I know the rest of the world seems to believe that Memorial Day is the kick off for summer, but somehow, the whole idea of that particular holiday kicking off anything has never quite sat right with me.

Call me a party poopah, but there’s something way wrong about all those furniture sales, and car sales, and well, just any sale to get people up and out to slap them back into a consumer spending stupor.  On Memorial Day?  Okay, so the sales do help with all the purchasing that goes on for school promotions, and graduations, and weddings, you know, in case someone needs a futon or something.  OMG, Dubyah!  What in hell would we have done without your economic stimulus check?

It’s all nonsense, because today is our favorite day of the year.  Party, anyone?

The Summer Solstice is officially at 7:59 EDT.

And it is the perfect time to celebrate the beginning of summer and all that comes with it.  Things like heat, and humidity, stinking trash cans, more flies, and pets that scratch endlessly for fleas evening parties, warm ocean swims, and lazy afternoons in the shade with a good book.  Okay, so the ocean isn’t exactly ever warm here, unless you consider the not quite 62 degrees F that it is today, warm.

For years, we’ve looked to this day to make our way to a hill or a shore, gawk at the horizon, sip a beverage, and enjoy the sky show.  Well, if there is one.  You have to be a freaking optimist to want to engage in this ancient pagan ritual around here because there’s always a chance that we’ll be socked in and any possibility of seeing anything blue in the sky is slim to none with slim on a fast train out of town.

But optimists we are.

And when I look at that horizon tonight, clouds or no clouds, I know that I will be thinking more about what lies ahead instead of what has passed.  I know that I will wonder about it with anticipation, and not dread, or fear.  I know that I will feel opportunity and possibility, because that’s who I am. I will also feel good fortune because my home’s not flooded. Or my sons in Iraq. Or my family unhealthy.

Somehow, this day has always felt like the real beginning of a new year.  Not  January 1st.

With all this sun gonna come up tomorrowness in me, I often wonder how I missed out on getting a bit of perkiness from whomever was passing it out when I was put on this planet, because perky I am definitely not, nor will I ever be.

So cheers to you on this longest day of the year in the Northern Hemisphere.  Turn your eyes to the sky,  grab some palm fronds, light a bon fire, and watch the sun come up over your horizon.  Maybe do a little dance.

Or do it our way, and watch the sun set tonight instead.

Think about possibilities and tomorrows.

Take action and participate in Candle Night and “take it slow.”

This is my first entry for Sky Watch, an idea started by Tom Wigley of Wiggers World. I spend so much time looking at the sky, I knew it was the place for me to be. Take some time and look at all the photographs the skywatchers collect each week.

In fact, join in.

I think by now you know that I have a “maybe like - sorta meh” relationship with this palm-laden place I begrudgingly refer to as Paradise. I know that there are many cities I could live that pale in comparison are much more interesting, but my grousing is about more than the monotonous weather that draws people here.

It’s about mindset — as in the mindset of many long time residents and other self-elected expert representatives of the region as a whole. Somehow, as large as this city has become over the years, the only thing that ever seems to matter to visitors is the weather.

So why am I on this particular toot this morning?

A. Because I missed the Friday Follies last week.

B. Because it’s Wordy Wednesday

C. Because I can.

D. Because.

The U.S. Open is finally starting here tomorrow. Here, as in, about 10 minutes from our house, here. Like, right here. For the last week or so, signs have begun to appear on the sides of busy streets and freeways that feed into this area warning of heavy traffic, and noting when and where shuttle routes to the event will run.

They expect about 45,000 gawkers golf enthusiasts each day for the tournament because both Tiger Woods & Phil Michelson are locals. Okay, so maybe more than that, but I haven’t quite figured out how Tiger growing up 90 minutes from San Diego makes him a local. Maybe it’s my math.

Now, what does this have to with yet another gripe from me about this place I call home? Today’s San Diego-Union Tribune tells it fairly well:

