Fairy Godmother anyone?

I've officially become an unofficial godmother to a baby boy. Neither his parents nor he are Catholic making it unofficial, but all I ask is where is my magic wand? The big, flouncy blue dress? The invisible wings?

Nothing. But in the spirit of being one, I've knitted him a blanket slightly too big for his newborn self, but I'm sure will fit into nicely in a matter of weeks and a hat. That hat's a bit big, but he'll grow into that too. Maybe next time I'll actually knit things to size. Though, in my head, I'm always afraid that the recipient (especially with children!) will outgrow the item before receiving it. I got snowed in Boston, but it gave me plenty of time to knit the blanket and realize that newborns do 3 things: eat, poop and sleep. Life was definitely a lot simpler then.

New Goals.

It's not even Thanksgiving and I already have resolutions for 2009.

As it turns out I'm slowly becoming the person that will drown in her yarn stash if I keep my rate of acquisition going. So I'm putting it to an end. A complete stop. At least in ordering anymore. Having finally found a dyer that can dye my ABSOLUTELY favorite colorway on some great yarn (Yak/Bamboo Blend) at quite a pretty penny, I've decided that I've most definitely gone off the deep end and it's time I get realistic about my situation at large. NO MORE BUYING.

To add to it, my knitting twin has gotten me a beautiful skein of Great Adirondack Silk Delight in Beach House. It's going into a beautiful project if I can only think of one that is perfect for it.



I've covered an extensive palette of colors in my stash and I'm almost afraid of putting up a slide show of just my stash since it would scare me and I've been the person responsible for squirreling this stuff away for a few months. Yes. A. Few. Months. I've only been knitting a year and I'm afraid of that day that'll come when I decide I no longer have the will to knit. All I have to say to that is someone please be prepared with a big bottle of something. Maybe 2.

Seeing (Ruby Port) Red

Oh how quickly I went from staying on the wagon to mildly tripping with a skein of beautiful soft malabrig, then falling off and waving to the wagon in utter defeat. A few days after the malabrigo incident, I fell for this indie dyer currently living in Sweden (simple scarves by mabel) and snatched up four skeins of beautiful bamboo/merino blend sock yarn. I still haven't figured out why I'm so drawn to bamboo blends, I could be part panda, but I'm weak-kneed at the mere mention of it. A choice between silk or bamboo? Bamboo. Cashmere and bamboo? Give me the green stalks of plants every time. I really must have been a panda in my previous life.

Everything went so well until I finally started to clear out my inbox and was directed toward a Sundara Update- then I was done for. The ruby port. I did my best to ignore it. Did I really need another skein or two of yarn that was going to be a shawl? Didn't I own enough yarns to make me a dozen shawls? How many people did I really love enough to actually make them for? Forget taking the time to knit, how many do I know that I can really knit something beautiful and them not throw it on the floor, lose it in a restaurant or clean up dog vomit?

And then after awhile, it didn't matter. I just had to have it. Then I found the perfect pattern for it. And the voice in the back of my head just kept goading me on. Buy it. Get the red. So I did. Happy Birthday to me. I bought two lovely skeins of FSM and since I won't receive it until 2009, I've got a few more weeks to reduce my stash and wait for the arrival of this cranberry beauty. Yarn makes me happy. I wish I knew it before, but at least I know it now.

On a side note, my friend got me a stunning edible arrangement. The fruits were cold and ripe. Beautiful also. Much more practical than flowers that die prematurely.

Soft and plushy.

I'm weak. I'll be the first to admit it. But you would be too if you walked into the store and there in front of you was a beautifully deep purple hued skein promising to be soft, stunning and pretty when knitted up. It felt like cashmere and if I had to imagine what cloud 9 was made up of? It would be the Malabrigo sock yarn. And I'm not drinking the company koolaid. I don't like any of Malabrigo's other yarns. I've tried but every time a skein came home with me, I found myself destashing it to other lovers. More for them, I always say.

I broke my wonderful yarn fast with this and since I had been planning to get a skein from when I first heard of it, I don't think I broke any rules, maybe bended them slightly. If that. It's already on its way to becoming a beautiful object: Knotty Gloves.

1 Year Anniversary.

As I've finally settled down, planted my feet back home and temporarily stopped making travel plans, I decided to share my 1st year anniversary to you. In late October 2007 while everyone was making Halloween plans, I decided to learn to knit with my friend. We spent a lunch hour (or two, but who's counting?) getting starter needles (KA Bamboo Needles Sz 8) and yarn (Plymouth Encore) and sitting down at a now defunct cafe (blame the Wall Street crash for that) to learn to knit. The only great tragedy about that cafe is that the Pomegranate Lemonade there was to die for. The needles are long gone, having been given away in a teaching lesson to a friend. The scarf frogged for charity socks. I'm not sentimental.

