L U N A T A L K with Eva Moon

Paddle faster. I hear banjos

Vignettes from a trip to the South

Blue Ridge, Georgia:

Harvest on Main Restaurant has their own organic greens and herbs on site, progressive fusion cuisine with local artisan cheeses, heirloom produce, charming gay waiters… and a gun rack.

Serenity in the Mountains is a world-class destination spa with beautifully appointed accommodations, all the most luxurious spa services, obligatory new age spa music… and fly fishing prints on the walls.

Our room was stocked with a wide variety of treats including a box of freshly baked empanadas. That’s what they looked like to us, but apparently we were wrong. When we asked about local shopping, the owner said, “Oh y’all should go to Mercer’s. That’s where we got yer fraaaaad paaaaas.”

Somewhere along Hwy 400 north of Atlanta:

Cherokee Music. I have no explanation. We met young thin Elvis inside.

Brasstown, NC (population 240, Opossum Capital of the World):

My sister, Pam, teaches jewelry-making and enameling at the John C. Campbell Folk School near there, where one can also learn to be a gentleman blacksmith or take one of four classes on broom making. I witnessed the weaving of some fine baskets out of pine straw. I swear, when I lived in Atlanta we used it for mulch. But it’s a pretty setting.

Sadly, we drove by but didn’t stop at Clay’s Corner, where they ring in the New Year with the annual “Possum Drop.” I understand more than 5000 (people, not possums) showed up for it last year. Eat yer heart out, Times Square.

Aaaaahhhhhh cont.

It’s like one continuous, tension-easing, seven-day sigh. It will be time to inhale again soon enough. But not just yet.

Time Flies When You’re Having Rum

Here it is the last day already. Where has a week in paradise fled? Into a tall frosted glass.

One of the many lovely attractions on Maui is the Seven Sacred Pools. It’s a long drive though and many miss it. But no tourist would miss the Seven Sacred Cocktails.

1. Mai tai, Lahaina Inn. I couldn’t recall the name of the bar so we stopped a group of locals in Kihei to see if they might know it from the description: an open air tavern facing the beach, lots of wood, ceiling fans and old whaling paraphernalia: harpoons on the wall and a ship’s prow figurehead over the bar. “Lahaina?” moaned one. “Isn’t that somewhere in Southeast Asia?” Lahaina is maybe 35 minutes drive up the coast, but it might as well have been another continent. When people settle in Hawaii, they settle. Like limpets. I wish we’d settled somewhere else for happy hour, despite promising appearances. The mai tai here looks like there’s a nice float of rum on the top, but it’s an illusion. A bottle of rum may have been somewhere in the vicinity but a sad amount of the glass was devoted to fruit juice. A wedge of pineapple is always welcome though.
2. This is a Kona Coconut Ale. I consumed this glass of this fine icy brew at the bar at the Kumu Bar and Grill in the Wailea Marriott. It was just after sunset and the sky was still painted with extravagant strokes of salmon and aqua. I’ve looked in vain for this particular ale in other establishments. It would be a crime against drinking humanity if Kumu has exclusive access to it. We get Kona brews in Seattle, but I’ve never seen this one. I will be on the hunt now, though.
3. Longhi’s, Wailea. This is a small miracle called a Lycheeto: Cruzan citrus rum, fresh mint leaves, fresh lime, soho lychee & club soda. Longhi’s turned out to be a destination all its own. Glen, our conspiratorial waiter who bears an uncanny resemblance Peter Lorre in Casa Blanca turned out to be an excellent tour guide through the bibulous backroads of booze by the beach. More from Glen in a moment. But savor the noble lychee for a moment. Mmmmmmm…
4. A Pina Colada at Mambo’s in Paia. (Don’t be distracted by the margarita lurking in the shadows.) How better to reward onesself for making the strenuous drive to Hana and back than with a little refreshment in laid-back, tie-died Paia. Well, I suppose there’s the herbal refreshment the island is known for, but we settled down with the fruity varieties. I can only tolerate about one pina colada a year. They’re a little too rich for my taste. But the thick and frosty pint somehow evaporated from the glass as if by magic. I give it a high rating on the fruit meter, but neither it nor it’s companion, the lovely margarita there, were excessively long on spirits.
5. Back at Longhi’s, the capable hands of Glen delivered unto us the Acai Yuzo Sour Mojito: Absolute Berry Acai vodka, yuzu sour, fresh squeezed orange juice, basil leaves, cranberry juice & club soda. Lovely. Really. You’ll have to ask Glen to bring you the secret book of cocktails. It’s not on the main menu. Tell him Eva sent you.
6. Happy hour at 5 Palms, Kihei. Or is it Wailea. I’m losing track. This is a Mango Margarita and my advice is: don’t. Just don’t. Speaking as a native Southern California girl, margaritas are sacred. They contain certain magical properties and one simply should not tamper with the spell. The spell does not include mango. Or a maraschino cherry. The spell DOES include tequila, which this glass, frosty and tempting as it may look, is innocent of. And frankly, I will tolerate logos on beer glasses, but a cocktail should be served in plain, clean glass. Am I right?
7. Behold the seventh sacred cocktail and the one that will remain, shining, in my memory long after the last of the sand has been shaken out of the swimsuits: The Garden Terrace Fuck Me Mai Tai at Longhi’s. It’s an “exotic blend of Ten Cane Rum, Cruzan Citrus Rum, Malibue Rum, tropical juices with a float of Myers Rum and is the grail of tropical drinks. THIS is what a Hawaiian vacation should be. FOUR kinds of rum in one glass. Heaven!

