How Does Your Garden Grow?

Phil sent this photo around to the family this morning.

They are harvesting their garden before the winter weather sets in in Boston.  I was very impressed.

I have such a pathetic history of gardening.  

We grew up in San Francisco, where we had a concrete back yard with one little rectangular cement "box" which was maybe 3 feet by 6 feet.  My mother was determined we were going to grow things there.

She had been raised on a ranch and, as this was during the Depression, growing your own food was a real necessity.  She grew up loving the soil, loving eating vegetables fresh out of the garden.

So we tried gardening in our little concrete plot.  I don't know if we did it more than one year, but all I remember is pulling up some sad looking carrots, thin as a pencil and about 6" long.  Our fresh vegetable crop.  It did not make a fresh vegetable lover out of me.

I never had a place with a real garden area until after Jeri was born and we rented a house with a huge back yard, but I was busy with a baby and being pregnant, hanging diapers on the clothesline and re-washing them when the dog pulled them down.  I never had time for a garden and never planted anything there, nor do I remember planting anything in the small yard of our first house, when busy chasing 5 children around the house and making all of our own bread.  We moved in and there was a huge Myer lemon tree in the back yard, which I harvested regularly and enjoyed the fruits of, but I don't think we ever actually planted anything of our own there.

When we moved here to Davis, though, the kids were now old enough to help with a garden and we had lots of space and I decided I would become Mother Earth.   I bought gardening books and seeds and small plants and we spent time loosening the hard clay soil that runs through our yard.  I remember that we planted tomatoes (I was absolutely in heaven eating real home grown tomatoes, until I encountered tomato horn worms, possibly the most disgusting garden pest.  After cutting one in half, I discovered I couldn't bring myself to go into the tomato patch any more!)

I also remember that we planted corn and we got real corn stalks and a few small, but tasty corn on the cob, the first time I learned how you don't need cooking, butter or salt to have a really delicious "thing."  Loved that corn, but I think we only planted corn one year and then installed a jungle gym in the space where our corn "field" had been.

I had the biggest success with zucchini, which grows like weeds here and which nobody liked.  My famous threat to the kids, turning up their noses at a big succulent bowl of cooked zucchini:  "You better eat it because the longer it takes to eat this one, the bigger the one in the garden is going to get." (They grew to be the size of small watermelons.)  I remember making a lot of zucchini bread, which I think may negate the whole health purpose of growing your own vegetables.

We had better luck with fruit trees and had a peach tree that produced prodigiously until one year it literally exploded and gave us buckets and buckets of peaches and then promptly died.  We also had great plums for several years until it developed some sort of disease and had to be cut down.  We also picked apricots off of the tree  that was on the property when we bought it.  We may still have apricots on that tree, but the tree grows up into the telephone wires and it is impossible to reach any fruit which may be growing on it.  We still have apples on the apple tree we planted, but they are  tiny and usually die before they ripen, though once in awhile if I remember to check the tree, I may be able to harvest a bowl of them, enough to make applesauce.

I had to admit that I was definitely not a gardener, but by God Jeri and Phil are great gardeners on their little patch of land (not unlike the yard I had as a kid in San Francisco).  I am amazed at the things they harvest.  Laurel and the girls are also starting to grow small patches of vegetables, enough to have the thrill of picking something that you grew, but not enough to feed the family for a dinner.  Ned and Marta may have planted stuff, but not that I knew of.

Now even if I wanted to try growing something, I can't kneel any more, which puts a crimp in any prospect.  I suggested that Walt build a box around the patio that I could try growing stuff in, but I think he realized that it would probably be a waste of his time and money and that I would not follow through on it, so the box never got built.  