Knitting is an obsession. A year later and there's nothing I really won't try, complicated charts don't phase me- instructions written in another language? Bring them on! But I'm getting ahead of myself. I started out knitting a simple scarf. It languished for about 2-3 months and I realized that I did more frogging than knitting, buying a skein or two every few weeks without ever really thinking about how long this phase would last. Three months later I started to learn lace knitting, different stitches, knitted different items with various yarns and was on a constant search for more patterns.

A little knitting lingo.
Frog = Ripping knitted work back into its original unknitted ball of yarn state. Called Frogging bc you're ripping back your work. Rip it, rip it (ribbit ribbit)
Tink= Backwards of Knit. Exactly what it is. Undoing knitted stitches a stitch at a time.

Magic Number 257

Yes. We all know it. Obama won. But that's not the subject of this post. I don't interfere with politics and I voted, but I've had bigger fish to fry.

I agreed to host my friend's baby shower in a city 4 hours from me. So throw in all the logistics of a baby shower, figure in about 50 guests, including kids, held in hotel at a place that I could only navigate through GPS. Once I got to Boston, I started a list of things that went on forever and required me to go to every store in a 10 mile radius of her home. Or so it felt.

But the magnum opus of the weekend involved creating a diaper cake that was the size of Montana. In my head it was going to be a simple 2 tier affair, maybe two of them, decorated simply, so that people could write notes to the Mother to be and slip in small pacifiers, bottles, washcloths, onesies. Instead it turned into a 5 tier wedding cake affair.

The problem can probably be traced back to the fact that BJ's sells diapers in packages of 276. So the first night I dutifully spent a few hours watching late night tv and rolling these diapers in perfect little cylinders and tying them with rubber bands. And the second night I started to assemble the tied diapers and worked with all the ribbon and streamers I had. 2 hours later? A stunning display that involved 257 diapers and yards of ribbon and streamers in baby pastels and boy colored blues. However I totally forgot my original goal. At least it makes for a pretty photo.

That this project ballooned in size? No surprise there. In fact, for a shower of 50, I think the cake ended up getting was targeted for a smaller people size but it ended up looking like it could feed 100. We had a lot of leftovers for a lot of people. The only sad realization I had post party was that I ended up spending more time with everyone else that was invited than the actual mother-to-be. At least everyone liked the hand knitted door prizes. Best game of the party? Baby Bingo. It's not a game for only the church-going crowds and little grannies in Vegas.

Halloween: Pumpkins- Yes. Candy- No.

The only way I celebrated Halloween this year was knitting (Lorna's Laces Colorway Carrot) Orange Little Pumpkin Socks.




Come on say it with me now.
OOH. Cute!






Happy Halloween Everyone!

Metal Box Entrapment.

This was going to start out as a bad day anyway. The city decided to hold its Medieval Festival in Fort Tryon Park the 28th of Sept regardless of the rain that continued to pour all morning. And since I actually had been looking forward to the event after attending on a whim last year, I decided to deal with the rain.

For most people, rain is an inconvenience. You wear a cap, carry an umbrella and all is well. I'm not one of those people. I never have been. I will reschedule appointments due to rain and even make plans to avoid inclement weather. Rain isn't clean. It's gray. Dirty. Wet. Muddy. You get the idea. But since the fair refused to reschedule on account of inclement weather, I was there trying to find the lady that I bought jewelry from a year ago. Hours of searching later, I realized that she was a no show. Clearly she was one of those rain-hating people. And while I believed, if I'm outside, she should be outside, who am I to get her to leave her home to be surrounded by wet hay and horses.

Exactly. So obviously going home was the next best thing. It would've been fine. We were looking forward to anyplace that was warm and served warm drinks. A flight of wet soaked stone stairs, mud-tracked, a few unwelcomed whiffs of stale horse barns and some time later we get into the elevator to the awaiting subway. Except during our descent, the elevator lurches and stops. A couple of minutes later we realized that we weren't going anywhere. The scene was just like a movie. A hypersensitive elderly lady, a mother of two boys- a child of 7 and an autistic teenager, a nurse with a heavy accent that knew only two volumes- loud and very loud and my friend and I.

We called for help and the operator went to send someone to look for a key and call 911. Nevermind the fact that at this festival there were police cops crawling everywhere. Still 30 min later we got nothing, no word of the impending help and the autistic teenager was yelling and stomping and pounding on the elevator doors as his younger brother burst into tears. The nurse tried to soothe him which didn't help as she was "yelling" words of encouragement as the mother tried to get her son to listen to music. The hypersensitive elderly lady? Anytime the teen got close to her, she hyperventillated and started to scream "Go away! Get away from me!" Lovely. Now where exactly was Keanu Reeves and why isn't he here to save me?

