Life makes it's own plans
Still, make sure to vote!
This last week was a travel week filled with mainly logistical tasks which have filled up my brain. Here are a few bits that caught my attention just long enough.
We had a quick fish and chips dinner outside London on Friday evening. While waiting for our fish to fry, I saw this very creative light fixture. For those of you who are not familiar with them, the wooden slatted rack holding the cheese-grater light shades is called a PulleyMaid. They are used to hang laundry over a warm cast iron stove, often an Aga. The rack is pulled up and down to load and unload the laundry. It’s a great way to make use of ‘waste heat’ up by the ceiling to dry wet things. I loved that it had been repurposed to hold these clever, also-repurposed light shades.
The day after we arrived in California, we took a long walk into the village where we are staying and wandered into a BevMo store to look for some Fever Tree tonic. A woman in the store asked us if we wanted to try a sample of her whiskey. I said, no, thanks, I don’t like Whiskey, but Pete says, sure, I’ll try it. And she said, great, you’ll like it—it is a Peanut Butter Whiskey. Well. That stopped Pete cold because he doesn’t really like peanut butter, and I said, whoa, wait a minute, I LOVE peanut butter.
In the usual way, I made Pete try it first, and he said, it’s not bad, I think you’ll like it; it doesn’t taste like whiskey at all. I took the merest whisper of a sip, and he was right, I did like it. It didn’t taste like whisky at all, more like a very smooth liquid peanut butter (even though I prefer chunky).
We didn’t buy any, but now we know. And now you do too! Skrewball Peanut Butter Whiskey, made in California.
In our mildly jet-lagged state we have had a few adventures over the last few days. Several planned-in-advance activities have been scuppered since, well, life has a way of making up it’s own mind how things are going to play out. For instance, we were going to spend these few days with some family, but they unfortunately got Covid the day before we flew out. So we adjust our plans.
One of our favourite places to go in the town we are staying has permanently shut which broke our hearts just a little. I have been going there for decades, the people who work there had kids grow up the same time as mine, and it has been an important touchstone. But again, we adjust. On the other hand, one of our favourite lunch and dinner spots satisfied us again with a perfectly-sized hearty salad, just as delicious as it has been for decades.
As we spend time away from our former home, life there shifts and changes just like we do. The village where I raised my kids has been changing slowly to mirror its residents who for some reason—as the many years pass—keep getting younger (!)
The other excitement of our travel planning was the party election that was called in the UK. This is my very first election where I can vote as a UK citizen and I am NOT GOING TO MISS IT. However, like I said, life has it’s own plans, right?
The election has been called for the 4th of July (Independence Day in the US, perhaps a tad ironically), and we will still be away. We couldn’t apply for an absentee ballot since they aren’t sending those out until after we’ve left. Our only option was to apply to have a proxy cast our vote for us. We don’t know that many people in the UK who we feel comfortable asking to vote for us, because you have to tell them exactly who to vote for, not just fill out a form and give it to them to drop off; they have to physically mark the ballot for you.
To make it even more challenging, whoever we nominate to cast our vote, has to vote in person at our very own polling station, so basically, someone who lives within a ¼ mile of us. Well that narrowed it down to about 3 people, all of whom we only know casually and it is a bit awkward to ask such a big favour. But goodness, I am NOT going to miss this election! So we asked our lovely nearby neighbour and owner of our favourite deli if she would be willing to vote for us. We had a little dance of a discussion around politics (not our usual topic of sun-dried tomatoes, cheeses and local gins!) and realised we are similarly inclined. Phew!
We’ve filled out all the forms and our proxy has been accepted so on to my first UK election! Later this year I will vote in the big US presidential election on November 5th.
Finally, we happened to drive by Oracle Park in San Francisco, the home of the San Francisco Giants Baseball Team, on the day that Willie Mays died, one of the most celebrated baseball players of all time. I did get to see him play for the Giants, many years ago. Lucky me, lucky all of us who get to witness his skill, his grace.
Wishing you all some summer weather and the relaxing pace of the season. For those of you in the Southern Hemisphere, hope the autumn is turning gracefully to winter.
Many many thanks for reading! Let me know what you are up to to honour the season!
xx Sabrina
If you know anyone who might like to read these posts, feel free to send this one their way. Just click this button here:
And if you aren’t subscribing already, here’s the button for doing that (it’s free!):
If you liked reading this, feel free to click the ❤️ button on this post so more people can discover it on Substack 🙏
Lovely, as always. So sorry about the Covid! Did you see the statue of Willie Mays outside the stadium? One of my favorite local landmarks. The park itself is a lovely place to take in a game, though my curmudgeonly self is still a little bitter that today’s fans don’t have to suffer to watch the Giants, as we did at that miserable excuse for a ballpark known as Candlestick Park.
I know that during his career Mays had a reputation as a bit of a spiky, distant character, as Tim mentioned, but he does seem to have mellowed in more recent years. My one personal contact with him came almost sixty years ago, and was a bit more personal. His son Michael was a kindergarten classmate of mine at Town School for Boys, and one day after a play date at our apartment my father and I drove Michael home. We rang the doorbell and Willie himself answered the door and greeted us, whereupon according to my father I lapsed into a catatonic state, incapable of speech or movement, and just stood there gawping at the great man. (I’d just like to say I don’t remember this.) At age five, of course, I don’t think I couldn’t have really known who he was or why he was famous, but I knew I was in the presence of a true giant (and Giant).
Wow, peanut butter whiskey...I admire your bravery.
Regarding Willie Mays, I, often with our mutual friend John Duncan, was lucky enough to watch him play during his later years in SF, circa 1968-1972. By then, his body was slowing down and his playful exuberance had waned. I did not love him like I loved Willie McCovey. One time, I and a friend waited after a game at the players parking lot at Candlestick, which was inside a chain link fence, hoping for autographs. One by one the players emerged from the stadium. When Willie Mays appeared many of us clamored to him, but he remained brusque and stone-faced, bee-lining into his gold Chrysler with the "Say Hey" plates. Of course, I "get" why. But a little while later Willie McCovey came out. He smiled at me and cheerfully autographed my program. McCovey magically always seemed to hit a 3-run home-run when the chips were down, whereas a lingering memory I have of Mays is him striking out with men on base to end a close game. Such anecdotes are of course unfair, but they are part of my memory. My love of both Willies was something I shared with fellow fans—most of them black—as we rode to the stadium on the Muni bus. I was emotional when both of them died.
Have a great trip to USA!