A Year of Grace

A year ago today I fell off Moto. I'm about 95% as good as new, and I feel very, very blessed to have had so many shoulders to lean on this past year.

Crab Fest Rx

Out here on the left coast, people are fond of their dungeness crab. I gave it a fair shake when I moved here, but I've concluded that anyone who loves dungeness crab only does so because he or she hasn't had blue crab. Along with first-rate Ethiopian food, blue crab is what the Wrangler and I miss most about living in DC.

Admittedly, the words" blue" and "crab" pretty much describe me lately. It's been almost six weeks since I've been able to ride Moto. Sensing my mood, the San Diego-based Six-Button Cowgirl took matters into her own hands and had a half-bushel (translation: a lot) of large, live blue crabs flown in from Maryland for our own little crab fest. Never one to skimp, she also served up jumbo lobster tails, shrimp, corn on the cob, potato salad, corn bread, and her special dipping sauce concoction of Old Bay, butter, and vinegar. The Wrangler bravely transferred the squirming crabs one-by-one into the 19-quart lobster pot and covered with beer, water, and plenty of Old Bay. After boiling for about 25 minutes, the crabs were ready.

It was a little tricky picking crabs with one hand. The Wrangler wrapped me and my cast with a plastic bag, HazMat-style, covered me with paper towels, and handed me a mallet. I wasn't exactly channeling Jackie-O or Audrey Hepburn. But it didn't matter.

I could say something corny about good friends and good food being the best medicine, but I'm way too full.

Daily Inspiration

The Colorado-based Six-Button Cowgirl, a litigator by trade, often employs her advanced trial advocacy skills and persuasion tactics to convince the Wrangler and me to relocate to her neck of the woods. She recently sent me a daily reminder of the appeal of the Centennial State--a calendar of Colorado ranches. She's crafty, that one.

A Formal Affair

The Six-Button Cowgirls reunited this weekend in San Diego for...a birthday party for a dog. The Denver cowgirl flew in from Colorado for the lavish event, and a number of thirty-something urban cowgirls drove in from areas up-and-down the California coast.

The San Diego cowgirl spared no expense in celebrating the coming-of-age of her terrier-mix, Harper. The professional (if a bit skeevy) DJs were better than those at any wedding I've ever attended; the catered meal was top-notch; and the canine guests got along, with the exception of a grumpy Chihuahua and an overzealous greyhound-mix who were subject to periodic time-outs. A good time was had by all.

Breakfast on the Beach

I'm not a beach person, and I hate summer weather. The Wrangler's job requires us to live in Southern California, so we live at the beach because we get some cloud cover now and then, and temps generally are not as warm as inland areas. In the midst of longing for rain, fall foliage, and snow, it's easy for me to forget that there are worse places to live than Laguna Beach.

This weekend Wrangler and I took advantage of the May Gray and had breakfast on the beach with some friends. The rare overcast skies kept a lot of the tourists away. Our little Jack Russell lounged on the boardwalk as we munched on almond bear claws from Scandia Bakery. I guess this is what it's all about.