• Page 5 showcases blatant pandering by the president of the San Diego Convention & Visitors Bureau reminding us all of past big events, and how the U.S. Open will be a “boost for the region.” Read cash cow. Everybody and their dog is going to make money on this event. Give me a break. It feels a bit like a lecture to residents about being on our best behavior so everyone can oooh and ahhh about Paradise while they’re visiting, then come back with more events and more money. How about if some of it is used to fix the potholes in the roads, and the sewer lines that keep closing our beaches because they break. Okay, so maybe plant a few more palm trees.
• Ruben Navarrette Jr., a local columnist writes about the sadness of one stellar immigrant student from Mexico not gaining as much attention as a similar student from Armenia in a piece titled, “The benefit of not being Mexican.” You know something? You’re right. Life is not fair. And if you’re an immigrant — regardless of which country you were born in before arriving here — it should be just as not fair to you as to others who do well in school and can’t afford to pay for their college educations. Get. In. Line.
• On the editorial page, there’s mention of the Govenator being here yesterday, and in this puddle of Republicans in a state full of Democrats, there is perfunctory commentary on Ah-nold’s failed budget reform, and a primarily Democratic Legislature that is too dysfunctional to even be called dysfunctional. He did give us some new buses though, and isn’t that swell?
• And my personal favorites — Letters to the Editor. Oh. My. Gawd. Treats are in store today to truly showcase my favorite pet peeves about America’s Finest City…

1. The consul General of Mexico is pissed off because of a political cartoon “distorting with total disrespect not only our greatest and most important national symbol, but also our National Seal, depicting an outrageous image of the serpent devouring the Royal Mexican Eagle…[which he considers] an insult to the Mexican people.” I am sooooo sorry I missed that one and will only say I wonder who told him he had to write that? Pa-the-tic. How about being outraged that you take such CRAPPY care of the people in your country that they have to look elsewhere for food, work, and education. Pay attention.
   
2. The letter from a woman who’s more than upset about a neighbor who has a chicken coop, “filthy” chickens that are “quite loud,” and a rooster that “has crowed constantly since it arrived.” She continues to rage about “rooster crowing being the third most frequent noise complaint in the city of San Diego” and “salmonella bacteria and avian flu that these individuals foist upon their neighbors.” So…what are the top two things people in San Diego complain about? Less than perfect weather? A crappy baseball team? I’m thinking she won’t be following Tiger and Phil on the links at Torrey Pines this week.
3. Someone from Rancho Santa Fe advocates “a policy that gores everyone’s ox” to resolve the energy crisis, and lays out a step-by-step plan. First chickens, now oxen. What next? Another guy from Temecula weighs in on resolving the energy crisis, but you sort of have to know that anyone who lives in Temecula does so because houses were way more affordable there than in San Diego, so now they’re looking at astronomical gasoline bills commuting. Hell, I drive as little as possible, and for the first time spent over 60 bucks to fill my tank. So I get it, but when you purchase a house that far away from where you work, is it really because of what you can afford, or because you smell a future killing in real estate? Oops! That’s sort of a bummer around here now, too, isn’t it?
4. Kudos to Prudence today, who said that the best solution to our water problems and impending drought doom, is to “stop all new construction permits.” But only until the problem has been solved “permanently.” Read: NO NEW RESIDENTS IN SAN DIEGO. GO AWAY EVERYONE. NONE OF THE REST OF US ARE REALLY FROM HERE EITHER, BUT WE WERE HERE FIRST SO HAVE A RIGHT TO BE HYPOCRITES. No matter that this is a desert with no natural water supply. No matter that no one in Paradise wants what is lovingly referred to as “toilet to tap” drinking water. No one wants any kind of desalination anything off shore because of the harm to marine life.
5. And Here, here! to the guy who’s standing up for golf caddies, jokingly maligned by a columnist for not acknowledging their demanding 18-hour-a-day jobs which are only mildly glamorous, and then only if you’re lucky enought be be hooked up with a “Top 10 player.” Um? Get another job? You know, there are lots of other only mildly glam 18-hour-a-day jobs out there, like uh…I dunno. OB-GYN. High school administrator. Firefighter. Social worker. Get a degree, dude. Nobody cares.

And to those worried about the “cool weather” softening the golf course, and lowering the chances for this year’s U.S. Open at Torrey Pines to be “one of the most demanding tests in the history of the national championship?” Have you ever heard of June Gloom?

It’s not a novel concept, but it does seem to play heavily in others’ judgment about whether this is a nice place to be. And when good ol’ Mister Sunshine isn’t out, in some peoples’ opinions, we’re just a podunk town a few miles from the Mexican border with average fish tacos.

We just never seem to “grow up” as we grow larger. When big events come our way, it sometimes feel like we have to dust the mold off our baby blue leisure suits for the party hoping against hope that we’ll be recognized along with the likes of San Francisco, or New York City. Boston. Los Angeles. And you know? Sometimes we come out of it with flying colors. But most often we don’t. What’s the saying about being able to dress someone up, but not take her out?