I did try a basil plant this year, though.  I saw nice healthy looking plants at Trader Joe's and bought one, figuring that it was cheap enough that even if I only got one batch of pesto out of it, it was comparable to the price of buying a bunch of basil.  I actually got, I think, four batches of pesto out of it, so I was ahead money.  Each time I harvested, to my amazement, new leaves sprouted.  Each new leaf batch was a bit more pathetic than the last one until I finally had tiny leaves that reached their maturity at about the size of mint leaves, but they were tasty.

I really envy those who have green thumbs.  My thumb used to be black, I would tell people, but it's actually kind of an anemic chartreuse these days, meaning I can keep things alive for a few weeks, but never "alive" is the operative word here.  They never thrive.  

I am fortunate that we live in a farming area and that we have a farmers market and produce stands all over the place where I can, if I want to, find farm-fresh produce that is better than what you find at the supermarkets.  Of course, not being a lover of vegetables, I rarely take advantage of that perk of living here either. 

Blessed Are...

We went to a funeral today at our local Catholic church.  It was a woman who performed a zillion years ago with the long-defunct Davis Comic Opera Company and I expected to see a lot of old DCOC people there, but there were only 3, besides us, scattered throughout the congregation.

When I walked in the church, I realized how long it had been since I was last in that building, which was where I decided to become a "recovering Catholic."  Years ago, they painted the inside of the building.  There was lots of talk about it at the time.  They painted it all white and I remember Paul being upset about how much money they spent on remodeling the church when there are so many poor people in Davis who could have used that money.  In fact, he went to the pastor and voiced his complaint.  (Naturally the comments fell on deaf ears).

I never saw the paint job because I had stopped going to church before they began the remodel.  And Paul has been dead 14 years, which kind of puts it in perspective!

I left the church for many reasons, but the straw that broke the camel's back was when a priest and nun in San Francisco, who ran a ministry to the gay community there, were ordered by the Vatican to stop doing it.  I stood in church after that reciting the Apostles Creed, in which we professed to believe all the things that Catholic Church teaches and I realized that as I recited it, I was lying.  I didn't believe any more.  I never went back.

At the funeral today the gospel included the beatitudes...

Blessed is the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven....Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be satisfied, Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy...Blessed are the peacemakers for they will be called children of God.  Blessed are they who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.   Blessed are you when they insult you and persecute you and utter every kind of evil against you falsely because of me. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward will be in heaven.

Then they sang a song which included the lyrics

Open my eyes, Lord.  Help me to see your face
Open my ears, Lord. Help me hear your voice.
Open my heart, Lord. Help me to love like you...
And the first shall be last
And our eyes are opened
And we'll hear like never before
And we'll speak in new ways
And we'll see God's face
in places we've never known before

And then I thought of my friends

Ellen and Shelly have been working to feed the hungry in Davis for as long as I've known them.  They are the first ones to show up when a friend is ill or in need of moral support.  They have raised four children together and yet they, and thousands...millions...of others like them are shut out of the Catholic church and many other churches simply because they have lived together in a loving, committed relationship for more than 40 years.

When the goveernment finally said it was OK to marry in 2008, they were the first ones to be married in Yolo County, and they have continued to work tirelessly to get that same privilege for other same gender couples who love each other and want their committed relationships to be legalized.

I thought about the Vatican shutting down any outreach to the gay community.  I thought about my friend Steve, who joined a group that was invited to visit Jerry Falwell's compound in Virginia, to sit and eat lunch and discuss matters of mutual importance--only to be turned away because Falwell refused to eat with "sinners." I think of Pastor Martin Ssempa in Kenya, working to get the government to pass a "kill the gays" bill, which would require all homosexuals to be executed and all supporters to be imprisoned."  I think of the look of hate on the faces of the Russian demonstrators I have seen at Gay Rights marches in Sacramento. I think of the phalanx we made to protect gay teens who wanted to march to the Capitol to express their concerns and at the hate messsages that were screamed at them from so-called religious on the streets. I think of John Boehner who just yesterday said he would not bring a Senate-passed bill protecting the rights of gay people from being fired for being gay...or for being thought of as being gay...to the floor of the house for a vote.

