Yummy deviled eggs recipe

Deviled eggs recipe: http://www.myrecipes.com/recipe/chive-tarragon-deviled-eggs-10000001041997/

Sting - Live in Berlin CD (full album)

Tim Reynolds 1/21/13 Iridium New York, NY

John Williams - The Seville concert

2012 Carpinteria Triathlon

Today completed the Carpinteria Triathlon (a Sprint course), my first!  This involved a .5K ocean swim, a 15 K bike through a beautiful Carpinteria city and farmland, finished off with a 5K run.  Great fun!

Carpinteria Fall Harvest

Thoughts on "A Letter to Wife"

This is an essay I’ve been wanting to translate for years. Back when I was still a high school student, this letter found its way to me in my Classical Chinese textbook. It’s been more than fifteen years now, and I still remember the turmoil of emotions alongside millions of Goosebumps that was once aroused in my young body.

The author, Lin Jue-min, was a student not much older than my teenage self. He had been finishing his study in Japan when Dr. Sun Yat-sen, later to be known as the founding father of the Republic of China, called for students overseas to join in the revolution against Qing Dynasty, the last monarchy to have ruled China. Lin was among the hundreds to return to his homeland, participating in the famous Yellow Flower Mound revolt in 1911. It was the most unique uprising in Chinese history in that it was led predominantly by young students, professors, writers and journalists. Following its failure, 86 youths were arrested and executed. As Sun Yat-sen later put it: “The elites of our republic were all burnt in one gust of flame.”  Among the martyrs, was our 24 year-old author.

This letter was written just a couple days before the revolt, hurriedly on a piece of handkerchief he carried with himself. Lin had apparently left Japan and gone into the revolt knowing he would never return. After his arrest, he made a deep impression on the Governor of Guangzhou Province with his calm and elegant mannerism, and refused to eat or drink before his execution, which took place two days after the trail. Lin’s wife, Madam Chen Yi-Ying was seven-month-pregnant at the time. They also have a five year-old son named Yi-xin. One month after his death, she gave birth to a premature baby. She herself died only two years later, at the age of 25.

I now consider myself as an individualist. I believe that one’s individuality is more important than his/her social identity, and under no circumstance is the happiness or suffering of an individual less significant than those of a country. (For example, Lin’s identity as a husband and father is no less significant compared to his identity as a patriot, and he certainly had no rights to assume his wife’s suffering more trivial when compared to the suffering of a country.) I have always hoped that the will of an individual could be better respected than his/her sacrifice.

But fifteen years ago it was all different. This was a time when I still believed in heroism, grandness and eternity. This was a time when reading aloud the Confucianism teaching “Life, I desire it, virtue, I also desire it. When I cannot have them both, I shall give up the former in favor of the latter” would turn my face red in a spell of excitement.

How I disagree with myself at that time, yet how I miss that beautiful time! I was not the doubtful and sarcastic person I am today. I had boiling blood, innocent eyes and a believing mind.

In that sense it was a blessing that Lin died the way he did, as I look back on this letter of his. At least he escaped the saddest thing called the rusting of innocence, otherwise known as growing up.

On the other hand, I do have doubts on my current thoughts on individualism when confronted by his writing. If it weren’t for pioneer martyrs like him, we could still be living in a monarchy society. Same thing can be said for all those who gave their lives in the revolutions of modern world history. Sometimes the heavy pages of history are indeed turned by heroes and heroes only, as another reformist before Lin had said: “Every huge reformation has to come with bloodshed” – young and heroic blood. I also still have a deep respect for intellectuals who care about the injustice in their country and the suffering of the mass. It is the spirit of these people that has enlightened and is enlightening our civilization. Having graduated from Peking University, I can never sever myself completely from the passion of those who died in the Tiananmen Square incident, for a similar cause that Lin had given his life for eighty years ago.

Had the parliament reformation or the republic revolution succeeded in Chinese history, there might not have been the huge famine that claimed millions of lives between 1959 and 1961; there might not have been the Cultural Revolution that swept away another few millions swiftly afterwards; there might not have been the massacre of students on the Tiananmen Square; and there might not have been this anxious nouveau riche culture that is devouring everything related to spirit like a black hole in nowadays China. But, all these tragic happened, regardless of the dreams that once seemed so real to people like our author.

Did he die in vain? Did his wife suffer in vain?

