Oh yes, plus a soundtrack that included the Bee Gees and Madonna.

Opposing realities (or at least accessories), and the private thrill of milk peanut soup.

Swallow fungus, heavenly egg shade… it’s all at New May Wah.

Above, the mighty Wurlitzer, which made me misty when it rose from the depths of the stage. Below, the mightier Jane Russell, who made the whole theater howl during this incredible man-fondling number: “Doubles, anyone?” “Court’s open!” “Two out of three?” Lay me, you pansies!

New apartment: check! Alfonso job: check! Kim job: coming…not too shabby for two weeks in town.

So it was time to give the man a mini-vacation and introduction to his new coastline. We drove to Marin along HWY 1 through Point Reyes, stopping at Muir and Stinson beaches, and finishing the day at Nick’s Cove, a splendid oyster joint built in the 1930s. Wild dill, epic eucalyptus, nude sunbathers, many tempting dogs (we are considering…), and a moonrise that stopped the car in its tracks.

Our drive up the coast ended with SF’s “welcoming” embrace of one of its own…

A midnight swim in the Olympic-sized, Mission Revival (1913) mineral pool (with eerie view of steaming geyser that feeds it), under the meteor-filled August sky is an experience that will stay with me a long while. Mom made a wish on a Perseid casualty. Heaven.

Cheesecake for the patient:

The ladies spent two nights at the oldest spa in Calistoga, Indian Springs. We enjoyed volcanic ash mudbaths (my first–divinely primordial) and the general Zelda Fitzgerald ambience created by fellow guests playing badminton and croquet in spa robes while proffering invitations to the “inhalarium.”

We toured a handful of wineries in St. Helena, Yountville, Napa– two I especially liked were Robert Sinskey (Pinots and Vineyard Reserve stood out) and Frog’s Leap, where after a breakfast tasting of the dusty and delish Rutherford (speaking of taking the waters) we toured the terroir pictured above. Below, the Silverado Trail at dusk with Mom (click to expand).

We reveled over a winemaker’s dinner at Farmstead with our hosts David and Gretchen from David Arthur vineyards. Meritaggio! Deliciouso! Looking forward to tasting Elevation 1147…

During our short tour of the valley, someone had her ear growled into (Roy Orbison style!) by a heretofore unknown vintner. Hint: that someone was not me. Oh la la!

Today we breakfasted in the wet clouds in a cabin once owned by Orson Welles and Rita Hayworth, now home to a fine cafe and restaurant, Nepenthe. The word is Ancient Greek, directly translating to “not-sorrow,” and referring to an elixir to bring forgetfulness. The journey along the coast of my home state is the opposite of forgetful, full instead of not-sorrow. Plus hawks, dragonflies, giant sequoia, crows, bay laurel, and brioche-loving bluejays.

“In her right hand she bore a crystal glass/Mantling with bright Nepenthe.” Was Shelley thinking of California Pinot?

After a month seaside, I spent the day saying goodbye to Laguna and tying up a multitude of loose ends, including the pressing need to catalog the seaweed. Love that Prussian Blue (aka ferric ferrocyanide).