And I ask the question, which has been asked many times before...if he were here, what would Jesus (who never said one word about homosexuality) say about the hatred, persecution and exclusion of his gay children going on in his name.

Somehow I think he'd rather be at a Gay Rights event.

The Gala

This morning this video was posted to Facebook.

It is a promo for the upcoming Lamplighters Gala and is, I suppose, a good explanation of what a "gala" is and a taste of what this year's show is going to be.  For me, having been involved with all aspects of galas, from the very first one, through writing them, to now just audience, the tone was a bit too scholarly, but I would hope that the theme of this year's show, Downton Abbey will intrigue some people to maybe wanting to go and see the show.

The Gala was "invented" in the 15th year of the Lamplighters history (the company is now more than 60 years old).  The company needed money and so they decided to take a break from the usual Gilbert & Sullivan productions and do a one-performance "gala," which would feature the actors in funny situations using the music from the shows that had been done that year.  It would be strictly a money maker, would require no new sets of costumes, they could charge a higher price and following the show, there was unlimited champagne, donated by a local winery.

The thing was a huge hit, despite an unplanned special effect when malfunctioning cooling equipment backstage began to pour smoke into the theater.  I remember looking around at that firetrap and wondering if we should leave, but the general manager came out to explain the problem, assure us that there was no danger, and the show went on.

I remember after the show that Walt and I stood with one of the leading tenors drinking gallons of champagne. I went home definitely in my cups.

It was such a big success that a "gala" was factored into the schedule in subsequent years and was usually the final show of the year.  It was almost always a variety show format and it was not until 1982, when Gilbert, David Witmer and I revolutionized the format, that it became a "plot show."  The company was doing Pirates of Penzance that year and the patterman in that show is Major General Stanley.  Gilbert, David and I were walking to lunch one day, thinking about the upcoming Gala when David, who was a soap opera buff, just said "Major General Hospital." It was inspired. Flashbulbs went off over each of our heads. We talked about making that year's gala a "soap operetta" and rapidly started thinking of tunes we could pull from other shows that we not being performed that year.   (I rewrote a song, from Mikado, to be a Tupperware song for a group of women going to a Tupperware party.  I even got Tupperware to donate some free gifts we could use as props.)

It took a lot of convincing to get Gilbert to agree.  He adamantly said that chorus members could not learn music from other operettas for a show, but we finally got him to agree to try. The thing was a riotous success and for many years people still said it was the best show we had ever done and kept wanting to reprise it, but we never did--mostly because it wasn't that great a show.  The greatness of it was in the element of surprise--nobody had ever seen anything like that on the Lamplighters stage.  Even the critics went wild--and in a few outstanding numbers (a cash register in an operating room, with someone adding up every single item as it was used was one of those, the title song was another).  But if you looked at it critically later, the show itself didn't hold up.

But it set the stage.  We had proved that principals and chorus members could learn songs that were not in shows from that year. I have to add also that the whole process was more complicated than I realized for years, until we started to do a gala type show here in Davis.  I hadn't thought of the music part of it, not being a musician.  To do the kind of Gala that the Lamplighters were now doing, you had to own all the orchestral scores for all the Gilbert & Sulllivan operettas, and you had to have someone who could spend weeks putting them in the proper order for each instrument, sometimes writing original instrumentation linking two numbers from two different shows.

Gilbert, David and I only did three Galas before Gilbert died, but his magnum opus was something he'd wanted to do for years, which was to write a Gilbert & Sullivan version of Wagner's Ring.  And he did it.  (That operetta was also titled A Star is Born, which was MY long-held dream!)