The result? 45 minutes later the FDNY arrived and managed to pry open the elevator doors and through an fire escape staircase, we climbed 12 floors to get out. Only to go back on the elevator to the subway. There is no glass large enough to drink away this incident.

Couch Coaches & Supernaturalists

You know the type I'm talking about. People that sit on the couch watching a sports game and yelling at the tv screen because clearly they're the ones in charge of determining the best play for the team. Nevermind that the team can't hear the advice or, oh yeah, has a coach that is being paid to coach the team. I'm not one of those types.

The other type- well. That I am. I have zero interest in watching sports. I'm more interested in trying out a sport than actually sitting around and watching it on tv or in a stadium. And with good cause. For any game that I caught on tv (aside from the Olympics), the team I was rooting for lost. I apologize in advance to Federer when he lost that amazing game of Wimbledon to Nadal. Normally I flip through tennis matches or catch up on the scores through the next day's news clips or the paper, but I was drawn to the game while knitting a friend's shawl (the clapotis) that would not end. And of course what happened? Federer lost in the greatest game ever in the history of Tennis. I'm sorry. I should not have been watching. I seem to be a bad jinx when it comes to sports games.

This is my roundabout way of saying, I caused the Mets to nearly lose their game to the Cubs on Sept. 25th. It was unintentional. I decided to go to the game because a bunch of knitters were going for a Stitch n' Pitch game and it was one of the last few games the Mets would play at Shea. I've never been to Shea so I thought now would be a perfect time to go. Except that they started to lose. 6-3. So during the 8th inning, we decided to leave. The rain was getting worse, it was getting colder and the outlook looked bleak for the Mets to regain a lead. No sooner than I had left the stadium that the Mets started to score in a few runs. By the time I got home, they had beat the cubs 7-6. I'm told it was a great game to see. The great 9th inning. But I know, that if I were sitting there, watching the game, that 9th inning would be anything less than great.

I'm the person that jinxes sports games whether on tv or live. You can mock me and tell me it's all in my head and that I actually have no control of any of this- like the weather. But there are others like me and we know the truth. Some of us, by our mere presence, can alter game scores.

Things You Only Learn While Traveling

It's true that every trip you go on is an entirely new adventure and with that comes great advice to be remembered for the next time.

- People are nicer out west. More laid back. Definitely more nice. Something's in the drinking water and that should promptly get fixed.
- Being nice to service people actually pays off. The nicer you are the more freebies and upgrades you get at no cost. (Exception? Circumstance. Like bat pee)
- A hotel bed is never as good as the bed you sleep in at home whether you sleep on a futon, ratty couch or those memory foam beds.
- The GPS is never always right or always wrong. It'll get you there correctly about 90% of the time. The other 10% is its way of trying to figure out what dumbass move you made or why you decided to go in the middle of a national forest with extremely windy roads for "fun."

Always have some sort of schedule and leave room to take the road less traveled. Well. Give yourself time to get lost because honestly the GPS is not God and sometimes you need to stop at a place that says Confusion Hill a place that defies gravity, a remote cherry stand or take a big picture of Snoopy because no other place has a huge statute of Snoopy on a sidewalk corner.

You can put anything in a crepe. I mean anything. I've had ice cream in a crepe as well as a breakfast sandwich served crepe style, proving that some items can be great for savory and sweet. Unlike the waffle cone. Put scrambled eggs and tomato in a waffle cone and tell me how that tastes.

It's a good idea to write down the names of places that had memorable things to make proper recommendations. For example, having experienced the best slice of blackberry pie known to mankind, I will forever have to say, it's at that place. In this tiny city. Ferndale. Cute cafe, outdoor garden/table area. As small as it is, like there isn't a few of those cafes there already.

And sometimes it's just nice knowing that the trip you took was so on point with other interested travelers. Barely a month after I had returned home, I saw a travel article in the New York Times documenting the places they visited in Northern Cali and places that were worth skipping. It's safe to say, I was right on.

Happy Travels.

More roads . . . and then Greece?

So the result? I found it. Sterling Vineyards. After parking the car in a lucky spot close to the booth, we surveyed the scene. The parking lot? Very well landscaped cement and potted flowers and ferns. Then the truth sank in. It's a $20 ride for a 5 minute cable car ride to get to a beautiful white winery that had a great view, but they give you "free wine tastings". I recommend going there on a weekday if you'd like to see people at work, just like visiting the Jelly Belly Factory may seem a bit empty on weekends or after hours. Still, with 5 tastings sprinkled around its estate and with picture perfect weather, it was hard to dislike it even with a steep tasting fee.