I cannot claim that I love my country as much as Lin did. (In fact I definitely won’t consider going back from California just to be shot by a fire squad in my hometown L )   But I do love my motherland, and I do desire to be proud of her, of her current self as well as her old history. It is because of this love and desire that Lin Jue-min’s writing brought tears to my eyes fifteen years ago, as it did tonight. The same love and desire led me to translate his last words: A Letter to Wife. 

A Letter to Wife

By Lin Jue-min

Yi-ying, my darling, I am writing this letter today to bid you a permanent adieu!  Now as the letter is being completed, I am still a living being; by the time you read it, A ghost I will have become in the under world. The pouring tears run down to meet with ink, and I could hardly resist the temptation of putting down my brush, were it not for the worry that you might not understand me, that you might think I have cruelly deserted you, that you might think I did not know how much you needed me. Thus despite the torturing pain, I shall go on with my explanation to you.

 I love you dearly. It is from this very love that I derive the courage to face death. Ever since I met you, I have always wished all the lovers in the world live happily with one another. But innocent lives are lost everyday, upon their blood wolves and wild dogs thrive. How many families can live the worry-free life they truly want?  Unlike the ultimate sages*, I cannot be so detached as to lose my sympathy. As the Confucianism saying goes: “From the respect for one’s own parents one learn to respect all the elderly, from the love for one’s own children one come the love all the youth.” I have extended my love to you to all the lovers around us, hoping to fight for them a better world to live and love in. This is the reason why I dare to die alone, leaving you behind.       

Do you still remember? Once in an evening four or five years ago, I said to you: “I’d rather you die before I do than the other way around.”  Upon hearing this you were furious, and would not forgive me until many a gentle word of explanation was uttered. What I meant then was that you were such a soft soul, and I could not bear to think of you suffering the pain of my death. If had to, I’d rather myself being the one left with that kind of a pain. Alas! How could I have known that it eventually came to this, that I will leave you suffering alone after all!

How can I let go of you in my mind?  I think of our house in the backstreet, past the gate, across the corridor and hall rooms,  after three or four more turns there was a small drawing room, on the side of which our bedroom lied. This was where we spent most of our times together. Three or four months after our wedding, in the midst of  a winter month, moonlight was sifted by the thin plum branches outside our window. Where it cast itself, shapes and shadows quietly blurred up. Shoulder by shoulder, hand in hand, we shared with each other every secret we had, whispered to each other every word of love we knew. Now looking back on that night, I found myself with nothing but tears. I then think of  the time six or seven years ago, when, upon my return after fleeing away from home,  you cried to me and said: “From now on, whenever you have to leave, please tell me ahead of time. I will follow you anywhere!” So I promised you that I always will. Just ten days ago when I went back home, I did mean to tell you about this final leave. But I could not bring myself to those words once I saw your face. Not to mention that you were almost due in your pregnancy, and I was worried it might crush your health. Thus I did nothing but drinking myself into oblivion day after day. The guilt and sorrow I felt in those days can hardly be described by words.

I truly wished to die together with you. But if you take into consideration our current circumstance, you will see that there is indeed many a chance for an untimely death! One can die of natural disasters, one can die of highway robbery, one can die in the hands of foreign invading troops, one can die in the prisons of local corrupted officials. We as the civilians of China nowadays,  can die anywhere anytime on anything! If it comes a time when we have to watch each other die in front of our eyes, can we put up with that? Even if we survive all those disasters, we could be separated in times of chaos for good, worrying and longing for each other throughout our lives, with chances of a family reunion extremely scarce – how does this everlasting pain compare to death? It is lucky that we are both healthy and alive. Yet in our world numerous of those who don’t deserve to die are dying, countless of those who don’t deserve to part are parting. Sentimental to each other as we are, how can we bear to think of this fact! These are the reasons why I dare to sacrifice myself without concerns for you.

As for my own death I shall have no regret. Whether this revolution turns out to be a success or not, justice and hope will always be with my comrades. Yi-xin is almost five years old now. Soon enough he will grow up to be a young man. Bring him up well so he will share the ideals of his father. As for the baby you are carrying, I suspect it will be a girl, and it brings me great comfort to think she will be a lot like you. But if it’s a boy again, you should nonetheless pass down to him the dreams for which his father had fought and died. That way, long after I perish there will still be two boys to follow my legacy, how lucky is that! Our family will inevitably sink into poverty. But poverty is not the end of the world for those contented from within.