Everyone wondered what was going to happen when Gilbert died.  He died in July of 1986 and we hadn't even come up with a theme for that year's show yet.  But the Lamplighters is a company of tremendously talented people and a committee was formed, which worked on the shows for several years and the tradition continued.  I was on the committee for a couple of years.  I can't remember if I was part of the group that created The Phantom of the Operetta, which featured a group of nerds studying bats (they were chiropterologists), but it was an inspired theme and a brilliant opportunity for my friend, the late Will Connolly (the squinty guy in the bow tie below).   One of his more memorable roles.

I eventually left the committee, realizing that, not being around the company all the time, I had become less and less valuable--you really need to know all the in-jokes.  And besides, "star" writers were showing their talent.  I don't know how many contribute to writing these days, but not the large groups that we had in the beginning...and the shows keep getting better and better and better.

This year's is a take off on Downton Abbey and I know it's going to be hilarious, whether you are a Downton Abbey fan or not.  It's the Lamplighters' biggest fund raiser and, sadly, with the slumping economy, it no longer gets sold-out houses, though the quality of the productions is better than ever.

But we'll be there this weekend and I can't wait.

We'll Meet Beside the Waterfall

I am now officially a card-carrying member of the Woodland Shakespeare Club, on whose waiting list I have been for about two years.  Membership is limited to 50 people, so someone has to drop out...or (given the age of a lot of the members), die, for a new member to get in.  My friend Sue's mother, who has been a long time member but who lives a long way away and whose driver's license was not renewed recently, decided to drop active membership, to give me a chance to become a regular member.

Sue, whom I have known casually for many years and who belongs to that awful club too many of us belong to, who have buried children, invited me to come to a meeting of this group years ago.  Knowing how much I do not like Shakespeare, it will be no surprise that I was not really interested, but I agreed to come out of curiosity and enjoyed myself.  The group meets once a month, 9 months of the year (and attendance is mandatory, unless you have written to the president to explain that you will not be attending).  Twice a year, in January and April, members can bring guests, so I have been to, I think, three meetings.  They apparently started discussing Shakespeare, when the club was founded, though have branched out in all sorts of other directions since.

There is some prestige in belonging to this club.  With the fees I paid to join, I received a very nice binder which gives the history of the club, which was started in 1886, making it the second oldest book club in California (the oldest being a group in Oakland, which was started ten years earlier).  I haven't gotten too far into reading the history of the organization yet, but I notice that everybody is referred to as "Mrs. Smith" rather than by their first names and in the case of one woman, who apparently was a physician, she is called "Mrs. Dr. Smith," the marital status apparently being more important in 1886 than the profession.

The club's constitution states that "The object of this club is intellectual and spiritual growth," so the approach to the books is scholarly (sort of) and it's not the sort of place where you flounce around on plush cushions, drink wine and laugh as you have your discussion!  (I've been trying to find a group like that to join for 40 years!!!  They exist.  Many friends have mentioned them and how much bonding goes on and how important those women are to their lives, but I was never invited to join, even when I hinted that I would love to be a part of that group.   But then, to quote Groucho Marx, would I want to belong to a group that would have me for a member?)

I arrived at the Lions Club building  in Woodland, about 10 miles from here, where meetings take place, yesterday afternoon, checkbook in hand, ready to pay my dues, my membership fees (which pay for the nice book I received [which takes the history up to only 2005] and the badge I will wear next meeting).  

It's a big, cavernous room with a high ceiling and there are tables placed in an O configuration, three sides being for members, and the front for the people doing the month's presentation.  I seated myself at the end of one table, remembering that "those who exalt themselves shall be humbled and those who humble themseslves shall be exalted."  Not sure I was exalted, but I definitely felt humble there, the newest member of this venerable institution!

Eventually Sue arrived and sat down with me and in due course the meeting began.  The main problem with this meeting is that the acoustics in the place are abominable, and the microphone they use is nearly as bad.  I really don't know if I'm having hearing problems in my old age.  It seems that the criticism I have of most of the shows we attend lately is that I can't understand what is being said on stage, which I blame on the sound system in bigger theaters and the failure of the actors to project in the smaller community theater venues ... but maybe it's me.  But I did have to strain to hear much of what was said yesterday.  Two women used microphones, which made the sound fuzzy and two spoke without mics and were easier to understand.

