Travels with The Rayman

NewportThis is Pulp Fiction kind of blog. Starting at the end to wind around to the beginning

It is 5:25 p.m. and I am holed up in a hotel named The Row. A perfect name for a skinny hotel. Here I am with Beau alonein the joint. It is located on Stevens Creek Blvd, in San Jose a city I lived in for years but no longer recognize. Without my GPS I would not have found the place.

When I pulled up, I had to speed drive into the garage that fed directly off Stevens Creek and Stevens Creeks is a freeway-type street with drivers tailgating so I really had to come in on two wheels to avoid getting rear ended. The garage was street level. Reception was located on the second floor which meant that I had to take Beau and one roll-on with me to check in. Well, “had to” may be overly dramatic. It is just what I did.

Arriving upstairs in an elevator that Beau did not want to ride was one thing. It was another thing when the man asked for my I.D. Oops. I left my purse in the car under the front seat. It occurred to me that there were other things to bring up so I asked if they had a trolley I could use for my luggage. Yes they did. So, I left my roll-on with him and took Beau and the trolley back down to fetch my purse. There were problems. The trolley wanted to go one way, Beau another.  It was herding cats times ten. Luckily a man came along and he opened the door (it was not an automatic door) and then he held Beau’s leash and watched me battle the abstinent trolley through the very narrow door. 

Then it was back up to the reception desk for check in. After taking my license to verify my I.d., the man at the desk asked for my email and he sent me an email that included the room number, the code to unlock the door and other pertinent info. OMG. This was a first. 

Down the hall we wandered veering from one side of the hall to the other to the NEXT TO THE LAST room on the floor. There on the door was a gizmo that I did not immediately figure out how to use. So I found my flashlight app and read that I needed to place the palm of my hand on the gizmo. Following those instructions, the numbers were back-lit and they turned on. Then I entered my code twice (failed the first attempt) and finally entered the kingdom of heaven. It had been a long day and I was at my wits end.

Where was Rayman, you ask. I left him off near the airport in San Jose where we met up with number one son that had flown down yesterday. Then we went to a sandwich shop which had closed but the people were still there and I begged them for food. They took pity and made us two sandwiches. Almost unbelievable. Then I drove them to Hampton Inn and dropped them off. They were going to a football game. A Monday night NFL football game. It was a Father’s  Day present from Ryan. So cool. 

Dogs were not allowed in the hotel Ryan booked so I booked this skinny hotel. And here I am.

As I was leaving the hotel to walk the Beau, the man at the desk was still there. I mentioned to him that a bell boy would be useful at this property. As I was delivering my complaint, another man walked up and butted in and there went any conversation I thought I was going to have.

Old women don’t register with many people. And this was an excellent example. I don’t mind being invisible, but I don’t like being ignored. It is unseemly.

Do I hear a “Hallelujah, Sister?

At Local Ocean restaurant in Newport, OR

We left Portland last Friday and drove as far as Yachats, OR stopping in Newport for lunch.

Located on the Pacific Ocean four hours south of PDX, it was a good spot for the night. While our room wasn’t ocean facing, we had a peek of it through our window. The hotel was off the highway about 200 yards and it sat right on the ocean. There were giant waves and lots of tide pools. The waves made it too dangerous to look at the tide pools. It was called Fireside Motel.

The next morning we found a spot to eat breakfast and then drove down the fog shrouded Highway 1 toward California. It was a beautiful ride because it was a high fog. We could see the ocean, the dunes, and trees. We had planned the trip to average four hours travels a day. It was working. We were feeling the stress in our shoulders fall away the further south we traveled. After nine months of moving, we were awash in gratitude for some time away.

Newport marina.

Vista stop of the Pacific Ocean! On our way to Crescent City, CA

At the end of the day, we checked into a Best Western in Crescent City where the price of gas went up to the clouds. Arriving about 4 p.m., we walked Beau and went to an early dinner at a cool brewery and had a great dinner…red snapper was split as was a walnut/cranberry salad with various rough-age!  The issue we had was that they assigned us a room that looked out onto a wall about feet from the door. No view. It was a property I would not recommend. Scant electrical outlets…and in this day and age, that is a sin. After all, we have our contraptions…phones, rechargeable hearing aids, toothbrush of the electric variety, computer, iPad. Quite an amazing array of “must haves” for modern life.

