recovery
On Friday I rode a little bay Crabbet- and Polish-bred Arabian on a fire trail under eucalyptus trees, and felt like I was thirteen again. When I got home Salome proved the old adage: friends drive you crazy, but real friends drive you to your psychologist. Shannon and Cian brought dinner, and Carole and Rowan brought chocolate eclairs from Tartine for dessert.
Brunch on Saturday with Peter the rocket scientist, who is moving back to Sydney to work at NICTA and who will be sorely missed. We discussed anaerobic digestive systems for household waste disposal and biogas generation at the Bernal sustainable homes.
Roy, Courtney, Kat, Salome and Jack came over for dinner. Jeremy made rack of lamb with coriander and cumin; grouper fillets in chili, ginger and soy; sprouts a la Jeremy, which he prefers to call Bernal spheres; brown rice in coconut milk and steamed broccoli. It was a sensational meal. We drank a couple of bottles of the Honig sauvignon blanc, watched the Murgisteads’ first home video, built a crystal set radio and told endless jokes about turtles and pie.
On Sunday we had all three kids swarming through Claire’s toys. Shannon and I abandoned the boys and got manicures and spa pedicures together. I’ve always been painfully self-conscious about my feet; it turns out, to my surprise, that with shiny purple nail polish, they’re actually quite pretty. Off to 826 Valencia for tutoring with a side-trip for coffee from Tartine, where there were two babies in the Rolls-Royce of strollers, the Bugaboo Frog; home for an afternoon fling with Jeremy while Claire napped; delicious leftovers for dinner; and so to bed.