That's when I cracked. I've visited plenty of wineries throughout California from the Del Grotto Caves where I've tasted some 96 pointers to wineries that sold bottled jungle juice that should only be served at frat parties and campfires. Still I soldiered on, waiting for that perfect bottle of absolute bliss. It's like the perfect pair of shoes. You have vague ideas of what it should be, but in the end, the only way to know that it is the right one is when you see it and walk a few steps. So I was looking for the perfect bottle. Something worthy for me to find a way to pack in my already stuffed suitcase to brave the long trip home.

Did I find it? Absolutely. Malvasia Bianca. I don't like white wine and stay away from rieslings since I find them too sweet, but this? With tropical flavors and a hint of mango, mild acidic to cut the sweetness from the fruit was a nice white wine that smelled even more amazing than it tasted. 2 bottles came home with me and it's a shame that you can't find this in stores. Either way, I found my liquid gold in a remote corner of Calistoga.

There are a lot of factors that can lead to a good wine. The growing season of the grapes that year, the types of barrels used, place of manufacture of the barrels, the yeast used, etc. Go on a few wine tours and the entire picture starts to unfold. However, what often gets neglected is that for many, the reason why some of us gravitate toward one versus the other can be purely based on experience or memory triggers. For me, it will always be the mango and tropical notes of the Malvasia Bianca from Sterling. So much so, that a month after the trip all I was searching for was orange yarn that had the perfect color of a ripe mango.

Did I find it? No. But now I own two bottles of white wine bliss. The lesson? Long winding roads, forests, clueless locals and cherry stands are all things to be endured in the search for Greece in Calistoga.

Got Lost... Found a Cherry Stand and a Forest?

Leaving nature never felt so exciting and liberating. Clearly the guy who wrote about nature being so free and full of clean air, didn't understand the concept that some of us lived perfectly happy lives void of the problems Mother Nature brought.

Armed with a stack of brochures that I've collected since starting the trip, it was time to weed through it. The dreams of visiting Oregon and central California were quickly tossed into a recycling bin as were all the other promising sights that the Redwoods National Forest and Humboldt County offered. It was time to return to the land of the living, and by that, I mean wine.

Yes. If you're going to go through Napa, you must visit at least one vineyard. So this time, I decided to venture through the northern part and found myself in Greece by way of Calistoga. The picture of the winery honestly looked like a Greek monastery set on the high cliff overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. It was even more intriguing to know that it took a 5 minute cable car ride just to get the winery. Wait, Greek Monastery? Wine tasting? Cable Car ride? I'm sold. Sterling Vineyards here I come.

Well. Not so much really. As it turns out, this place was far. And I mean far. It was tucked in a remote corner past a lot of other wineries, through miles and miles of winding roads and just when I was about to give up, even more roads and hills of brown grasses and fields appeared along with trucks of cherry stands from local farmers. Clearly there was a boon in the cherry crop that week. Since the only hope of getting there was through the GPS, the same GPS that was going to send me into the ocean from Hwy 101 in Humboldt County just a few days ago, we decided to get some cherries for the ride to our doom. Even the lovely lady selling her baskets of fruit added, "Are you sure you're going to a winery? And not a petrified forest? There's only the forest up that way."

Yes this is exactly what I needed to hear. Past the forest, through more winding roads hoping to see fields of grapes again. At this point, I wondered if maybe the GPS was just confused and was just looking for the longest way back to San Francisco. Either way, there was no other thing to do but to keep going forward.

Small miracles.

Having realized that all things must come to an end and unable to spend another day in nature without my allergies getting the best of me, I decided to return south, far from the land of trees, grasses and bugs. Yes there are bugs. The lack of mention of horrific encounters with these biting, disease laden, flying, ubiquitous creatures is completely based on the fact that I used this amazing substance called Max-Off or something to the max. Basically I was as bug proof as I could get without my skin melting or instantly becoming a bio hazard.

Mock me if you'd like, but I'm not the one with a bug bite behind my knee or between my fingers. Thank you EPA for letting some company create this toxic substance so strong that when I sprayed it on me outside, the swarm of bugs went flying the opposite way and I was immersed in an aura of chemical purity. I couldn't be happier.

So I left the redwoods. It was lovely. I met a lot of people that I'll never see again. And as much as I loved everything about it, I don't think I'll make it back there. At least not in this lifetime. It was beautiful and I'd love to see these trees again, but Mother Nature, I am allergic to you. I'll try most anything once, but I won't suffer twice.

It's. . . WHAT?!?!

Yes. It was persistent. Annoying. Unending.

A trip down to the front desk and polite descriptions about a smell that I swear was similar to cat pee gave us a free upgrade to a Terrace King Room. Beautiful views, a bed that could literally fit a mini-circus and a terrace to watching a sinking sun.