So, we left the next morning and continued our land voyage south. Fog laying on the road with early morning shafts of light defused the through the redwoods. Oh, the redwoods. Mighty and tall. Tall and mighty. They do take your breath away. Only 5% left. It is so sad. However, we totally enjoyed the ride through the forests.

We stopped to say hi to Paul Bunyan and Babe. Gives some perspective on how big those trees were.

The thing is when you want to transition from highway 101 to highway 1, you must go over mountains. And that is how we did it on a road so curvy, it strained our imaginations. Hairpin Curve Road should have been the name of the road. One after another. And if you overshot the curve, you were going to meet your maker. Straight down, no guardrails. More suitable for motorcycles than RVs and big trucks which were present now and then. 

The trip was worth it. We checked into the Beachcomber Inn and scored the best room of the trip. As we had done the whole trip, we went in search for an early dinner and ended up sitting outside under a bridge, on a wharf in foggy circumstances where we split a salmon burger cooked on an outdoor grill from a skimpy menu because their kitchen next door had suffered a fire on Wednesday. (They were serving from their fish market). So we counted ourselves lucky. We let Beau feast with us and had a grand time while helping a women-owned business stay afloat on the wharf!!

Early morning view from our room!

Under the bridge for dinner.

After dinner we went back to the motel and took a walk on the beach (finally) and let Beau have his way with the sand and the sea. Fabulous, just fabulous.

Today, we left Ft. Bragg and traversed another road with curves before hooking up with highway 101 to beat feet down to meet Ryan for the game tonight. And that is how I wound up in The Row Hotel located a breath away from busy Stevens Creek Blvd in San Jose. And the worst thing of all is that it doesn’t have a bar. I can’t even drown my sorrows! Although I must say, the trip was great and I look forward to continuing the trip on my road of life as an old woman.

Good day my dear readers,

When last we met, we were in the throws of moving. Well, guess what! We are still in the throws of moving but there is light the end of our tunnel. Hot off the press…I made toast today in our apartment. 

In other news, we left our Willamette View (WV) habitat and drove to Pendleton, Oregon which is famous for the Pendleton woolen factory. It also boasts an Native American casino where we attended a convention of fellow rut seekers. This is a group known as Oregon-California Trail Association (OCTA) and every year they get together in a different place so we rut-seekers can go find those ruts. This was our virgin voyage. Around rut roaming was framed speeches, discussions, auctions, food and drink. However, this missile addresses the rut-roaming part of the equation…because where the Jacksons go, trouble can follow as I will now explain.

Ruts were made by the pioneers that traipsed across our continent in their covered wagons in the 1840s onward until train travel came along. The emigrants followed each other in huge wagon caravans…sort of an RV sort of experience except with a covered wagon and a total lack of conveniences, maps, GPS etc. 

At this juncture of the tale, it was Thursday morning and we were told to board bus number 2. The day before we were on bus number 1 and it was a good experience. When we climbed on board on bus number 2, we were the last on so we got the window you couldn’t see out of.  Here is a picture.

Imagine a bus company bringing a sightseeing bus with cloudy windows. We were not pleased.

Buses stop at railroad crossings. When we stopped, the driver opened and closed the door. But then the bus would not allow the driver to shift it in to forward or reverse. We were stuck. Everyone was ordered out of the bus and so we got out and mingled in the dusty road until we were told there was a building about 1/4 mile away where we could wait in the shade. So the bus group hiked up the road to the building which was like a big tool shed full of rusty parts, machinery, and two chairs. There were about 40 of us.

The trip organizers told us that two casino shuttles were on the way. So we waited about an hour and they arrived. They were glamorous and comfortable. We were feeling better. They whisked us off to a shady park and there we had our lunch under the shade of the maple trees. 

At this point, the organizers said that a new bus was coming so the casino shuttles were going to leave and if anyone wanted to skip the rut-roaming, they could return to the casino on a shuttle. We reasoned that another bus was being dispatched so we would wait and continue the rut-roaming.

The shuttles left and the same old bus showed up thereby sealing our fate of driving around without being able to see out the window. And because of the delay they took us to the same mission we had visited on bus number 1 the previous day. Ain’t that great?

From that point on, it was pure misery. The air conditioning stopped working, you could NOT open a window and so we boiled like crabs in a crab pot., and it was 98 degrees outside. It was hotter in the bus.

