Botanic Garden, A Cheesy Dessert, Then Back Home For A Surprise

12/20/2023

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A Visit To The Chicago Botanic Garden, A Cheesy Dessert, Then Back Home For A Surprise

Thursday night, our last night in Chicago, Miguel and Claire brought us to the Chicago Botanic Garden to see Lightscape, a beautiful holiday exhibit set up on a 1.3-mile loop and offering visitors an ethereal fusion of lights and music amidst the flora and fauna.

On our way home from Lightscape we stopped for dinner at a Lebanese restaurant called Libanais that Miguel and Claire had recently discovered and liked.

As soon as we entered the restaurant we were greeted by the gorgeous display of pastries,

...which we, of course, had to stop and ogle before the server led us to our table.

Tom and Miguel ordered a bottle a red wine while Claire and I ordered tea and a bottle of sparkling water, elegantly served up on a silver tray.

The food (with, for me, one exception) was an out-of-this-world rendition of Lebanese fare, and all beautifully presented, starting with the hors d'oeuvres:
M'hamara, a tasty roasted red pepper and garlic dish served with pita;

...delicious grape leaves filled with rice, tomatoes, onions and spices;

...and the best hummus I've ever had.

For our entrees, Claire had a veggie wrap,

...Miguel had a chicken wrap, and I had a shawarma wrap made with beef and lamb,

...with a side of the hot, crispy, seasoned French fries.

Tom had a tasty shish kabob over basmati rice made with the tenderest lamb.

The meal was great. But then came the desserts.
We went up to the dessert counter to make our choices, which was not easy, given all the alluring options.

Claire ordered the white chocolate blueberry cheesecake,

...while Miguel had baclava topped with vanilla ice cream.

Both declared their desserts yummy.
Alas, I had no such luck with my choice. Of course, I brought it on myself - or, as the knight in the Indiana Jones movie would say:

Here's what happened:
There being so many yummy-looking options, I simply couldn't decide, so I asked the waitperson behind the dessert counter what they would recommend. They pointed to a photo on the wall behind the counter of what looked like a little round cake topped with ice cream.
"Try our traditional cheese kanafa. It's made up fresh and hot and it's so good."
"Oh, yes," agreed my daughter, "I tried that last time. It was delicious."
So I ordered the cheese kanafa topped with ice cream.
What the server set before me looked beautiful.

But as I was about to dig into it I was suddenly aware of a strong odor of cheese. I wondered if somebody at a nearby table ordered a pizza, or something. I asked the others at my table if they smelled cheese.
"That's your dessert," said my daughter. "It's made with cheese."
Now, when I think of a dessert made with cheese, I think along the lines of cheesecake or cheese danish. Not actual cheese. But this dessert, as my daughter explained, was made with cheese soaked in a sweet syrup. Which I couldn't wrap my gustatory imagination around.
"Just try it," said my daughter. "You'll like it."
I took a small exploratory bite. I did not like it.
But apparently it wasn't the cake, it was me. I ate the ice cream and offered my syrup-soaked cheese dessert to the others, who split it and found it delightful. Apparently I lack the sweet cheese gene.
I'm thinking next time I go there I'll order the Napoleon.

I do love me a Napoleon.
The next morning in the wee hours we were on the bus,

...then the subway,

...on our way back to O'Hare.

We arrived home in the middle of the afternoon, and I found myself suddenly tired. I settled into my favorite chair for a little nap, from which I woke up coughing and feeling not great.
Surprise.

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The Pullman National Historical Park

12/18/2023

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The Pullman National Historical Park

...Continued from yesterday:
On Tuesday Claire suggested that we visit the Pullman National Historical Park, site of the historic factory and company town built in the 19th century by industrialist George Pullman for the production of his Pullman railroad sleeping cars.
The visit turned out to be extremely interesting, and more historically enlightening than I'd anticipated.
In the morning Claire biked to our hotel, from where we walked a few blocks through town,

...to a cute little breakfast spot called Kanela,

...where the food was oh, so good.

After breakfast we walked a few more blocks,

...to Millennium Station,

...a vast underground commuter rail terminal.

We sought out the train to the Pullman stop, and to our surprise and delight the double-decker train was all decked out for the holidays.