Aaaahhhhhh

We interrupt our normal stream of snark to bring you a big contented sigh.

If there’s a better way to start the day than hot coffee, fresh pineapple and swimming with giant sea turtles, I’d like to know what it is!

Here’s a taste of days 2 and 3 of 7 (day 1 is here):

Burglar Redux and Beyond

It happened again! And just two days after snoozing through the invasion of the trash collectors.

Why is it that a bird chirping outside my window at 4 am can roust me irreconcilably from slumberland, but large humans tromping about the house at 1 am can’t drag me from sleep’s iron grip?

This time it was my sister and her husband and they were expected. They were passing through Seattle on their way home from their coincidental Hawaiian vacation and wanted to crash here for a day or two. I didn’t know they meant it so literally. I gave them a key since they had a late arriving flight and was not surprised when I woke Sunday morning that I hadn’t heard them arrive. After all, when one let’s oneself into someone’s house in the wee smalls, one usually tip toes about and speaks in hushed tones. If at all.

Except.

My sister thought we had left on our vacation Saturday morning and here it was very early Sunday. They turned on lights, chattered, did laundry, traipsed around the house. Naked.

I may make a lousy princess when it comes to sleep sensibilities, but once again I am both disturbed and relieved that I missed all the fun.

Now that I am actually on vacation, I can rest assured that the security of my home is no worse with me not in the house than with me in it.

How the Web Saved the Day

What did we ever do without the Interwebs? A promise of fine autumn weather and a very rare unprogrammed Sunday drew us out of the bat cave. We settled on a drive to Mount Rainier National Park and a hike along the Naches Peak Loop Trail – about four miles of surprisingly level walking with spectacular views of the mountain. However, a quick web check for Washington State travel alerts turned up a mudslide which had just buried SR 410 – DOT en route! – just 10 miles from the park. A disappointment to be sure, but nothing compared to the inconvenience of driving eighty miles first. (To say nothing of the inconvenience to the people whose homes were destroyed by the mud slide.)

Back to the web to draw on the collective wisdom of Facebook. Lot’s of great suggestions within minutes. We settled on the Washington Arboretum. A place not 20 minutes drive from home that we NEVER go to. (Well once. Twelve years ago. We drive through it on occasion on the way to Nishino - the best sushi.) A few clicks later we had an arboretum trail map in our hands and off we went.

Was the arboretum a satisfactory substitute for the majesty of Rainier? Well, no, but it definitely wasn’t a wasted day. I don’t have time to write twelve thousand words. The sun is still shining.

South and East

Let the drinking begin.

Last week it was a visit with my in-laws in Southern California, this week it’s a visit with my own family – parents, two sisters and their families – in Cashiers, North Carolina (apparently pronounced “CASHers by the locals). It hasn’t gotten off to a bad start. Last night found me ensconced cozily in a big overstuffed chair by a roaring fire watching snow falling through trees overlooking Lake Glenville. With a glass of wine in hand. It just doesn’t get a whole lot better than that. Except maybe morning finding me back in the same chair watching the sun rise into blue sky over sparkling water with coffee in hand.

The house is easily large enough to absorb all eleven of us as long as you don’t need uninterrupted access to a bathroom and the larders are crammed with every sort of edible and potable.

Once again, the sun is bright and I’m sunglassless – maintaining an unbroken record of never remembering to bring them along. It’s becoming an obsession. I’m taking pictures, but predictably do not have a cable to download them from the camera. In the mean time, here’s a link with some pictures of where we’re staying.