We did stop and see some ruts. Here is a picture of that adventure.

Then we hopped back on the bus to return to the casino. However, there was a fire and the 84 freeway had been shut down and our off-ramp was the final exit for ALL traffic eastbound. This ensured we could see the casino out of the front window of the bus but it took about and extra 30 minutes to exit the freeway so we could get off the dang bus. 

By this time I was ire-rich. When I openly complained one passenger quipped, “Well, I guess you would have not been a good pioneer.” I had to agree…to a point. It was an apple to oranges comparison. But I did get her meaning. I was being annoying.

So, I tried to keep quiet and grin and bear it.

Then four days later I popped off a letter to the organization to alert them that we came home with Covid and it was probably a result of the bus affair. And I thought they should know so they could alert the other bus passengers. Before I wrote the letter, I got the name of the bus company and called them to express my dismay. The lady was defending the indefensible so I asked her boss’s name. Called him and he said, “Well, this the first I have heard of this.” He promised to look into and thanked me for my call. I never heard from him again. 

The OCTA was very sympathetic and said they were taking steps so that it didn’t happen at next years annual convention in Colorado. Further, they were attempting to get refunds for the passengers.

Satisfied that I had been heard, I poured a stiff martini and enjoyed it with great gusto!

After pondering this at bit, I decided that my expectations were out of whack. We are the Jacksons. I am the author of travelswiththerayman.com  Of course this happened.

Our TV stand from Ikea,

Our door to the balcony

A few of our pictures, a new Tulip lampshade, and the Rayman are on display.

Who am I? What am I doing here?” A famous speech opener for the man who became Perot’s VP pick  Well, that quote has been bouncing around in my head all month as we settle in to our 807 fq foot apartment in Willamette View.To be perfectly honest, I never saw this coming. A least not until I did. And that, dear readers of a certain age, is something I would like to inform you about as you, too, may consider such a move.

It is brutal but you are in control. You of sound mind can make decisions about what to take, what to leave, what to donate, what to burn. Just kidding. We didn’t burn anything including our friendships. I found it exhausting and extremely difficult. Some of our friends that have faced the same life-change recently did it their way. We did our way. There is no right way. There is no wrong way. There is just a way.

Today’s kids don’t like our stuff…except ours did. Some people don’t have children…the cat lady thing and so they had to figure out how to handle it.

In the end, it is just stuff. 12 sets of dishes, That was a no-brainer for me. I had five sets and now we have 6 plates, 6 salad plates, 8 bowls and I’m not looking back.  One set of silverware, and the list goes on. All those fancy wine glasses are history, Ikea glasses inhabit the space and they go in the tiny dishwasher we now have.

In looking back, I wish I could have seen how  much of our stuff was superfluous. See it. Like it? Buy it. For shame.  Now all that I need to do is give up cooking.

I

Today I’m announcing that I’m giving up cooking. It was a great hobby. It resulted in many, many fun times and marvelous meals. But that was then and this is now. My apartment doesn’t even have an oven and my toaster oven sticks out like a sore thumb because it looks so huge is its environment. My Kitchen Aid stand mixer is not long for my kitchen. The Cuisinart is on its way out. It is sad but it’s not. We have 4 restaurants on property with a wide variety of food for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. We don’t need to go to the grocery store. I don’t have to plan the food of the day. I can eat mushrooms. Rayman can eat what he wants. It is simplification at its best. The food is not as good as mine but I’m okay with that. When I want a great meal, we can go out.

Currently I’m trapped inside with Covid. Dinner was delivered to our front door last night. And as I look at the calendar, food delivery is a huge plus as the clock keeps ticking. Pros and cons. 

What will I do with my spare time if I recover from Covid, along with Rayman? Swimming, art classes, seminars, field trips, concerts, golf, writer’s group, aqua aerobics in the indoor pool with hot tub. A counselor that is available whenever we want to talk. Movies in the auditorium. Mixology classes. The kitchen isn’t that small. A cocktail can be concocted. Exercise equipment to keep the body moving. Walking groups, hiking groups. The list goes on.

To improve my life, we need to get rid of more stuff but I’m use to it and it will be fine. Hell, I can’t even find what I have yet. 

This is actually a great opportunity to  be happy. To visit with a great group of people that live here, 500, in all I’m told. Life is a series of choices and having made ours, I’m all in. No one likes a whiner. Only winers!

