For the last two weeks I haven't had any beef, pork, or fowl. I've eaten fish and cheese instead when I felt like having protein. It's as though a switch got flipped and now I don't want to eat those foods any more. I'm sure my doctor will be thrilled, he's been after me to cut out the red meat. But it's just weird that it wasn't a conscious decision.
The weather was beautiful this weekend, warm and sunny and perfect for gardening. I mowed the backyard and practically sprained my left arm from the unaccustomed exertion. I spent a lot of time photographing my garden. The daffodils are all blooming and the dicentra has put out two sprays of violently pink flowers barely an inch high. The anemones are looking lovely, I'm so glad I opted for all white. You can see them here. On the other hand, something has gone horribly wrong with my tulips. The stems did not grow properly and the Negril tulips are blooming at ground level. It's very bizarre to see, especially as the other tulips in the same container are responding normally. I've included a photo below.
I had a busy weekend, fitting in gardening chores, housekeeping, studying and socializing. Saturday night I had dinner with Trish Number One, her friend Jennifer, Michael Walsh, and his housemate Paula at Yakko's in Mountain View. There was a vast amount of gossip, mainly speculation about people's sex lives. Not yours, though. Trish copied her 80's cd collection for me, bless her enabling heart. We did some satisfying damage at Bookbuyers afterwards, and I begged off going for ice cream in favor of getting home and laying all my books and cds out on the table with glee. I now have 10 paperbacks gleaned from used bookstores in two days, all old classic science fiction and fantasy novels like "The Space Merchants" and "Nine Princes of Amber." I can be sure of reading material for the next two weeks on the train and at lunch, a not inconsiderable pleasure.
On Sunday I met Shelly Ross for lunch. We meant to go to the IMAX theater at the Metreon and see the Cirque du Soleil film, but at the last minute I discovered there was to be both a St. Patrick's Day parade and an XFL football game mere blocks from where we were planning to be. Yeek. So we bailed in favor of an English pub in the Marina district called the Fox and Fiddle. We ate delightfully golden, crispy fried cod accompanied by far too many delicious, fatty, caloric chips and talked our heads off. My Boddington's was pretty good, and the pub is staffed by a genuine Englishman so a thumb's up from me. Afterwards, we wandered down Chestnut Street and darted in and out of shops in search of candles, books, candy, and bath products. I love shopping with someone who loves shopping. I was slightly shocked to realize it's been fifteen years since I last set foot in the Marina.
Shelly brought me a beautiful embroidered silk cloth from her recent trip to Jordan. I'm going to hang it over my sofa in the living room as soon as I can figure out how to keep the cats away from the long tassels. It will go perfectly with the international packrat theme of my house, soon to be enhanced by the homemade African batik-covered valance in my dining room courtesy of Denise "Martha Is A Goddess" Rehse. My friends are so good to me.
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