Tag Archives: Stories

04.18.20
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Crazy During Covid: Patio Toast and The Flower Thief

Since moving to Sacramento just over a year ago, we’ve seen some pretty wild shenanigans outside our town house on 20th street.  Homeless folks eating ice cream on our front porch like they own the place, double car break ins (and there was nothing to steal but vitamins), a New Year’s Eve brawl behind our garage that ended in pepper spray and police, freshly planted flowers clipped off at the base…the incidents are endless.

One night last fall we were waiting for Uber when two folks walked up to our patio, plugged in some kind of torch, and started trying to warm up a plastic to-go of mac and cheese. We didn’t even engage and left them work their magic. We have to keep the water spicket under lock and key, and after 3 hoses disappeared in one week, I had to start taking the hose inside after each time I water what’s left of my ravaged flower beds.

But then there’s “Pooch” the mayor of our neighborhood who calls every time we leave the garage door open or have a package in the front. Gina down the street brought me eggs a few weeks ago when I was sure every chicken within 50 miles of Sacramento was on strike. Zoe knows I can barely walk a few blocks until I get my knee fixed again, but still checks in on me and asks me to go on a walk with her and her sweet pooch– and doesn’t mind when I throw in the towel after a few blocks to turn around. Mike next door “installed” a soaker hose in my flower beds last week, and Marco, a few blocks down let us “borrow” the crane he rented to get our grill onto the roof. There’s a lot of goodness in between the madness.

This is all to say, it all balances out.

But this week? Sigh. I find not one, but two toasters, plugged into my patio outlet one morning. Now what homeless person is walking around with toasters and a loaf of bread? They broke the lock and case on my outlet, but left me the toasters to sell on E-bay. I guess that’s still generous.  And I guess I’m glad that there are some inventive folks out there who still have proper standards for toast.

And then yesterday, our next-door neighbor caught the same woman on camera (2 nights in a row) digging up his freshly planted Impatiens. Seriously? So, because I’m just crazy enough, I busted out my 1920s floor length fur coat and oversized sunglasses at 10pm last night to watch over their flower bed.

I’m happy to report that there was no theft last night…and just enough folks walked past the patio where I was staked out to know that a crazy person lives at 1700 and shouldn’t be messed with.

If anyone needs a toaster, let me know. I’ve got two extras. And if you live in Sacramento and need a late night watch-woman, I’ve got you covered.

And don’t judge my really bad dye job in this video; those Goldilocks roots are for another post.

03.22.20
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A new shower schedule & hot dogs for breakfast: adventures of week 1

i-hate-showering

Because I know that I won’t see most of you for a little while and you’ll forget what I wrote, I have absolutely no filter. You’ve been warned.

I really hate taking showers.

Maybe it’s because I had to share bath water on the farm with 4 other hoodlums, so that’s not exactly a clean or fond memory. I just hate the disruption of going from the coziness of my sheets to water, to being freezing cold drying off, and then having to do something with my hair. I’m already a little cranky in the morning, and the daily shower schedule really cramps my style.

So imagine my elation when I realize that I can still fix my face (because make up makes my heart happy) but I don’t actually have to abide by societal rules and take a shower every day?!  #winning.

Before you judge too much and think I must be smelly, I’ve been spending the wee hours of the night in my HGJ (homegrownjules) garage workshop, which is full of all things squeaky clean: literally 40+ bottles of isopropyl alcohol, witch hazel, liquid aloe vera, mineral oil, every essential oil available…you get the idea. I’ve been cranking out hand sanitizers, kitchen cleaning products, coffee body scrubs, and as of yesterday, a homemade jojoba hand cream, so I smell as divine as a freshly showered babe.

In other news, I work in the food industry, and while sales are tanking, I feel the need to do my part to get DoorDash as often as possible—Café Bernardo’s Thai Noodle Salad, Pizza Rock’s Cal Italia, Thai Palace’s Phad Kee Mao? Yes, please. And I’ll eat those in my soft clothes and on red china, because I still have some standards.

But in between supporting local business, I have to support our shrinking bank account, too, and since I’m a rule-follower and am trying not to leave the house for groceries, it’s time to clean out the freezer for some frugal meals in between….be afraid for my husband.

“Breakfast tacos?” I ask. “How’s that sound?”

“Delish,” he says. “Potatoes, eggs, bacon, and chorizo? Sounds perfect.”

Hmm. No bacon. No chorizo, but I had a little baggy of “mystery meat” that turned out to be grilled hot dogs—from the one time we used our rooftop grill last summer. Lord only knows what possessed me to baggy those up, but sometimes I resort back to this super frugal farm living and freeze everything I can… “just in case.”

Let me tell you—just dice those little suckers into tiny squares (think Tostino’s pizza pepperoni bits), toss into a buttery skillet and they’re transformed. Cut the sprouts off the last couple of purple potatoes and whisk in some eggs, and I’ve got a filling for breakfast tacos that I could start delivering during this crisis. I’m pretty sure Nicholas actually thought it was chorizo, and while he was dying for seconds, I only had 2 hot dogs to start with and had to ration them for another idea come tomorrow.

I think Nicholas finds Covid-19 less scary than what I might thaw from the freezer next.

It goes without saying that this is a terrifying time and I’m beyond grateful for the jobs we still have, the food in our fridge, the family that calls and checks in, the thousands of folks putting their life at risk every day, and the hope of a better tomorrow.

I assume you know all of that already, so instead of stating the obvious in excess, I thought I’d provide a little levity instead.

That said, love each other. Work a puzzle. Teach your kids how to cook. Play spoons at the kitchen table. And say your prayers. It’s going to be okay.