Please do come and visit sometime (if we know you). We can show you around.And we can have fun. And you can see what we have done for yourselves. 

This is not for everyone. Nor should it be. We all have our stories, our families, our friends, and our own situations.

And Beau likes it! The kids approve. They will not have to do what we had to do when our parents died. Probate, a difficult trust, unloading all the loot. It will be done and they can relax. I wouldn’t wish my experience on any of them. I consider it cruel and unusual punishment. But that is just me.

If we survive, we will be heading down the highway to the Central Coast the first week in Sept. I’m so excited. My book is 99% done. May get published next week. I’m looking for a good joke to tell to warm up the crowd when I do my launch and book signings. I’ll take suggestions!! It is actual history beginning in 1847 in Beloit, WI and ending in Paso Robles. As I am a fifth generation Californian, I think I know a thing or two and yet, I learned even more! And you will too. I promise.

Reflection is in order for this old gray mare. As we have reached our golden years, we are re-engineering our lives and it starting to feel like reverting to our childhood. In which I mean, I entered with nothing and with will leave with nothing, as will all.  And to that end, my husband, the Rayman, and I are in the business of shedding our things. Oh god, our dining room table. Gone. Forty seven pairs of shoes, gone. Even our sleep number bed. Yes, it is that bad. On the flip side of the record, however, is that each article donated, given to the kids, or thrown out, somehow feels liberating. After all, do we own the stuff or does the stuff own us? And through all of this disgorging, I discovered that I was a serial shopper. Or was I?

Great Aunt Ruby collected china from Bavaria. Great Aunt Rachel who married a movie mogel, collected art that interestingly enough matched her harpsichord. My mother who never met an alcoholic she didn’t like, played the accordion which I felt duty-bound to keep on a small brown end table in the den where it hosted dust over the years which I pretended not to see. It seems I became the family member that felt an obligation to preserve and protect the artifacts of life of the dearly departed. And if you suppose that I will not rid myself of these things, you are right on the money. They are some of them, vestiges of love and remembrances. They remain while lesser items have been dispensed with for no good reason other than we are moving from an 1800 square foot house to an 800 square foot apartment which I may name Bare Bones Estate. 

When I was a kid, my Great Aunt Rachel moved to a sleepy coastal town, Cayucos, in California. No more Beverly Hills swank for her after her hus band ran a hose into the car of their garage and perished on purpose. My cousins from Los Angeles came up in the summer and we all congregated at the beach house. While the adults belted down bourbon and water, us kids were busy having the time of our lives. Chris caught snakes in the creek which flowed by the house, ocean bound. Then he let them loose in the house which he only did once on account of the uproar that ensured. Goodie two-shoes, Tony, worked in the yard because his high school job in Santa Monica was tending posies at a garden shop. Katy was funny and shared her humor as we walked the beach and rode the waves before wetsuits were a thing and then we would walk back to the house shivering and blue as avatars. Cousin Jimmy, the eldest who was destined to marry a Communist later, sat around being cool.

From the left, Katy, me, Chris, Tony

In Cayucos, the local custom was to name your house. For all I know, the postman delivered my great aunt’s mail to Old Creeker’s rather than 2508  24th St. The name Old Creeker’s was so perfect and appealing that it has stayed with me all these years later. Even though they were only in their 50s, they took on the mantle of age with hilarious results. More sophisticated names the neighbors bestowed on their abodes were names like By the Sea Shanty, Crow’s Nest, that sort of thing. Old Creekers with it’s double entendre was a more fitting and funnier name to this kid. So, yes, Bare Bone Estate, it may be.

AgIng means cutting back at some point so as to not burden descendants. It invokes human kindness and care for loved ones. It is also a rude awaking when you discover that your dining room table that was purchased in 1980 isn’t wanted by anyone which then makes you wonder why. Which morphs into, “What the hell is wrong with everyone?”; which morphs into self-reflection as you wonder what the hell is wrong with me? I’ve owned it for that long and the dinner parties enjoyed around that table are priceless memories to chew on as we settle in to our apartment. So it was all worth it.

Our children have displayed grace and kindness as they have taken many of our chairs, lamps, tables, and a bed. It makes our hearts sing to know that for at least some time, they will enjoy our gifts and will think of us as they sit down, turn off the light, and make margaritas in the red blender. 

