Random Pictures

Christy got very excited about our new bed set.

View of the river Cam, from Chris' punting expedition in Cambridge.

Content Smally in Tahoe.

Saturday - Sweet and Salty

First I wanted to make pancakes, but then I remembered the sliced sourdough sitting on the kitchen counter. Perfect for French - freggin - toast! That got me out of bed before 9am, but before I did that I offered to talk on the phone with my mom-in-law and put on a pot of coffee. You won't see any pictures on this post because the frawnch toast was eaten lightning-fast. Off the skillet into our tummies. Chris was even trying to be "good," whatever the hell that means, and succumbed to the power of my new and improved Eggy Toast (as they say in the UK).

French Toast (in memory of Grandma Boots)

Ingredients:

A loaf of sliced sourdough - a day or two old
1 egg & 1 egg white - beaten
A dash of nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/4 cup milk
Butter for greasing the pan/skillet
SNOW - Grandma Rice's code-word for powdered sugar served on the side in a crystal or glass bowl.
Maple Syrup

On the stove, heat the greased skillet at medium-high while you whisk/mix the eggs, nutmeg, cinnamon, vanilla extract, and milk. Now bathe one of those bread slices in the sultry batter until it is saturated. Throw it on that skillet. Cook until cooked - I don't know, until it looks tasty.

You know, you could put the oven on low and cook all the slices you want, putting them into the oven to stay yummy warm. When they are done, serve with a sprinkle of powdered sugar AND syrup. Let me know how it goes, Folks!

While I was stuffing sweet morsels of french toast into my gob, Chris said aloud that he wished to go to the beach. I seconded that motion and, after we did the dishes (what good little wives we are!) and showered, we hopped in our Corolla and took of, eh. To Half Moon Bay or more precisely, Montara State Beach. I imagined a windy, relaxing walk from one end to the other. Our fellow beach-lovers were out, sunbathing, skin-surfing, regular-surfing, boogie boarding, dog wrangling and the like. For November it was in the high 70's and I felt that the sun was not only warming my pink skin, but burning it. It felt nice. Chris noticed that the surf was coming in a lot farther than usual as we meandered along.

Since I am a California native and took a college-level course on OCEANS, I feel the need to help Chris understand the ins and outs of the beach's flora and fauna. I crouched down to prod some poor dead jelly fish, it was the size of a dollar coin, but rounder. I turned it over with a little bit of washed up wood. "Do you see that?" I said to Chris,"See the opening?" There was a wiggly little pink line that was around the opening on the creature's sack-like, opaque body. Suddenly Chris yelled,"Watch out!"Luckily, I am as spry as a monkey because I hoped up and ran the opposite way of an incoming wave. I am continually amazed by human instinct. Feeling so stupidly surprised, I giggled as I escaped a salt-water soaking.

A few hundred yards further on we noticed the waves would wash clear up to the cliffs. A few times we had to make a run for it, so as not to get a salt-water bath. Near the end of the walk, we both just stood, reflecting on the greatness and beauty of the California coast. By then we had compromised with the high-tide and rolled up our pants, and removed our shoes. There was a small grouping of seal heads poking out of the water, swaying out beyond the large waves and I pined for binoculars, but reflected that junk sometimes gets in the way of enjoying life. Then we were both woken up as water washed up to our knees. That was when Chris decided it was a good time to walk back to the car.

At one section there was not very much dry land, and we were already jogging along trying to escape the shoreline. Poor planning led to a wave totally enveloping us up to our chests. Chris and I both either yelped or squealed. When the water was at it's highest, breaking off the cliff's wall washing back onto us, he held on to me for stability and for moment I thought we were totally going to fall into the water. We didn't, but we were just as wet. Chris in rolled up jeans and a white t-shirt and me in draw-string pants and a stripped shirt, we were both drenched, but kept running now not to repeat what just happened. We reached a break in the waves where the bluffs were not connected, providing a dry section. There stood a family of adults, dressed in their J.Crew best for a day at the beach. Sensing we looked ridiculously unprepared for our wet encounter I announced that the waves were high and I recommending running. So we all ran and ran until we reached a wider portion of land. Their father-figure didn't run fast enough and got it up to his thighs.

We had a funny, pant-less ride home. And we did not go out for lunch in Half Moon Bay's downtown for obvious slightly under-dressed reasons. But it was a good silly adventure for two over-worked people.