The stairway to the upper deck.

We rode the train for about 40 minutes before arriving at the cute, old-timey-looking Pullman station.

When we descended to the street level I had the impression that we'd entered a hall of Roman arches, though these were the supports of the railroad above.

A short walk from the railway station, Pullman National Park is set on the grounds of the old corporate office building,

...and the remains of the old Pullman sleeper car factory, across the street from the museum.

The Pullman neighborhood, which begins across the street from the museum and old factory, is also part of the historic district.
Now, before visiting the museum, all I knew about Pullman cars was that back in the day they were tended by Black Pullman Porters, and that to be a Pullman Porter gave a man economic and social status in the American Black community.
I assumed that the museum would mostly chronicle the development and production of the Pullman sleeping car. But rather it told stories of labor in America.

We learned that after the Civil War engineer and businessman George Pullman came up with the idea of manufacturing a luxury sleeping car, in which passengers could have the feel of being in an upscale hotel on wheels.

To tend to the sleeping cars and the needs of the travelers - carrying their bags, shining their shoes, making their beds, serving them food, answering their calls, etc., Pullman in the beginning hired former domestic slaves, who were generally trained to be deferential and discreet and used to obediently serving the needs and wants of white people.

Though the exclusively Black Pullman Porters worked longer hours for far less wages than white employees of the Pullman Company, and likely took their share of abuse from demanding passengers (it was a common practice among the exclusively white passengers to call all Pullman Porters "George"),

...in the late 19th and early 20th centuries being a Pullman Porter was one of the best jobs available for an American Black man, and for many Black families having a Pullman Porter as breadwinner gave them an entry into the middle class.
Pullman Porters eventually organized into the first Black union, the Brotherhood of Sleeping Car Porters, and some Pullman Porter union organizers were involved in the early Civil Rights movement.

For the white employees of the Pullman Company, George Pullman came up with the concept of a company town. Pullman bought 4,000 acres across from the factory on which he built nice brick houses with the luxury of indoor plumbing, stores, a park, all the essentials of a plesant small town.
All the employees lived in the town of Pullman where they rented the company houses, shopped at the company store, sent their children to the company school, were expected to attend the company church and required to keep the town rules set up by George Pullman.
And of course, a family could only live in Pullman for as long as the family breadwinner worked for the Pullman Company
Which begged the question:

During the depression of 1893, when demand for Pullman sleeper cars fell off, Pullman cut the workers' wages in half but required that they continued to pay full rent. This left workers' families in a state of destitution and led to the Pullman Strike of 1894, the outcome of which would be instrumental in establishing American labor policy.

At the end of our visit to the Pullman museum, the park ranger at the front desk suggested that we take a stroll through the historic residential neighborhood that was the original company town of Pullman, but that we first stop at the Pullman Club Coffee Shop located in the grand house across the street from the museum that used to be the home of the company manager.
So we did.

After we ordered our muffins and drinks,

...we were invited by the friendly volunteer working behind the counter to enjoy our snacks in the cozy, delightful dining room,

...then to proceed to the living room,

...where we watched some engaging films on he life of the Pullman Company workers.

We then left the coffee house and strolled around the neighborhood of what used to be the Pullman company town, now, as we were informed, an ethnically and economically diverse and residential neighborhood.

The houses designed by George Pullman for his workers were, in fact, quite charming,

...and supposedly an improvement over what a factory worker back in Pullman's time could normally afford for his family.

We passed the town church, made of a beautiful green stone,

...and what used to be the grand Florence Hotel, built by Pullman for distinguished visitors.

After we finished our tour of the neighborhood of Pullman we walked back to the station,

...having learned another chapter of American history.

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Seeing The Christmas Sights With The Chicago Biking Vikings

12/17/2023

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Seeing The Christmas Sights With The Chicago Biking Vikings

After returning home to Columbus, Ohio, on December 5 from three weeks in Los Angeles, (see post from 12/15/2023, https://www.ailantha.com/blog/goodbye-to-la), my mate Tom and I had six days to catch our breath before we were back at John Glenn International airport,

...from where we flew to Chicago O'Hare,

...for a visit with our daughter Claire and her husband Miguel.

We made our way from the gate through the airport,

...to the Blue Line train,

...which we took to the California stop.