Our room with a view

We hit the wall and decided to take a trip to the ocean, which I miss dearly. With great purpose, we made plans to travel to Newport, OR for a few days of rest, solitude and beach walking if I can get up the gumption.

We chose Newport because of the restaurant, Local Ocean. As of this date, it is our favorite seafood restaurant in our new state of being. Looking over the harbor which is filled with working boats and barking seals, we split a martini and crab cake, a salad, and a seafood stew. It did not disappoint. 

This past week has been another week of opening up boxes to retrieve what we schlepped up here. Once opened, the contents were freed from their bubble-wrap and loose papers and inspected. Much was then hauled off to Goodwill because in some cases, the items in the boxes duplicated what we had in our skinny house. Then a decision was made as to which things would be kept. And that is how it has been going. It is dog work and it helps well up those thoughts like, “What were we thinking?” Or, “Why did we buy all this stuff?” And of course, kicking ones butt was in order. It is hard to realize how much I am addicted to shopping. During Covid, it was my pastime. And before then too. 

Our “living” room in the skinny house. This room had 5 rows of boxes, 5 boxes high before we attacked it.

Like the look of the book

A book of plates

Two of the boxes we lugged up here were filled with old books that I have been custodian to for years, handed down through the generations, I have been keeping this books. For what? It is a grand example of fearing to part with things my elders left behind. Five volumes of Ancient History books with one full book of “plates”, plates being pictures of antiquities. Rationalizing that these books might be valuable, kept me from defrocking the tomes from my bookcase. I kept them for decades. They were, after all, from Cambridge. Arriving in Portland, I reached out to three bookstores that claim to deal in old books and my feedback from Powells was to bring them in…but warning me of their appeal, “Someone might find them of interest” thereby alerting me to the vagrancy of supply and demand in our capitalist system. Another bookstore suggested I give them to Goodwill. So much for value. So the plan has been hatched to give them to Goodwill. Good riddance I say. You books have had your way with me for far too long. Begone with you…

And that is one example.

Of course, many of the things we brought here are not duplicated in the skinny house, so for those things a space must be created. Oh, my. Have any of you played Connections in the NYTimes where they give you 16 words and you have to decide what four words have in common and you do that four times. If you make a mistake, it is strike one and you have three chances then to get four groups of words that have something in common etc. Well, that reminds me of what I’m doing in real life as I unpack and assess and compare and contrast. 

So on and on it goes until the inevitable crack-up occurs asI sit for a glass of water. And when I sit for a glass of water, I yearn for the ocean. 

Rayman tries to be helpful but he can’t lift more than ten pounds and he can’t drive yet following his pacemaker placement in his chest last month. He, after all, is not the one that bought the portable salt and pepper grinders that fit neatly in a brown leather pouch (about 4 inches in height) that I whipped out at Local Ocean last night. No, his purchases fall into the categories of wine and clothes. The wine grew more valuable because we had five cases sent up through a company that does such things at the price of around $650. But what was the choice? No other plan to move them worked so we forked out the big buck for the move. Thank you Mary Kay and Jay for helping us. 

The salt and the pepper grinders had been lost for years and yet because of moving, they were discovered. A slight smile parts my lips now. It is a hoot. And there are plenty of other examples of conspicuous consumption but I will stop with the grinders, as how can I improve my own point?

Today, we may do nothing. Or something. We are resting. Beau is with us providing the needed laughs and giggles as he licks his chops and sniffs all things around him. His influence cannot be overstated. 

Before we left Portland, I wandered the neighborhood with Beau for his morning walk. Here are some pictures of spring teasing us. Whenever the place heats up to 50 degrees of more, many people throw on their shorts as a way, I suppose, of saying, “Take that cruel winter, spring is coming!” I think cooking some asparagus to celebrate the coming of spring is a better idea. But Portlandia is Portlandia and I am learning how to appreciate her. She has problems like any other place with homelessness and wigged out people occupying underpasses and such. She is also very fun and filled with many fabulous restaurants, mostly ethnic in brick buildings and food trailers alike. She celebrates roses every year with a parade, take that Pasadena. And she has great bridges that span the Willamette and Columbia rivers. And the rivers have water in them, take that Salinas. The Rogue and the Klamath are up here too and yearning to be free. Some dams are coming down and I hear the salmon are happy about that. The farmers not so much. Seems there are always some oxen to be gored.