At this point I have no more to say to you.  In the dim underworld, echoing your remote sobbing, I will be shedding many a bitter tear. I have never believed in ghosts before. But now I almost wish that they did exist. And people talk about “mental telepathy” nowadays, which I also hope is true, so that even after my death, my spirit can still linger on by your side, so that you may be less grievous and lonely.

I have never spoken to you about my political ambitions. That was my fault. But I was afraid that if I had told you, you would be deeply worried everyday. I would not hesitate to die a hundred times for my country, but to see you worried even once tears my heart apart. You are the dearest thing in my life, I have been trying all I could to keep you happy. It is fortunate that you met me, yet how unfortunate you are to be born in China nowadays! It is fortunate that I married you, yet how unfortunate I am to be born in China nowadays!  At last, I found myself not able to ignore the tragic of others. I cannot fend only for ourselves.

Alas! So short is my handkerchief, so vast is my feelings. There are still thousands of lines I would like to write that cannot fit onto this piece of silk.  I will never see you again! I know you cannot forget me, will you see me now and then in your dreams?  Thoughts as such broke my heart.

April 24, 1911, 2am at night. Yi-dong*

(All the aunts in the family can read well. If there is anything unclear in the letter please don’t hesitate to ask them for help. I hope all that’s in my mind will be heard by you.) *

*  This was a historic anecdote that took place during Jin Dynasty. A man had lost his child to illness and sobbed mournfully on the funeral. One of his friends said: “It’s just an infant, get a hold of yourself.” To this the man answered: “The lowest of beings do not know about love, while the ultimate sages let go of their love. It is to people like me who are caught in between that love means everything.”

*  Yi-dong was the literary name of the author.

*  The original text was written in Classical Chinese, in accordance with the habit of traditional intellectuals to speak modern Chinese in daily conversations but use Classical Chinese in formal writings. The author’s wife, Madam Chen, like many other Chinese ladies in her time, did not have much of an education growing up. After she married Lin, he taught and encouraged her to write and read in Classical Chinese. Thus he was concerned she might have trouble with certain grammars and words in the letter.

  

Mercy Mercy Mercy

This song is by the Chicago Sunshine Pop group The Buckinghams. Have been playing an acoustic solo instrumental version of this for years but just came across this youtube video.

Ode to Joy

Look, Jacob

-- Impression of Carpinteria






In the morning,
hidden amongst tall grass,
a trainless railroad sleeps by the bean field.
Farmers aren’t here yet,
but the field already awoke.
A mole sits quietly,
facing the sea.

The sea is as pale as an eye,
and it gets bluer as noon comes by,
blue and lucid
like some free-flowing blood.
Kelps arise in the sweetly fishy breeze,
under the distant islands
-- the long hair of mermaids fondles
airy paddleboards.

What are the red-beaked sandpipers in a tide
looking for, so hurriedly?
Half withered
stood a Eucalyptus by the Brewery.

And the sun’s about to set
by the edge of the ocean.
And the beach wetted by the waves turns gold,
all of a sudden;
And all the little birds are walking
on a warm mirror
when a fisherman yells out:
“Look, Jacob!”

Crepes Chez Kowawa

recipe for "Crepes Chez Kowawa" (my dessert crepes recipe)

1.25 cup flour
1 egg
2.0 cup milk
1 oz melted butter
2 pinches salt

optional but recommended:
3 tblspoons sugar
2 splashes of coconut rum

Put dry ingredients in a large bowl, mix 'em up. Add the egg and butter, and with a wooden spoon incorporate all the flour. If you need to, add little splashes of the milk. Once flour is incorporated, with a whisk beat vigorously, adding slowly remainder of the milk, and the rum. Let the mixture sit for 1 hour in the fridge before preparing the crepes using a crepe pan. Can double the recipe if desired and save extra batter in fridge for 1-2 days. Beat well again prior to cooking.

Dr. Kowawa's Crepe Suzette recipe

Prepare crepe batter as per above. Will also need:

1 Orange
4 tablespoons sugar
2 oz butter
2 splashes of Cointreau

Zest Orange and press for juice. Simmer for 5 minutes with all the above ingredients. Done while preparing each of 4 crepes: place crepe in simmering mixture and fold it into 4. Repeat for all crepes as they come off the crepe pan. Once done may make a Flambee by pouring ~1 tblspoon lighted Cointreau on each crepe.