The book we were reading was "Ramona," by Helen Hunt Jackson, which was published in 1884.  I think I read this book when I was in high school or college, but remembered nothing about it, I discovered as I began to read it. In fact, I really didn't think I was going to finish it on time, but woke up at 4 a.m. yesterday (not by alarm, but because I just couldn't sleep) and ended up finishing the book at 5 a.m.  I'm glad I did because it made the discussion more meaningful, of course!

Before the program started, someone suggested we have a sing along to the old song "Ramona."  Apparently she had made some copies of the music, but they didn't make it down to our end of the table...still, I remember it from the days when my father was playing songs like that on the piano.  So dramatic and schlocky!

...I press you, caress you And bless the day you taught me to care I'll always remember the rambling rose You wore in your hair Ramona When day is done you'll hear my call Ramona We'll meet beside the waterfall...

For those unfamiliar with the story, Ramona is the daughter of an Indian woman and a white man, who ends up being adopted by the man's barren wife.  When the wife is dying, she makes her sister, Senora Moreno promise to raise the girl.  Senora Moreno never likes the girl and her #1 priority is her son, Felipe, who is running the ranch at the time the book opens (when Ramona is around 20).   Ramona falls in love with an Indian working on the ranch, which sends the Senora into apoplexy at the horror of it, and ends up running away with the Indian, Alessandro, whom she marries.  The last part of the book follows the couple as they settle here and there and another place, always being displaced by the government, moving the Indians off of their lands as the American settlers take over. Their first daughter dies when a white doctor refuses to come to an Indian house to treat her.  They have another daughter, but Alessandro is killed by a guy who thinks he stole a horse.  Ramona ends up back at the ranch, after Senora Moreno's death, and married to Felipe.

There were 3 women who read information about the writing of the book, the time in which it was written, the history of the Americans' relationship with the natives, and the history of the writer, who was an amazing woman about whom I knew nothing.

After a break for snacks (can't have a women's club meeting with out coffee and goodies!), we went back for a bit more history about the geographical area where the book is set and the effect the book had on American-Native relations (the author hoped this book would have as much of an influence on Indian affairs as "Uncle Tom's Cabin" had on slavery), and on the preservation of Old Town San Diego. Some discussion questions were thrown out to the group at large and a very brief discussion ensued.

The book is a real eye-opener about the deplorable treatment and demoralization of the Indians and the destruction of the Indian culture. Whether Jackson achieved her goal of being as influential as "Uncle Tom's Cabin" or not, one thing is certain--she is responsible for the preservation of Old Town San Diego, which depicts the way life was around the time Ramona would have lived. 

You can even visit the place where Ramona and Alessandro were married, though they are fictional characters and the description of where their marriage supposedly took place was miles from here. 

I also learned there is a Ramona festival, which has been presenting a play based on the book every year in the "Ramona Bowl" in Hemet, California since 1923.  It's the longest-running outdoor drama in the United States and was named the Official Outdoor Play of the State of California in 1993 (bet you didn't know we had an official outdoor play, didja?).   Historian Dydie DeLyser is quoted as saying that "The most important woman in the history of Southern California never lived."

So it was a good, fun afternoon and I'm glad I was there.  Next month we read a book by Jack London about the Sonoma Valley, which should give another view of the settling and founding of California.  I think I am going to like this club.

Sunday Stealing

This week's Sunday Stealing is really short, so Olivia P. will be happy to see that I will fill up the extra space with cute grandchildren-Halloween pictures!

1) Do you think Daylight Saving Time is still necessary?
Being a city girl, I never understood the need for Daylight Saving Time, so...no.