Starkly yellow and happy

Flowers and shadow

Daffodils singing beneath the budding tree

I’m done here. Time to get going. More to come.

Recalls happen. Just so happens we have two recalls. One for the Honda and one for a neighborhood. Let me expound. Before I expound, this is a blog I forgot to publish. A bit dated, Feb. 13 to be exact.

Did I mention it is cold outside today? And foggy? I know this because we had to take the Honda in for the recall which I appreciate. A big corporation finding a problem and fixing it can be a beautiful thing. So off we drove, Rayman leading the way with me following behind,,,unable to backseat drive. It turns out following the Rayman in morning traffic is fun. Like when he signaled he was turning left but turned right. Or when he drove into the Ron Tonkin dealership for Chevrolet instead of the Ron Tonkin dealership for Honda. Or when he left the house, drove a half-block, pulled over, signaled me to cozy up next to him so he could tell me he forgot his driver’s license. 

I’m pretty sure he was discombobulated because of yesterday’s trauma. Half our life is stored in a POD in north Portland (PDX). We drove and drove through the industrial section of town and discovered PDX has a port! We knew and yet…very interesting, nonetheless. We drove to the POD storage area and visited our POD. Foolishly we forgot to remember where our pink slips were as well as our passports so we were on a mission. For those that have never had a POD before, let me describe them a big rectangular box. When you open the door, it’s like a garage door in that when you slide it open. the door slides up into the top of the POD on the inside. After you open it, you exclaim, “HOW ARE WE GOING TO FIND ANYTHING.” The POD was stuffed with stuff. After some consideration, we climbed into the POD by using a ladder that was sitting on the top of the pile (that was very helpful). You can probably imagine the scene. I went first and almost fell off the boxes that were stacked at the front of the POD. Then Rayman hoisted himself aboard emitting moans and groans as he inched toward the interior. Here he is.

Thank goodness he didn’t have his camera because my yoga pants started inching down my legs and by all accounts, my plumber’s crack was exposed for all to see. Luckily it was misting and no one was around as I tried to right myself. Huffing and puffing was heard. Lest you forget, we were on the ceiling of the POD and had I fallen out, I’d probably be in traction right now…or worse. No telling about the Rayman. I disembarked first so was there to help him pry himself loose and inch his way down to the awaiting ladder steps.

Today was a good 10 degrees colder than yesterday, even with the fog. However, the fog lifted, the sun came out and the temperature rose a bit. So after we picked up the car at Ron Tonkin’s Honda dealership, we headed to Vancouver, WA to visit our boxes and furniture that are currently hanging out at our kids’ garage (as a reminder, we rented two PODS).

What about recall number two? We are looking for another house at a couple of golf course communities for 55+ people in the suburbs near Beaverton. Our reasoning is that it would be a great place to meet new friends. One of the communities is located in King City, OR. As we drove around Sunday looking at the neighborhood, we discovered that King City is having a recall election. Every other house had a Vote Yes to Recall signs or Vote No to Recall. Whoa. That turned us off. Neighbor against neighbor is not going to enhance personal relationships in a positive way. We nixed that place. 

With any luck at all as spring approaches, we should find a house in the golf community of Summerfield which is located in Tigard, OR south of Beaverton. It is a community centered around a 9-hole course which has water, sand, and old people driving around in golf carts. It appeals to us.

You are probably wondering why we don’t stay in PDX. PDX proper has a huge amount of three story houses. The bottom floor is underground with windows at roughly dirt level. Middle earth has the kitchen, dining room, living room usually. The top floor has bed and bath. And garages are unusable for a variety of reasons. The streets are not wide enough in most instances for two cars to pass each other because of all the cars they park on the street because of their unusable garages. So in two words PDX houses are too big and garages are too small…oh, and streets are very narrow. 

In the suburbs, the homes are younger, many don’t have basements at all, and many have garages. When it is 35 degrees out, wind blowing, and sidewalks slippery, a garage is more than nice to have. It is to our way of thinking essential. 

That’s all folks. I’m trying to decide if I should discard by newly cooked garbanzo beans. I’ve cooked them about 3 hours are they still aren’t perfect. Luckily we found Dungeness crab at Costco for $6.99 a pound, uncleaned and uncracked so we will have that tonight instead of the soup I had planned. 

Hope you had a great Valentine’s Day yesterday. With hearts aflutter, I bid you a fond adieu.

Dianna