So, I just may have to find some time in my incredibly busy schedule to find a dirt lot to park in and join all the other looky-loos bound to find their way to our little piece of Paradise over the next few days.

It’s bound to make June here more than just a time for purple blooming flowers, graduations, and county fairs.

Sun or no sun.

Aren’t you glad Wednesdays are nearly wordless?

It’s interesting, this new writing venue of mine, no longer in our office since my mother’s taken up residence there. My used to be vanity is now my desk, positioned in front of one of my bedroom windows, allowing me a gauzy view of the palms outside, and my neighbors, an unearthly glow sometimes after twilight.

Today, the palm fronds are damp and tossing about in the stiff breeze that Mother Nature has put upon us, taking the June Gloom we’re accustomed to in Paradise to a new level. It’s cold and grey, the street is actually wet, and I’ve had to shut all my windows or freeze my ass off while sitting here, pretending to be pithy.

But I couldn’t pass up Nearly Wordless Wednesday, so decided I’d let you know what I’ve been learning about my new camera, trying to get it figured out before we leave on vacation.

If ever.

But that’s like life, isn’t it?

Besides, you never know when an opportunity to take a macro shot of a stone from a crumbling ruin may arise. Or a poppy, fluttering in a field. As much as I can say that I’ve figured out quite a bit in the last couple of weeks since purchasing it, I have a long way to go getting it all right and think maybe, just maybe I’ll take an extension class at the university in the fall.

I think I’d enjoy that.

And maybe some writing, too.

I think this is the longest I haven’t written since beginning this place I miss so much when I don’t write. And the only legitimate explanation I have for not writing may not make much sense to most.

I can remember living in a dreary apartment when I was finishing my degree. It was brown. Regardless of how much I enjoy that particular color at this point in my life, somehow, brown then seemed dreary. And it was. It was a means to an end, and I tolerated it because I had to.

Well, I’ve been having trouble tolerating the orange. I know brown isn’t orange, but still. Surely you must have an inkling of an idea of why this is a problem. Let’s just say my house isn’t in order. Or my blog, in this case. It makes me sad.

I actually like the layout. I really do. But I spent quite a bit of time on thinking about changing out the orange and switching the font, and all that sort of thing, and when I looked in my files, I saw strange things.

Can someone please tell me why, oh, why do designers have to subject the rest of us to their particular style of code? I understand creative license, and all, but man.

I can figure it all out. Really I can. I just don’t want to. I want to download a theme, plug in my widgets, make minor adjustments, maybe have some fun designing a header or two, and then think about writing. Because that’s the whole point of a blog, isn’t it?

So in fewer words, I’m working on this theme, but not since Thursday, which was days and days ago.

I guess I just become disgusted, and avoid the problem. And that causes yet another problem because I truly enjoy being here and taking the time to spread my particular style of propaganda. Except I haven’t.

But today was lovely. While I wasn’t writing here amongst the orange and wire looking thingies in the header, I was enjoying Mother’s Day with my mother and menfolk. We cruised through our farmer’s market, and then put our name in a few eateries until we found one where the wait was only 15 minutes. Good thing it was a place we’ve enjoyed before.

Have you ever had a breakfast salad? This one had poached eggs on spinach, sauteed mushrooms, tomatoes, goat cheese, and a light vinaigarette. Simply delicious. The pomegranate mimosa was a nice touch, too. It was very pleasant.

A walk along the shoreline was a perfect way to relax afterwards, worrying the entire time that the huge fuschia my mother bought at the farmer’s market wasn’t succumbing to the heat in my trunk while we were oogling over the clear water and nearly waveless ocean. Amazingly beautiful.

We never did quite figure out what the Pink Panther was, though. Clearly, they got curb space early, and had time to get their layout taken care of, shells placed round the palms, bejeweled pylons protecting their Weber and all. Sorry I didn’t get a shot of the pink ostrich feathered umbrella. It was a sight to behold.

And when we got home, we tore apart my patio, trying to whip it back into shape long enough to enjoy the summer season before I convince the MoH that it has to be redone. Seriously. Hell will freeze over first. I promise. But I can dream, right?

My big boys arrived, separately, and it was a nice end to a lovely day. My middle son brought plants he’d worked on in one of his classes — some from cuttings and some from seed. Nice. The older one sort of slinked in through the side, surprising us all, smiling, and knowing that we’d smile back, enjoying his company even though there are always lots of worries to be put aside whenever we see him.

