We embarked on our second official nightly constitutional tonight, and made it about 15 minutes out before being chased home by the rain. Now we are wet, but it does feel good to get out and move after dinner. As the carpets are being cleaned tomorrow, we gleefully refrained from wiping our wet feet before entering the house.

My parents called tonight, having just found their anniversary gift - they cleverly postponed their dinner (without telling us!) to tonight. The restaraunt was intelligent enough to hold their champagne and riesleing until tonight. Roy's apparently treated them quite well, with a bonus tart (macadamia! Get your mind out of that gutter!) and ice buckets (as requested) for all the wine. Such service!

In other news, i'm pretty sure the parsley and the rosemary are soon going to be as tall as me. The sage and thyme are nothing to sneeze at either - though they're creeping OUT more than UP. We'll see how the mint does.

Here's a toast to two of my favorite people, on their thirtieth wedding anniversary. They just happen to be my parents.

Mom, Dad - you're the coolest. Congratulations on making it through the ups and downs of 30 years together - moving to Germany, moving back, raising two kids (who turned out ok, if i do say so myself!), moving to Las Vegas, restarting mom's career, getting back in shape, and generally being happy together.

I love you both.

My work day started with discovering that artichoke season has returned; the telltale bag of 5-6 artichokes was hanging from my office doorknob when i arrived. (I'm lucky enough to be a recipient of fresh artichokes each year from a coworker's garden.)

I left work a little early, and took the train to San Mateo. I enjoyed Forrest's NYF playlist, courtesty of my iPod. Sat for an hour at the bar at Viognier, and nursed a cocktail for an hour while i read a book and wrote some letters. Around seven, Mike arrived, and i had a wonderful dinner & visit with him. (Three onion soup & halibut with tomatoes and eggplant for him; gratin of morels and polenta with teleme cream and lamb medallions with gnocchi and more morels for me; a cheese plate to share for dessert with the last of our Syrah.)

We meandered to the train station (it's changed in the last year! It's really nice, and another block down the road now), and chatted until my train came. My kind husbandkleetcha met me at the train station, and we came home and i finished my book.

So the scoreboard:
Fresh artichokes: 1 point
Rejuvenating cocktail hour at the bar alone: 2 points
Wonderful meal: 1 point
Great conversation with a dear friend: 3 points
Read an entire book (and it was good!): 2 points

Not a bad day at all. Just what the doctor ordered.

I think i am a textbook example of a daddy's girl.

It's funny, this daddy's girl thing - i get woogly when i see men with babies, in orders of magnitude more intense than when i see women with babies. Even a good picture of a man with a child, or hearing a dad interact with his daughter behind me in a restaurant makes me glow. Dads just make me happy in some very weird, fundamental way. And mine makes me especially happy.

Don't get me wrong - this doesn't have anything to do with my mom - i love her, she's cool, she's one of the best teachers i've ever met. I have a good relationship with her that i value, too. It's not a competition, it's not about loving one or the other more ... it's simply about my relationship with my dad.

My dad's one of my best friends. I'm lucky; even though he doesn't live quite so nearby since i left for college and then moved to the city, i still get to see him about once a month. He still works for LLNL in Livermore, so when he comes out for a meeting or a day in that office, he stays with us here. We generally get to have dinner, or at least a beer and a chat. He came over tonight; we met up at Ti Couz, where Russell and i were finishing dinner, and talked over a dessert crepe and beer for him & a sidecar for me. I value his opinion highly, even though we don't always agree. It drives Russell crazy when we start violently agreeing - we get noisier and louder and more passionate even than when we're violently disagreeing on things. We came home and stayed up late talking more, and i finally went to be happy - my two favorite guys on the planet in my house.

It must be spring.

Usually we figure this out because i decide to invite a bunch of folks over, declare i'm going to fire up the grille, and promply cause the sunny weekend to go grey and stormy. Today we suffered a more traditional harbinger of spring - the desire to throw open the windows and doors, vacuumn up all the extra fur the cat has been shedding, throw stuff away... generally, to clean & purge.

Oh, and the time sprung forward this morning, too. Extra daylight in the evening, when night-people like us can enjoy it! We'll have to utilize some of it to have people over for a barbecue.... and turn the weather grey and cold again. Anyone interested?

I find that guilty pleasures are not just the brownies you make and eat half of, right out of the pan; not just the random hooky day from work with a dear friend or lover; not just the decadent splurge on something purely luxurious, like bubble bath or hardcover books. I find myself feeling guilt at taking pleasure in chores well done, days of productivity, and a clean house. The pleasure seems almost illicit - i'm not supposed to like doing these things; often i don't. But once in a while, they feel good, satisfying, and downright pleasing. I had a day like that today.

After planting new green things in our herb garden yesterday, we "planted" some beer traps for the snails. This morning, there were no less than four snockerdly drowned in one can. Watered the plants. Picked up the living room. Restored the kitchen to a lovely clean state. (We've been awful in it the last few days.) The sun inspired me to peer through seasonally organized cookbooks in the spring sections. Cleaned out the refridgerator. Ate leftovers for lunch. Did a slew of laundry (though it's not yet conqured). Paid the bills, and put them in the mail. (I'm a freak. I like writing checks, when i'm unhurried. Maybe it comes from liking fountain pens. And i love the new name - seeing it on checks, signing it, the works.) Walked to Lucca and the veggie store. Made a tasty dinner (Asparagus pesto with tiny potatoes, pancetta and orichiette with caesar salad), refilled the beer traps, and cleaned up.

Now i'm sipping a glass of wine, realizing what a lovely day i had, and that i thoroughly enjoyed myself.

(Beca should be proud to know that in addition to all of this, since we got up a 9, i also spent 3 hours finishing a book, and a couple of hours watching a goofy Jackie Chan kung fu flick. Power to the early risers!)

It's with little guilt, though, that i head downstairs to dedicate the rest of my evening to Black & White.

Sometimes you can have your cake, and eat it too. Last night, a heartbroken friend came over for some sympathy and advice from chez borogove. Russell made gnocchi, we talked and had some wine, and then i decided to try and whip up a recipe i'd peered at in April's Food and Wine.

The recipe turned out to be a twofold blessing - a very clever cake (the batter manages to separate itself out into a light fluffy cake on the bottom, and a lemon-curd-like pudding on the top during baking) that was tasty, refreshing, and a treat to eat.... but also comic relief. Russell couldn't stop barking "GARY DANKO LEMON PUDDIN' CAKE!?!", over and over. And we were all in just the place where we needed the laughter. So, thanks to Gary, and thanks to Food and Wine for the Lemon Pudding Cake.