2) How long does it take you to adjust to the time change?
As long as it takes to change the clocks.  I am so completely un-time regulated that other than the dogs' demands for mealtime, I don't notice any adjustments for me personally.  I never have. 

3) What's the hardest part of the time change?
Trying to explain it to the dogs.

4) How many clocks are in your house?
Five, I think--one in the family room, 3 in the kitchen (microwave, stove, and wall clock) and one in the master bedroom. (this doesn't count the built in ones on the computers and cable box, which reset themselves)

5) Are you generally early, late, or on time?
I have to fight not to be early for things.  It bothers me if I am as little as two minutes late.

6) If an invitation to an event listed the time as 8-11pm, what time would you arrive?
It would be difficult, but I would force myself to wait until 8:30.

7) Do you wear a watch?
I haven't worn a watch in years, ever since Ned mentioned that he had stopped wearing his...it never occurred to me that I could live without a watch, but I've never missed it.

8) Have you ever glanced at the time and had to glance again because you didn't pay attention the first time?
All the time.

9) Are most of your clocks digital or dial?
Of the five, two are digital, two are dial and I can't remember what the one upstairs is. Then there is the four-legged, furry alarm clocks...

10) What does your alarm clock sound like?
It snores (it's a dog)

11) Do you use the snooze feature on your alarm clock?
Yeah right.  You try to get a dog insistent on waking you up to wait another 20 minutes.

12) Does clock ticking drive you nuts?
Nah...I  never even notice.

OK...in answer to impatient requests, here are some Halloween pictures (thank you, Laurel).  This year's costumes combined Star Wars and Angry Birds:

Lacie was Yoda.

For Brianna, it was her first school Halloween parade.

 

At night they went trick or treating with friends.

And this was just too cute.

 

Betty White

I don't know what you do when you go to sleep at night, but I lie down on the couch under a really nice fuzzy blanket, with Polly snuggled up on my back and I just let my brain wander. I don't really think much about the day that has ended or the day that is coming up.  I try not to worry about a lot of stuff any more (ever since my mother moved to Atria, which gave me insomnia for months).  I just let my brain take flight and think about whatever happens to pop into it.

Last night it was Betty White.  Who knows where that came from (except that I had watched an episode of Golden Girls).

I've been fascinated by Betty White for a long time. Betty White is the history of Television.  Seriously.  I remember reading that she was actually on the very first television broadcast.  She was working at a station that was going to send an experimental program in-house to the people in the building.  Betty White was in front of the camera.

She sang songs on an experimental station in 1939.  1939!   How many people can say they were on television in 1939?  I'm 70 years old and I wasn't born in 1939...or for 3 years later!

Ten years later she was co-host on a daily variety show and took over as solo host in 1952, when she was live on airfive hours a day six days a week!  She also starred in a sit com called Life with Elizabeth, which I remember watching in my first years as a TV watcher.

We all know the big shows she has starred in, like her appearances on Password, where she met husband the late Alan Ludden, The Mary Tyler Moore Show, The Golden Girls and now Hot in Cleveland, with lots and lots and lots and lots of appearances on lots and lots and lots and lots of shows, including Saturday Night Live.  She keeps describing herself in every interview I've seen with her since she turned 90 (she's now 91) as "the luckiest broad in show business."

But as my brain floated into the stratosphere thinking of Betty White, I wasn't thinking of any of her television appearances.  I realize that if I had the chance to interview Betty White, there is one very important first question I would ask her:

What was it like to visit with KoKo?

I am fascinated  with Koko the sign-language signing gorilla.   I have seen videos of a few celebrities visiting her, including Robin Williams (that was hilarious) and Mr. Rogers.  But Betty White, long-term animal activist, had the opportunity to visit with Koko...and as the photo shows, they obviously got along well together.

I would love to sit and listen to Betty reminisce about the experience.  How long was she there?  What was it like to kiss as gorilla?   Did the two of them talk together (did Koko sign for her)?

