|The kids and their friends at Girl and The Fig, best mussels ever (they don't heap too much garlic on them)|
|Back to the fabulous Scooteria coffee shop|
|Paella at El Dorado Kitchen|
|And the triple threat lamb|
|Scarf from French Nest|
Re the house: There were coyote statues near the pool, not really an animal that I want see poolside alive or in concrete form.
|Swimming with the coyotes (or is it a dingo?)|
Inside, all the glasses were smeary, the drawers full of crumbs and black bits, and the windows were dirty. I told the owner's Person Friday. "Oh, this is the country" was her reply as though all of those things were tres charmant and I was a clueless urbanite. Outside I showed her the bottom of the pool which was strangely scrapey and multi-coloured. Dirt? I asked her. She gave me a look. "This is the country" I replied for her.
|This was at the entry...setting the tone?|
Enough of my complaining. (Why is it when I complain it's legit consumerism and when my kids complain it's just whining... )
Sonoma is the place where the songs on the radio come alive. And especially that cheesy-genius country one called Cruise where baby you a song you make me wind my windows down (resurrected by Nelly sticking it at the end of his equally dodgy Hey Porche and then with a re-mix) which I now know all the words to and so do the kids. If you want to feel good about your life, just picture me, 51 year-old crazy mutha driving a bird-pooped ugly Dodge Minivan with four bickering kids in the back, singing her heart out with the window down.
Before we drove home last night I stopped at the Chocolate Cow on Sonoma Square and gave the kids $10 to buy a couple of gobsful of candy in nuclear reactive colours. Cy, 9, came back to the car with his left cheek bulging. Whajaget? I asked. Chewing tobaccy, he said. Bless.