Maniacal Laughter Report

The other afternoon, I wanted to grill some beautiful sausages I'd found at one of the markets here. Sarah had the day off from work, the weather had ripened into Indian Summer status and the grill awaited. But first, we'd take a walk.

So we did.

But before we left...I love the window in the living room here.
In fact, this whole nook just says, stay,read a book, where's the fireplace?
Bring me some mulled cider, please.

I saw this bike and thought it was just great street art. But apparently, these white, decorated bikes represent a memorial to someone who has died in that area from a bike accident; a pretty lovely way to make a tribute. The boxes next to it are full of free giveaway items. If someone wants to give things away here, they just set a box or the item on the curb.
I really like the practice, both of them.

How could I not let you see this home? I couldn't pass it by. Someone was incredibly patient. 

There was no way to do justice to these trees. They fit into redwood status as far as size goes and tall tall tall. I had to put them in because they are so honorable.
The house behind them is just completely drawled and the one
in the photo, next door, almost obscured. Oh wonder!

Truthfully, I don't really have roses high on my list of favorite flowers. They are beautiful, they are fragrant. For me, the beauty is too perfect and the fragrance often overwhelming. But this was such an example of both of those factors, it deserved a shot.
This is the city of roses after all. 

I saw this yola looking boat and realized I'd be home in less than a week!

But I won't be seeing pears in trees.

This is NOT a curb side giveaway. Sarah sees the father and son out here playing chess often.

This is one of my favorite yards in the neighborhood. Messy and filled with the most gorgeous chickens. Every year they seem to add a new variety of chick and all of them are fat and content.  I've never seen a person in the yard.

We got home and I got the coals started while Sarah did something. Baby potatoes were tossed with olive oil, rosemary and garlic and sealed in foil while the coals started to go ashy.
The sausages, jalepeno and mango and spinach and feta, were of chicken,
and wouldn't take long. The wine flowed, the food cooked.

Sarah made a wilted leaf lettuce salad dressing with egg and bacon fat, salt and vinegar.
It was her first time making it and she did a fine job.
I think it's been 15 years since I got to teach Sarah something new in cooking.
Score!!!

The sun set. As it always does. This setting was on a very, very good day.

No, you're not getting off that easily, some perfectly pleasant day, yet another one, on one who claims (loudly and often) to be the Luckiest Woman in the World. Carry on. Or carry off, it's just reading from here. 

We sat laughing and talking in the yard until about 2 in the morning. Sarah brought out this video that had us laughing even more. Two caveats here. Wine absolutely makes this funnier. And it has a naughty word in it, which is also pretty funny in an understandable way. Just so you know.

Eventually we came inside, talking some more, doing some odds and ends, consuming yet more wine that a housemate brought us. Because at 3 or 4 in the morning, it's always time for wine, though three not petite bottles over 12 hours? Not so much. At last,  passing out sleep called and we answered, I to my couch, she to her bed, zzzzzzz. 

Until I hear Rob's voice (house mate) saying, 'MJ. MJ? MJ, get up, the neighbor is here and he is NOT happy.' 

There are ways to start a hangover day. Ideally, in my world, that would include about 4 more hours of sleep giving way to the happy chirping of birds and someone with a Bloody Mary in one hand and a plate of eggs, toast and bacon in the other, smiling over me, waiting for my eyelids to flutter open. In a blessedly silent way.

This was, pretty much, the opposite of that. An angry neighbor with a baby strapped to his chest. going on about our screaming all night and keeping his family awake. I duly apologized even while wondering about the screaming, hoping he'd go away. But he didn't. He started making threats about evicting my daughter. Then he went on about how Johnny Cash (Rob is in a band called Counterfeit Cash, so he called him Johnny Cash) was a fine neighbor, JOHNNY never makes inappropriate noise, JOHNNY is a fine guy. What would it take to make him go away? 

By now, my head was spinning and so I did what any good mother would do. I went up and got Sarah's ass out of bed so she could share the fun, because this man was not going away until he lashed out at her too. Except, Sarah lashed back. About bon fires and parties in their own yard. About naked men wandering the house in front of open windows  And about the fact that we weren't screaming. 

'Ok,' he snarlingly amended, 'not screaming, but maniacally laughing! And someone futzing around with the trash at two in the morning!' 

Since Rob/Johnny is the only one who futzes with the trash, it was a gleeful moment. Rob was in trouble too! At that, the guy left. Rob said, yeah, you both were really laughing about something and I wondered what was so funny. We showed him the video. He didn't laugh that much, but some so that's a lot. 

The rest of yesterday we devoted to laughing. Imaginary conversations with the neighbor took up a lot of the time. At one point, we were laughing about something and we hear a voice on the sidewalk saying 'You two are loud!'. Really??? What was going on, twice in one day? Turned out to be a friend of Sarah's passing by and enjoying us laughing (sure). But that was it. The future, in that crystal clear moment, was decided.

We are going to rent ourselves out to parties, bris's, weddings and perhaps, if needed, a funeral or two. Maybe we can be hired just to annoy a neighbor. We will, not discreetly, laugh maniacally. That's it. No cooking, jumping from a cake, babysitting your children. Just maniacal laughter. It's got a ring to it. Especially with enough of a hangover. And our now favorite word of the day is futzing. We can string together every Yiddish slang bit into one very long sentence and futz works its way in there more than once. Then we laugh. Maniacally.

Today, the birds are chirping. No drinks or breakfast but no hangover. Plenty of sleep. The knowledge that my time in America is shrinking like the long wool skirt of my daughter's I inadvertently put in the dryer and made into a mini. Up and away!

Have a wish your neighbors well Wednesday. Do something well-intended.