The MoH gave me a gift certificate to a camera store so I can choose a new camera. It looks like I get to graduate from my point-and-shoot and I’m giddy with being able to choose the perfect camera. Okay, so the perfect camera for me. Now.

And that’s just about perfect.

Thanks for checking in on me. I do appreciate you and do have you in my mind daily.

It’s actually quite amazing how much you’re all there.

Really.

How was your weekend? Lovely and everything you dreamed of? I certainly hope so — especially if you are one to have weekends off. I’ve lived in both worlds: working nights with never a weekend day off, and working the daily grind with every weekend off — that is if you consider having to plan lessons and grade umpteen gazillion papers down time. Um, no.

So what did we do this weekend? Shucks. I thought you’d never ask.

1. Friday I spent all day messing around with changes to a new theme for kellementology. Don’t ask. Clearly, I’m still where I started, which is where I’ll stay until I’m motivated to sit here and begin again. I’m not loving the single sidebar, and I less than love that sprig in the header. The most productive aspect of Friday was sitting on my exercise ball.

2. If you’re up on your short hair science, then you realize it’s the end of the month, and that means more than paying bills around here. It means I post a featured recipe full of carbs and fat, prettied up for the show. This is how it works. Picture a gallery where everyone was asked to use the same medium to create a piece of art of the same scene. Their only option for variety is the way in which they present their work. Then, all the artists show up to oogle each other’s creations, admiring unique creativity and raw talent. It’s pretty amazing. Everyone has a lot of fun 99.9% of the time, but recently, there has been the tiniest bit of scandalous snarking going on. That’s pretty rare in FoodLand, though, and I do have to say that it feels a bit like junior high girl clique crap. So, I had a good laugh over it and moved along. Life’s too short to snark in FoodLand. But here? That would be why I have two blogs. So yes, I’ve been in FoodLand this weekend making & Veracity: Black & White Cheesecake Pops" href="http://sassandveracity.typepad.com/sass_veracity/2008/04/black-white-che.html" target="_blank">these, which were featured here, which is always nice. It’s sort of like getting an A+ on my report card or something.

Bite, anyone?

This would be a good time to answer a question that Tempered Woman had of me. In my last post, she mentioned that she was “having a hard time aligning the Kelly from kellementology with the Kelly from Sass & Veracity. What is going on with you girl?” Funny you should ask, and I’ll try not to blather on about this (liar, liar, pants on fire…)

*queue violins* But when I started blogging a year ago, I began here. Writing is something I’ve always enjoyed and from time to time, felt compelled to do. When I’m not actually writing, I’m writing in my head. Really. Characters are born and engage in conversation. Story first lines are created. Personal narratives unfold. I couldn’t prevent it if I wanted to. Now, have I done anything with any of my writing except for take up space in the bloggosphere? Um. No. I’m working on that. Really. I’m not a sit down and get it done type of person. I’m more of a marinate fully covered over night in the fridge type. And speaking of marinating…How’d you love that segue? Slick, huh?

Another passion of mine is cooking. Um, duh? And although I make fun of being a foodie, and talk about eating, I do know that it’s the process I enjoy most. It’s not any different than loving gardening, or crafting or shopping…(just seeing if you’re still paying attention…) It’s a passion. But when I began to write here, I noticed almost immediately that I wouldn’t be able to do everything I wanted with this site — like, I had a plan? So I needed to start a food site, too. Notice that I said need. That’s exactly what it felt like. And that was pretty shaky at first, because I didn’t have a solid focus (so what else is new?) couldn’t take food photos for crap, so have had to learn by trial and error. And I also struggled to find my “voice” there, beginning with a similar tone to the one I use here, but feeling uncomfortable about it, and not enjoying it. That has changed. I realize that food is connected to stories for me, often of growing up. They’re inseparable. So there you have it. I’m not exactly sure what it is you have, but still. Not quite as exciting as an evil twin.

Back to the weekend…

3. (Hell, am I only on three? Jeez. Whattawindbag.) Saturday, I went to one of those Garden Walks with my VBF after I made my non-diet food above. She had tickets, it was a gorgeous day, and we meandered in and out of gardens and houses, gawking at plants, and patios, and stairs with a zebra print runner. No, we did not have straw hats with flowers. We treated ourselves to lunch afterwards, and then I came home feeling like I needed to be more like Martha, so finally planted some posies I bought a week ago that have patiently waiting for me to stick them in the ground. Then I finished those sin on a stick desserts, and the MoH and I went for a walk down by the water, enjoying the wind generated by the Santa Ana. It was glorious.

Bike at Sunset