I suppose I could leave it at that, but that would deprive of you of my next experience and misery loves company. As a porter grabbed our suitcase, we asked him if he noticed the odor or whether it was our addled brains. His response? "Do you really want to know or just not sort of want to know?" Now, I ask. Who picks choice B to a question like that and LIVES with it?

So we picked Choice A. And the answer? Bat Pee. Yes. Apparently in the attic of this historic inn, the corner that's right above Room 310 (where we stayed at) is where the bats pee. And on hot summer days, the smell wafts down to only that room. Interesting eh? They didn't include that in the brochure and it does seem weird that the staff, being aware of the problem, continued to put people in that room. Either way, it did give a nice upgrade where I watched the Olympics ad nausea. There was no question that we were taking the champagne bottle with us for the pains I suffered regardless of the complimentary sherry that existed in the rooms.

Oh the champagne? It was for a couple celebrating their 5th anniversary and the staff wanted to wish them congratulations. To the couple who never received it, Thank You again, it was a lovely bottle. To the staff, Thank You, it was a lovely bottle and eased me out of the bat pee situation, about 2 glasses in.

What's that smell?

A few days immersed in this nature, I was done. My allergies weren't subsiding and the only thing that kept me from finishing the medication was that I had to drive south on really bendy roads. Proof that the GPS still needs a few technology tweaks? I was coasting down 101 and after the initial instruction to drive 40 miles to your destination, was glad that I'd start to see civilization.

Right. Who was I kidding? Like I hadn't learned that my entire vacation was going to be full of mini-adventures? 20 minutes later, down a very windy path through the forest, the GPS instructed me to "turn right." Yes. Thank you Ms. GPS for leading me off a cliff into a ravine, maybe even the Pacific and most likely my death, sealing my eternal future life to be at one with my car rental, which by the way, was labeled as "tan." It's not. It's Olive-Puce-Green. Named (affectionately) as Olivia throughout the trip so she wouldn't feel neglect and cause problems.

At Garberville, we checked into Benbow Inn and were given our room. There was a strange smell in the foyer of the room and we couldn't figure out what it was. This is one of the few failings of the internet. No Scratch n Sniff. No scent in a bottle. It was just offensive, but the fact that we weren't in a room decorated with stuffed bears and scenes of the north pole, just kept us from assessing the situation. Rather than sticking around, we placed the lavender we couldn't stop buying from Matanzas Creek Winery around the room and decided to take a drive to a nearby winery. On our way out, we ran into the porter who was entering our room to give us a bottle of chilled rose champagne. I know I didn't order it. But as we couldn't stand the smell of the room, we just rushed out of the inn in hopes that it would get better later.

I've never tasted wine from a box or bottle, and I'm not sure if I ever will. But I do know one thing's for certain, this weird concoction of Firehouse Red comes as close to wine in a box as I can imagine. Thanks for letting us keep the glass, but we walked away with no wine. The largest stores in this tiny town included one that sold chain saw bear carvings and another that sold tie-dye tshirts. I don't know who actually buys them, but I do know that the townsfolk wear them proudly, enough to cause holes in places where you do not want to see holes. Want to know where your summer camp tie-dye tshirts went to die? Right here in Myers Flat.

At the inn, the smell persisted. And I noticed it even while suffering severe allergies and my "collapsed lung." It's moments like these when I realize that there are some places that I cannot spend the rest of my life at. Northern California, is quickly becoming one of them.

Lost City

Headed south to . . .

Ferndale. The forgotton Victorian Village.

And in case you didn't pick up on that from the hundreds of brochures located at every tourist stop/B&B north of Mendocino, the long drive from the 101 westward to the coast serves as a reminder.

Hills start becoming flat into fields. Forests turn into pastures of grass, small herds of cows appear regularly and then a series of houses, letting you know that you've arrived if you missed the huge Welcome Sign for the county fair. So I did was every good tourist does, park the car and walk around Ferndale. Yes there were Victorian Houses. Candy colored and small. However, the shops were quite interesting considering they had quite an artistic flair. The drama going around town at the moment was the possibility of it becoming (or a city near it) a port for cruise ships to Alaska. This brought the age old debate, "we'll have a bunch of tourists coming in, revive the town vs. we'll have a bunch of tourists that will kill the small town charm."

I had no say, I bought some jewelry and then discovered the amazing Blackberry Pie at Wild Blackberry Cafe. It was so amazing, that it did not even need the whip cream and I feel that I would cheat the experience if I ever tried a slice anywhere else again. So drop by if you ever are in the area and don't know what to do. I also discovered then that Humboldt County is the Pot capital of the world which would explain that when I went to Foggy Bottoms Yarn, a bunch of knitting tourists were disgruntled that the store was scheduled to open at noon and well it was a quarter to 1.