I think Betty and I would get along well, since we are both such big animal lovers.  And she seems to have made out with quite a few...

 

She's obviously my kinda gal.

---

(I worked at Logos this morning.  Susan says that yesterday was a madhouse and that, based on how much candy they gave out, they may have had more than 1,000 kids through the book store between 2:30 and 6 p.m.! I'm sorry I traded my day!)

Tricks and Treats

Davis was celebrating two events today.  There was a Dia de los Muertos gathering downtown, with folks meeting at the railroad station and then processing up to the E Street Plaza (which we refer to as "Paul Plaza," because of the performing area that is dedicated to him.)  The Day of the Dead is, of course, November 1 but they were doing it a day early in Davis. There were to be altars built to the dead and I don't know exactly what was going to happen, because I knew that I wouldn't be able to attend.

And, of course, little kids were going to be trick-or-treating at downtown businesses all afternoon.  Years ago, concerned about the growing negative experiences that kids were having while just trying to stock up on candy from the neighbors, Davis de-emphasized trick or treating after dark, house to house, and started having celebrations at schools, and the downtown merchants also agreed to give out candy so the kids could still have the fun of trick or treating, with little chance of finding poisoned Tootsie Rolls or razor blades in apples and other fun stuff that sick people do to innocent little kids.

It was supposed to be my day to work at Logos, but Walt was going to the opera, so would have the car, and I decided I didn't feel like taking the bus home on Halloween after dark (though later I realized it was still quite light and I cheated myself out of giving out candy to the little kids coming through Logos).  I did tell Susan that I would stop by and take pictures of the kids, before Walt needed the car, though.

When I read abouat Dia de los Muertos a week ago, I decided that since the altars were going to be built on the part of the plaza that has a dedication to Paul, I wanted Paul and David to be there, so I printed off a couple photos, framed them, and took them downtown.

There was nobody around, so I left the picture on the little plaque.

I got my camera out to take a picture and discovered that my batteries were dead.  Sh*t.  

I walked over to the nearby housewares store and bought new batteries, then walked back and took the above picture.  On my walk, past lots of stores with signs that they were ready for trick or treaters, or baskets of candy in the window, I didn't see one. single. child in costume.  Doh!  Kids wouldn't be coming until after school. 

Well, not to make it a total loss, I decided to have lunch at the Indian/Nepalese cafe right by the plaza and see if people would be marching over from the railroad station.  But they were doing remodeling or something, so I sat there trying to decide what to do and decided to eat at the Mexican restaurant right behind the plaza, only it was a gazillion degrees inside and I knew I wouldn't be comfortable there -- but they did have a sign for Dia de los Muertos and I saw that I was wrong--it didn't start at noon, it didn't start until 2:30. So there was nothing to see on the plaza, and apparently no kids to photograph.

But I was all geared up for lunch out, so I went to the Irish pub across the street and sat outside watching the crowd.  I didn't see any kids, but I did see a dog in a cow costume, peeing on its udders, which were dragging on the sidewalk.   Then I started seeing some grown ups in costume.  This guy was carrying a skull into a yogurt place

.

Then there was Batman all dressed up for business.

And there was even a skateboarding banana.

I was in my own costume...

(I was dressed as an old lady drinking a beer.  Gawd, look at those wattles.  Memo to Self:  buy a camera with a front facing camera so you can do decent selfies!)

As I left the restaurant, I finally saw my first costumed child.

But I drove around several blocks and even passed by Logos and didn't see another one, so I decided that I wasn't going to be able to find kids and still get the car back to Walt on time.  I'm sure this entry would have been a lot more interesting if I had!

I came home and got into Halloween curmudgeon mode.  When Walt left, I locked the door, made sure the lights were turned off, and closed the living room curtains, then headed to the back of the house to lock the dogs in and turn the sound on the TV down so it couldn't be heard from outside.

My idea of a good Halloween.