Foxen Canyon Wine Trail with Modo

Stand up Paddle Boarding

Since March we have been exploring a new wonderful sport, Stand up Paddle Boarding. After several months of rental membership from Paddle Sports of Santa Barbara (a really great place!), we fell in love with the sport. Stand up is like traditional surfing except that the boards are longer, often in the 10-12 foot range, and you use a paddle to propel yourself forward. On a stand up paddle board you can paddle around the ocean, soaking up the amazing views, or you can use the paddle to help catch a good wave ( We got the best barrels ever dude!). From our boards we have excellent views of the Santa Barbara coastline, Channel Islands, and Santa Ynez mountain range, and have seen seals, dolphins, pelicans, huge jellyfish, and many other marine wonders. The sport is an excellent core workout as well as being a relaxing activity. We decided on the following gear, which we got from the super friendly folks at SUP Sports:

Sweewawa's board is a Focus Hawaii 10'0"" Classic. This is a stunning board with a gorgeous bamboo veneer finish on both sides. The trim is purple which matches her Oneill wetsuit. We both got bamboo-finished Quickblade Kanaha Carbon Fiber Paddles, which are light, strong, and paddle fast.



I decided on a original board from SUP Sports, called the One World 11'1". This beautifully designed board has dual-side Australian pine veneer, and a sleek sky blue trim. It is fast for distance paddling but still has good maneuverability, even at over 11 feet in length. This board is so much fun.



Below are some early photos of us just learning to use the boards, off the Carpinteria, CA coastline near our home:

Lab Report on Absinthe

All of a sudden, a silver spoon
reminded the green eye
of Paris.
When the wind lit the red candle,
up woke the night.

And Rimbaud gave a smile.
The instant my tongue was knotted,
the instant my throat caught fire,
the instant my breast was shredded,
the instant my flesh began to fester,
he gave a long quiet sigh, lifted a childlike brow,
and whistled at the Big Dipper.

The golden ear of Von Gogh,
the cold tulips of Wilde and the
vast woe Degas built
by a couple wooden tables –
these I have seen none.

But I always remember the chicken droppings
by the little fence,
the radio from the bedroom
sounded like lichen.
The wind grew white as
mother’s broom swept across the spring,
and the world stole away
during my nap.
When awake,
a wall amused me more
with its wavy ruggedness than a book.
There clearly was one year when
sounds, colors and words all whirled like dewdrops
on a sunlit gossamer.

I always dream about the lean eucalyptus on the shore,
a gray-eyed boy from the Middle Ages.
Locks of wormwood color
fondles his brow long paled by prescribed bleedings –
He struggles for life in the ocean mist,
beautiful as a yawn.

And how I wish when women express sympathy,
or when men show a sense of humor,
their teeth would fall off
one by one,
like mud drops in a rain,
so the emptiness in their mouths would finally match
the emptiness in their hearts.

-- But these images I have seen none.

As corruption would lend me no talent,
all I’m left with are:
a pale moon
a shrill fountain
a cold cat
and a silent lover.
The wind blew out the candle,
the night stayed awake.

They say that literary Romance, like all Romance
is but a wishful buzz, life
a hangover morning –
Such is the lab report on Absinthe.

Foxen Canyon Wine Trail

Thoughts on Idividualism -- A movie review for NAPOLA (Before the Fall)

“Oliver watched, observed, and was not surprised. From the very outset he had recognized the great inferiority of these men to the work which they were supposed to be accomplishing: but he had also recognized the inevitable force that swept them on… The current would have nothing to do with himself, who would have asked nothing better than to be carried away.”

More than a hundred years ago, Romain Rolland painted the portrait of a prevailing labor worker’s movement from the eyes of Oliver, a young French bourgeoisie. The uniqueness of the perspective had always touched me, given that the writer, Rolland, was strongly left-winged himself.

As powerful currents symbolizing collectivism sweep through the society, Oliver, a fair spirit of individualism, rests alone on the shore. Fates of others surge up or plunge down in front of his eyes – it is a sea of opportunity, an era of heroes. But he merely sits there, pained by his own perception, lost in his own thoughts. His hands, free of sand and mud, appear so clean.