After a failed attempt to the county fair- when people start to stare at you driving up to the gate, it's best just to turn around and pretend you didn't want to go inside in the first place, I returned to the Yarn store. Much to my surprise, she was there, about an hour and a half later after she had promised to open. Also as it turns out, people in this small town are really honest. We entered the store and I assumed the proprietor was in the back. No. She was across the street at the Post Office returning to the store. Talk about trust. And lack of willpower as I left with some amazing Plymouth Llama Silk Yarn and some varigated green gift yarn for a friend.

Allergic to Nature

I know. It sounds silly. Can you imagine conversations?
"Oh, so you're allergic to shellfish? And mildew? Well, I'm allergic to nature."

Exactly. But I've realized that I will think twice about denouncing big, old corporate America as the Target in tiny Eureka, saved my life. About two days into traveling in the "wilderness" I developed a runny nose, itchy eyes, scratchy throat, and the ability to sneeze forever. First I figured it was dust or pet dander. The B&B was home to 2 dogs and supposedly 3 cats but for the record I only saw 2. The room we stayed in, as I realized the second night was supposed to mimic the North Pole. It helped that there was a postcard on the wall among others that said, "Greetings from the North Pole." The pictures on the wall didn't do much except mimic a forest environment, replete with the stuffed bear on the pillows and the lampshade which depicted a forest of evergreens. It was charming and yet at the same time, a little disconcerting. I suppose this is what happens when you move from the world of commercial motels/hotels to the homey B&Bs.

At about half past 9 on my second night, I felt one of my lungs collapsing (the drama, I know) and went immediately to Target which was located a fast 30 minute drive away, and supposed to close at 10 pm. Honestly, I think I was ready to break down the door if they closed on me, but we made it with 10 minutes to spare. It is moments like these where I welcome corporate America with welcome arms and appreciate the amenities found in the city that I've taken for granted. Like 24 hour drugstores. Drugstores on every corner. A pharmacy on every other corner. You get my drift. Several allergy medications later, I drifted into sleep and realized the next morning that I was clearly allergic to nature. Excellent work. Unfortunately, I was also nowhere near non country for hundreds of miles and so we left Arcata and headed south.

If I had my way, I'd tell the world that I was allergic to nature, dirt, grass, redwoods, all forms of conifers and all forms of greenery that hadn't been pre-planned by an urban architect. As it turns out I'm not entirely offbase with that comment. I found out a week later that one of my friends is allergic to all conifers and grasses. Being allergic to nature? Completely normal.

Where's the s'mores?

For those that like road trips, I recommend Klamath. Especially if you're in Humboldt County.

It's about an hour drive north of Arcata and has two amazing sights: the Paul Bunyan Sky trail and the Jet ski Boat tour. If you walk quickly past the tall statue of Paul Bunyan and Babe, his blue ox, you probably can easily avoid the interaction with the guy who they have do the voice. He tries to engage everyone's attention and yes, on top of the Mr. Green Jellybean moment, I too, made a small mistake by looking up at the statue, no doubt being caught on their video feed and he too make an innocent pass at me. "Excuse me, you there in the black coat, where are you rushing off to? Where are you from?" I quickly replied New York and ran into the gift shop. All those that want to talk to a statue? He's waiting in Klamath.

The hike itself was relatively short but they did have some interesting facts and close-ups with redwoods. When we make mistakes, we're expected to apologize. When Nature goofs up, it becomes an episode of Ripley's Believe It or Not or becomes a popular place to hold weddings. The sky tram was worth the ticket of admission as you got an aerial view of these trees leading to some amazing pictures at the top of the observation desk. 5 minutes later, we found the Jet Ski Boat Tour Dock.

As we got off to a start in an old Coast Guard boat, we noticed a bunch of sea lions and harbor seals. Not exactly the most interesting thing as I've seen them in Catalina, the Bronx Zoo and at Fisherman's Wharf in San Francisco. However, 20 minutes later, we came across a black bear and her cub foraging for food. I think the driver was more enamored with the sight than any of us were which gave all of us the chance to take a lot of pictures. Soon enough there was this smoky smell, like a campfire that wafted down the river. It was rather familiar as during our drive through Humboldt, we smelled it several times. All I could think of was, must be a nice campfire, hope someone brought s'mores. The truth? Thousands of old redwood trees had been burning in Northern California for 1-2 months. This is what happens when you go on vacation- you forget to check the news.

The tour was quite informative and interesting, detailing the history of the Klamath River and taking us to see campsites that can only be reached by boat. Yes. That's it. People here seem to camp for fun and do it in places where they have to bring all their supplies with them or get this boat company to bring it to them. The first observation? Campers are very messy. Litter everywhere. The second? They are very friendly and love to wave. The trip is without a doubt, quite fun and involved getting a little wet through the fast 360 turns.