Here we met up with Miguel,

...then we walked to a nearby coffee shop where we met up with Claire,

...who was on a work telemeeting.

Now, here's something to know about Miguel and Claire: They are Biking Vikings (my name for them),

They bike to work (frequently outpacing in the bike lane the Chicago traffic on the freeway);

...and they bike for fun (a 60-mile day trip is no sweat for them, even in the heat or the cold or the pouring rain).

Last July they biked 500 miles during the sweltering heat wave across the mountains of Iowa (yes, Iowa has mountains. Twenty-seven of them, actually).

These Biking Vikings don't own a car; anywhere they need to go they bike or walk or take public transport or, once in a while, an Uber. On this chilly day they had biked several miles from their Logan Square neighborhood to meet us.
After Claire finished her meeting and she and Miguel had left their bikes secured in one of the many racks that dot this bike-friendly town,

...we walked a few blocks to one of our favorite Chicago eateries, the Cozy Corner.

The service and food were, as always, great .

After lunch the Claire and Miguel biked home and Tom and I Ubered to our Hotel, the Aloft on E. Ontario Street in The Loop.

The little service robot who roamed the lobby of the Aloft last time we visited was currently out of service.

I was, in truth, glad to learn this; that little bot tooling around the lobby kinda gave me the creeps. It reminded me of a mini version of Gort, the robot from "The Day the Earth Stood Still."

Our cute, cozy, spotlessly clean room was on the 11th floor.

The view from our room:

A few hours later Miguel and Claire biked back downtown to our hotel, a 40-minute ride from there house, parked their bikes, and from there we walked several blocks along the beautifully lit streets,

...to the the Christkindlmarket,

...Chicago's traditional holiday market, modeled after the Christkindlesmarkt in Nuremberg, Germany.

We stopped inside a crowded tent set up to look like a German beer hall where the ambience was jolly,

...to have a glüwein, a hot spiced red wine.

(Nor being a drinker, I split mine among the others).

We then walked towards Michigan Avenue,

...until we arrived at Millennium Park, where we saw the Chicago city Christmas tree,

...and other sights.

From the park we walked along Michigan Avenue,

...until on a side street we came upon an Italian restaurant that looked promising.

And so, it being dinner time, we decided to give it a try.

The food was out of this world, and beautifully plated, as well.
We started with a bruschetta to share.

Miguel and Tom had the salmon,

...Claire had the goat cheese penne,

...and I had spaghetti and meatballs.

For dessert Claire had tiramisu,

...and the rest of us had the carrot cake.

Everything was so yummy, we all agreed that this was our new favorite Chicago Italian restaurant.
After dinner we all walked back to the Aloft.

...and the Vikings biked back home.

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The Lights On The Pier

12/16/2023

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The Lights On The Pier

One balmy Sunday evening during Tom's and my recent visit to Los Angeles to visit our daughter and her family (see previous post, https://www.ailantha.com/blog/goodbye-to-la) I suggested to my daughter that it would be nice to drive into nearby Manhattan Beach and take a walk along the Strand, a walking and biking path that runs for 22 miles along the Southern California coastline, passing along its way Manhattan Beach and the Manhattan Beach pier.

On this night the lights gave the Strand a magical glow.

Off in the distance the Manhattan Beach Pier was lit with festive holiday lights.

As we approached the pier, my daughter pointed out to me that the lamp post lights along the pier, which were normally white, had been changed to blue and white this year for Hanukkah and in support of Israel.

I liked the idea of acknowledging both holidays, as I believe that life is better in a world that's diverse and inclusive.

We joined the crowds on the pier to look at the lights, and after taking in the panorama, it occurred to me:

While the blue and white globes represent the colors of the Israeli flag,

...this Christmas tree, a symbol of Christianity, was, against the night sky, green, red, white and black,

...which are the colors of the Palestinian flag.

I'm sure there are any number of metaphors that could be derived from the colors of those lovely lights twinkling over the pier.

As for me, the lights tugged at my heart and all I could think of were the words of a Stephen Foster Song:
Why should the innocent ever weep?
Why should the innocent die?

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Goodbye To L.A.

12/15/2023

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Goodbye To L.A.