I predict a difficult transition back to real life, but let’s not think of that now. I’d rather think about lunch.

Patchwork

Families are pieced together in different ways, some harmonious, some in vivid contrast. Often the seams are strained to breaking, but hopefully the stitches hold fast.

I’ve been fortunate, both in my own family and in the family I married into. We may not see them often, but when we do it’s good, though with far, far, far too many tortilla chips. We were down in California last week to celebrate my mother-in-law’s 80th birthday and continue doing our part to keep America’s corn growers afloat in this troubled economy. I hope I’m half as sharp and witty when I’m 80 as she is. Happy birthday, Kathi!

Like many modern families, I don’t have just one mother-in-law, but two. We took a day to drive up the coast from Oxnard to charming San Luis Obispo to see MIL#2. In the past, we’ve mostly visited in the summer and I’ve always had a soft spot for the way coastal California looks then: rolling hillsides swathed in pale gold grass, dotted with dusty green live oaks. In March Hwy 101 weaves between rolling blue ocean and green, green and more green. The miles swept by and before we knew it we were sailing past the ever-expanding kitchiness of  Madonna Inn and off the freeway into town.

MIL#2, Barbara, is a quilter. Though that’s a little like saying Eric Clapton plays guitar. One never need worry about tripping and falling in her house – you’re sure to land on something soft. Her work is meticulous, creative, beautiful and prolific. And at 79, it’s keeping her young and as vibrant as her quilts. She’s just completed a project that’s kept her busy for years: Making wedding quilts for all her grandchildren. None of the grandkids is close to matrimony yet. But my boys got to see their quilts.

Years ago my father-in-law advised me to make plans for the future. It’s not critical to follow the plan, he said. Just having it gives a shape to the future and makes your place in it seem real and solid. That advice led to a couple of poor real estate investments, but no regrets. These quilts did the same thing. Suddenly, a vague and amorphous future had wives and homes and quilts in it. Colorful threads sew scattered pieces of family into something that will do to keep you warm. Quite nicely.

Snarkfree Sailing

I’ve been trying to think of the wry angle on this, but I don’t think it’s susceptible to snark. This was just one of those bucket list experiences you want to soak up and remember for the rest of your life. I’ll save the snark for something else and let the pictures do most of the talking.

We flew down to southern California to celebrate my mother-in-law’s 80th birthday at my sister-in-law’s beach house. By chance, a friend, Steven Van Hook, lives an easy kayak paddle up the marina from where were staying and he volunteered to take us sailing. Twice!

I’ve never been on a sailboat in my life, so I wasn’t sure what to expect. One thing I found out was that sails are more like wings than parachutes. I also found out that Bonine works for me, thank god!

Conditions were perfect with light winds, calm waters and brilliant sunshine. Our boat “Imagine” is 33-feet long and very pretty. We got the basic “five H’s” spiel from Skipper Steve (hands, head, heeling, help and, of course, hurling) and then motored out of Channel Islands Harbor and set sail towards the islands. (And now the phrase “set sail” actually means something to me. So does “taking a different tack.” Who knew?)

Early on we saw a whale spout in the distance but never got close enough to see more than spume. Then magic happened. We came across a huge pod of dolphins. They swam with us, cavorting with the boat, leaping out of the water. I could even hear them sounding under water – something I hadn’t expected. I got dolphin snot on my sunglasses. After a while they swam off, but we caught up with them again on the way back and this time they stayed with us much longer.

I could have stayed out there all day, but the boys were starting to turn a little green so we turned toward harbor. Steve let me have a turn at the wheel, which was a blast. I was completely surprised at how sensitive the steering is.

Final surprise of the day: I’d only been standing on a small boat all afternoon, but I could hardly keep my head up through dinner.

Thank you, Cap’n Hook!

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…

South and West

On the road again. I could try to make a full blog devoted to whining about air travel but it would get tiresome. We flew Southwest Airlines, which is somewhat famous for its humorous flight attendant announcements. We were treated to a hysterical one several years ago that included the information that the smoking section was out on the wing where they were showing the movie “Gone With the Wind.” Sadly, neither leg of our flight yesterday featured stand-up comedy, but we did get free peanuts (Peanuts! Are they mad?) and sodas. Don’t get me started on rental car agencies, though!

More

Looking back at my posts of the last few days, I just have to say that I think “My Favorite Nipple” and “Fugitive Pubes” would be awesome band names.