And please. Listen to him. When he makes that spin, hold onto something or someone. I figured I could escape Newton's Law and ended up sliding about 5 inches to my left, luckily holding onto the person next to avoid hitting the couple to my left. How did I end up in Klamath? Tourist Brochures. Sometimes, it pays to go to tourist centers and grab a few papers along the way. Now, if only one of the campers would've made us some s'mores . . .

The Appropriate Response

About 5 hours north of Santa Rosa, past Mendocino County, you come across some of the most majestic trees that you can't even fathom its existence until you actually stand next to it. It wasn't the age of the tree that's surprising, which for many of them are well into the hundreds and some past the thousand mark, it's actually the height itself and the diameter of its trunk. Humboldt County had many charms- the vintage, yarn store- Shipwrecked was a great place to score some amazing Makalu 100% bamboo yarn and a great summer bag for the low price of $8(!!!!), the Sea Grill which had the best non gamey duck in a bing cherry port reduction sauce (and I don't even like duck!), the sheer ubiquity of chainsaw carvings and of course, the redwood tree.

I often make stops at various tourist sites to look at the available brochures. Some of them can be great diversions and others can lead to the great Hot Air Balloon crash landing at New Mexico in 2007, or Loleta Cheese Factory- a simple viewing window into the process of making cheese along with a ton of free samples and the Eureka Zoo. The zoo had free admission and that wasn't too surprising as there were very few exhibits. Irony at its best with flamingos flocking around an evergreen.

The highlight of the zoo was the black bear, indigenous to Northern California (as I later found out). As it walked forlornly away from its visitors, I whistled and clicked my teeth, causing the bear to turn around and walk toward me. After a few nods, it turned around and seemingly tried to get me to follow him (her?) to behind the tree. As it turns out, it doesn't like flash cameras, then again if I was penned up, I'm sure I wouldn't be happy with a dozen people clicking away at me either. A few more follow me attempts by the bear brought the following quandry. What exactly is the best response? I'm pretty sure that anyone following that bear would soon be its dinner or at least mildly bloody from "play fighting."

The zoo? A bit of a miss. Turns out, you can't always listen to those brochures.

Because Fate's got your back

From what I can tell, Fairfield, CA has really only 1 great thing going for it. It is the home of the Jelly Belly Jellybean Factory. I don't even really like jellybeans and on top of that I like about 3 flavors. Yet there I was again, for the second time in my life, taking a factory tour, wearing a silly hat, and going through the place. It is like the Willy Wonka Chocolate Factory, but for Jelly beans. It's worth a visit if you're in the area and it's barely an hour drive from San Francisco. While I was trying to get some jelly beans for a friend in a certain flavor, I noticed that children were flocking to the fluffy, life-sized Mr. Green Jellybean.

Now I apologize in advance for not having a photo of Mr Green, but I was trying to operate those candy dispensers by myself without being the person that accidentally spills all the jellybeans on the floor and therefore couldn't get to my camera. However, fate decided to ensure the memory of meeting this plush doll as he made his way to me, unbeknownst to me. Just as I got the candy dispenser to start spilling candy into an long plastic bag, I felt a thickly, padded hand tap my shoulder. I turn around slowly and there was Mr. Green Jellybean, waving at me. I looked around for the children to save me and as there were none, I awkwardly waved back and we each went our merry way. How many people can say that they've been hit on by an overstuffed Jellybean in their lives? I didn't think so.

Wine tasting is one of those moments that's really difficult to truly describe as everyone has different takes on the wines and the experience in general. However, there was one defining moment where my faith in fate was renewed once again. As we were experiencing barrel tasting at Del Dotto Vineyards, the question of who would drive to the next vineyard arose leading to the tour guide asking if we were going to rock-paper-scissor it. The verdict led to more drinking and the discovery that I still do not enjoy port. And that some nerds (I will not disclose where) play atomic bomb, cockroach, foot instead of the conventional rock-paper-scissors.

The cockroach survives the atomic bomb which defeats the foot which defeats the roach. Clever? Maybe. Nerdy? Most definitely.

Afterwards, as we approached the car, we realized that a huge truck got stuck in the driveway, cutting us off from our car. As the various workers and truck driver tried to map out a way to leave the driveway, we ended up waiting ourselves into sobriety. By the time the truck was out of the way, we were on our way to explore more vineyards in Napa. Sometimes when you least expect it, Fate has a way of looking out for you.

The $6 Cure.

San Francisco wasn't without its charms and in comparison to NYC, was quite hippy. First of all, I love tea, not as much as I love coffee, but I'm ok with ordering tea. However, tea houses that refuse to serve any coffee, even a simple house blend, is just . . . asking to be ridiculed. After all, most coffeehouses serve tea, even if it is Lipton, from a bag . . . bought in the 80s.