...Continued from yesterday:
And then before we knew it December 5 had arrived and our almost three-week visit to our loved ones in Los Angeles had come to an end. As Tom and I stood outside our daughter’s house in the wee hours of the morning waiting for our Uber,

…I was already missing those loved ones, and all the ordinary, homey little everyday scenes and moments that, though nothing special, were special all the same.

Perennially photogenic Pinky

Setting up the Christmas/Hanukkah decorations

A visit from Claire

Goodbye, all,

...until next time.

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The Hill Country of Los Angeles

12/12/2023

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The Hill Country of Los Angeles

Before my first visit to Los Angeles after my daughter moved there, my mental image of L.A. was of a glamourous place: Hollywood, Beverly Hills, Malibu, swimming pools, movie stars, and mayhaps some fortunate Hillbillies, well known to those of us of a certain age.

I knew that in Los Angeles there were blue skies and palm trees,

...an ocean that the Beach Boys used to sing about surfing in,

...and traffic to beat the band.

What I wasn't prepared for was how hilly the place is.

Of course I’d heard of the Hollywood Hills and Beverly Hills. However, I’d never thought of these places as being actual hills. But they are. Los Angeles is definitely rugged hill country, all the way down to its shoreline.

I sometimes think about the explorers - and of hearty stock they must have been - who first discovered the South Bay area, as the section of the West Coast where my daughter lives is known.
Here is the street view from in front of my daughter's house.

And here's the view a block in the other direction.

And I wonder, as those early adventurers trudged up one steep (as yet unpaved) incline,

...and down another,

...how they didn't just write off this land as being more trouble to get from one plateau to the next than it was worth.

I also wonder about the early settlers, what they saw in this mountainous, deserty area that enticed them to stay. Maybe it was the nice, dry weather. Or maybe they liked the beach.
I read that once upon a time Hollywood was a small, quiet, rural town until the early 20th century when the film industry, which had been based in New York, looked west in search of a new location with good weather and cheap, plentiful land and came across obscure, hilly little Hollywood, California, where there were almost no rainy days to sabotage a film shoot.
And in time Hollywood grew and became part of Los Angeles and the people arrived and the hills were paved over and the movie studios and houses and buildings sprung up and highways proliferated and Los Angeles grew to what it is today.
But beneath all the asphalt L.A. is still essentially rugged hill country whose inhabitants tend to be fit, outdoorsy types who, when they're not in their cars, take in stride walking,

...running,

...and biking up and down the hills.

And so I guess it's no wonder if L.A. folks seem more occupied with physical fitness and healthy eating than us Midwesterners are. They have to stay in shape to tackle all those hills.

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A Visit From Claire And Miguel

12/9/2023

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A Visit From Claire And Miguel

...Continued from yesterday:
On Friday, December 1, my daughter Claire and her husband Miguel flew from Chicago to Los Angeles to attend the Bésame Mucho music festival the next day.

However they were, happily, able to spend an afternoon and the night with us.
Tom and I picked them up at the airport, and, as it was lunchtime, we headed to downtown Manhattan Beach,

...where we had lunch at a popular eatery called The Kettle.

Claire and I had my Kettle favorite, the yummy veggie sandwich with aioli sauce,

...while Miguel had the Cubano, to which he likewise gave a thumbs up,

...and Tom had eggs over easy,

...with one of the Kettle's famous jumbo blueberry muffins on the side.

After lunch we walked down to the pier.

...where we took in the panoramic views.

My favorite of the beach houses.

Then we walked through town for a bit,

...before driving back to the house.

That night, as our grand daughters had Friday night commitments, we adults went for dinner to Tom's and my perennial favorite, Scotty's at Hermosa Beach.

While the others ordered salads,

...and fish dishes,

...I found myself with a hankering for cheese pizza. I didn't know I was ordering a whole pizza, though!

It turned out to be such a delicious pizza, real New York style. I was quite surprised that a beach-side diner made such a terrific pizza. (Note to self: Next time you're in L.A. and craving a great slice, head for Scotty's!).
Of course, it was no problem having a large pizza, as the others were glad to help me polish it off, especially with all my swooning about how delicious it was.
After dinner we walked over to the Hermosa Beach walkway, which was festively lit up,