But I digress. The first stop was San Jose to visit Sarah Winchester's Mystery House. Aside from the fact that Sarah Winchester was a petite woman of about 4'10", the entire house was surrounded with terrible karma. A severe case of bad juju. There were windows on the floor, doors that opened to walls and cabinets that ranged from 1/4" inch thick to the size of a room- all under one roof. The story goes that after a visit with a psychic, she had to spend her life building as penance for the lives taken by the winchester rifle. What was left was a house with tiny doorways, stairs that were no more than 1/2" inch tall to accommodate her arthritis and lots of idiosyncrasies.

Apparently not having enough of bad ghostly vibes, I continued onward to visit Alcatraz, complete with audio tour guide. Surprisingly the tour was quite interesting complemented with a variety of soundtracks and if you followed the instructions carefully, you'd be able to get to each checkpoint without having to pause the guide. I, on the other hand, had to do a lot of back tracking and searching half the time. The view of San Francisco Bay was amazing as the weather was sunny and clear. The only better view of the city was at Treasure Island. Just avoid the military checkpoint and all will be ok.

It wasn't until later, after a rush stop at ImagiKnits where I found two amazing skeins of JaggerSpun in a beautiful Sage color was I going to be introduced to the $6 elixir. The store was closed but as the owner was hosting a class in a few minutes, allowed me to look around quickly and buy some yarn that I truly fell in love with while doing a scarf project.

Purchases in hand, we headed to Samovar Tea Lounge where this amazing $6 post-yoga adaptogenic drink promised to refresh me, revive my tired spirits, quench my thirst, clarify my skin, enhance my beauty, increase sexual prowess AND adapt itself to my body's needs. At $6, I'd of been happy if it did at least 1 out of the list. It had a light citrusy taste and while I didn't feel like I had reached another cosmic level, maybe I was expecting too much for $6. Still if you're looking for answers to some random questions in life, I suggest this tea. Compared to the rates of psychiatrists, excluding Lucy van Pelt, this is a much easier pill to swallow.

Must Direct Them to the Fire!

Visiting San Francisco again was like going to your summer home again. You know for the most part, the important things- the address, door, the part of the stone path that has a wobbly pebble that'll give unsuspecting strangers a sprained ankle will all be there. There is that vague sense of familiarity, yet mixed with a tinge of strangeness and newness because you haven't been there in a year and forgot that life moves on at its own pace without you.

So on a relatively warm, bright, sunny day, rather unusual for San Francisco, I was heading from Fisherman's Wharf to Pier 33. The walk was lovely even though I did end up weaving in and out of the crowd as my feet still seemed to think they were in NYC. The problem however is that there was a fire on the other side of the city prompting 2-3 ambulances, fire engine trucks and police cars to zoom down the street, sirens blaring. Even that was acceptable, maybe ev en a small reminder of home in New York, except....the tourists.

I have no problems with being a tourist in a city. In fact I'm a tourist in every city but NYC and like most tourists, I've accepted the fact that I'm not exactly aware of where things really are. Yet, in front of me stood a 6'4" burly tourist who stared at the line of speeding vehicles and proceeded to point, YES....raise his hand and POINT to the direction of where he "thought" the fire was....on a ONE way street. Now I ask. . . did he think that the city of San Francisco were so ill-equipped that there was no radio on their trucks? That a series of tourists notified dispatch that there was a fire on the other side of town? Still, I was even going to let that pass, and not spoil by day, until I crossed a block, and still ANOTHER tourist kept pointing, not waving, to the direction of where he saw the last car go by. The other pet peeve I have is that it's a one way street. Where on earth did they think this fire truck was going to go?

Still, as I crossed yet another block, another person scrambled through his bag and upon seeing the trucks mumbled, oh the fire trucks, fire . . . must make a phone call. And I ask yet again, to whom? The Fire Dept? To notify them of the fire that they're already on top of. I've tried to let the moments of frustration pass me by but as the final truck ran blaring through the street, a few others pointed to the direction that all the vehicles were going....on . . . a ONE WAY street.

Maybe only I find this annoying and silly. But I was so caught up in this moment of exasperation, that I had no choice but to walk briskly away and completely forgot to take photos of it. However, I did take some lovely pictures of San Francisco. Fog, Sun, or in between.

I'm not Grace

My real name is not Grace.

During a trip to the redwoods in August of 2008, I realized that to make life easier, I'd pick out a simple name to prevent situations like, "What's your name again?", "Pardon?" "How do you spell that?"

What started out as an idea to travel efficiently led to a lot of guest books scattered along the Northern California area being signed Grace. (You try introducing yourself to the owner of the store/attraction center as one name and them watching you sign the book as you contemplate signing a different name!) I'm not ashamed of my name or have any intentions of hiding the "real" me behind another persona. This is me, just the part that makes traveling and experiencing life a little easier.