And the clash between an observer and a participator, the outcast of individualism by society… these well explored literary themes once again constructed NAPOLA, a beautiful drama set in Hitler’s Germany. After all, Fascism was one of the strongest social currents that ever swept through modern history.

NAPOLA stood for National Political Institutes of Education. As a secondary boarding school, the organization sought to provide a new generation for the political, military and administrative leadership in the Nazi state. As a matter of fact, it was Hitler himself who came up with the idea of selecting young elites solely by talents, regardless of their social economical background, from which schools like Eton College derived so much pride. This passionate practice of social justice, alongside with numerous other National Socialism policies, won the Führer hearty support from the German youth.

Our two heroes in NAPOLA came from vastly different backgrounds: Friedrich, a factory worker’s son, was a promising youth with tough and realistic personality; Albrecht, the only child of an eminent Nazi Governor on the other hand, was everything but his father. Boyish innocence bonded them together, and together they strived to grow into Führer’s elites: it is a story about the beauty of youth, as well as the cruelty of growth.


I. Albrecht




This young boy carries a charming disharmony within himself, and it attracts the audience as a minor chord catches the ears, with all the richness and subtlety. His hair dark, his complexion pale, his features delicate, together with his introvert manners and eloquent eyes – such combination has made him as much of an outcast of the Arians as of the militants, yet he sat there in the chicly starched uniform of NAPOLA.

The essence of Totalitarianism, rather than genocide or war, lies in the assimilation of ego. Throughout history, Totalitarianism in all its forms had strived to put an end to the struggle between collectivism and individualism, as was tactfully mentioned in the welcoming speech of NAPOLA -- “Your body no longer belongs to yourself. It belongs to the nation, to the people, and above all, to the Führer.” When it comes to this invention, Nazi was far from being alone: an insightful picture of individuality in a Utopian society was offered by George Orwell in his 1984.

Unawares, Albrecht came across as a keen individualist. His love of writing betrays a strong ego, as writing is, above all, a hobby of self reflection; When Friedrich won the boxing match by knocking out the defenseless opponent on the rope, amidst a roomful of fanatic cheerers stood Albrecht, aloof and lost. His group won the match, he should have been happy. Besides, he knew the victim would have done the same if given a chance – you fight till K.O., that’s the NAPOLA rule. Yet he was still deeply disturbed. “Of course I’m happy for you,” said Albrecht to his best friend later on in the changing room, “I just wonder if there was an alternative way to win.”

During that scene, more than sympathy for a stranger, we get a deeper sense of the boy’s disregard to convention and devaluation of collective honor. His soul, like a pair of white sandals, rests on the shore of introspection, left alone by the panoramic current of a zealous world – to me, nothing else is more beautiful than that image, and nothing else further challenges the basis of tyranny.

I was deeply moved by the dialogue between Albrecht and Friedrich after the essay on German Sagas was read in front of the class.

F: Why did you have to write it?
A: I had no choice, just like you didn’t when you punched that trainer.
F: It’s different! You did not help anybody by doing so!
A: I did. I helped myself.

The ego of this shy and quiet child has long been bathing in fire, his struggles throbbing, his cries muffled. And yes, we are all animals of society; by no means have I intended to ignore the necessity of social compromising. But I could also see that a 16-year-old’s conscious, when tossed into the scorching flames of NAPOLA, would have to become either a Phoenix, or a handful of ash. There was not a third choice.

And it was the former that he chose. Thus on the wide screen we see Albrecht for the last time: shirtless and at ease in an icy pond, he looked even younger than his age.

Throughout the movie, until his death, Albrecht had always appeared well groomed in dazzling uniforms. I thought of the fact that uniform serves as an icon for social values, while one’s body and the soul inside only belongs to oneself.

As he went down, half-naked, unsullied, with his short hair loosely spread in water, the enigmatic dissonance that haunted the boy came to an end. It was only by suicide did he finally gain freedom, from a world of collective zeal.




II. Friedrich

The timeless aesthete that embodied Albrecht as well as his true ancestors, Goethe, Heine and LudwigⅡ, had to be deeply rooted in daily life, or else appears stagnant and hollow. Friedrich’s character served this purpose well. This young man looked, acted, even smelt like his time.

In the beginning of the story, Friedrich’s father had prohibited him from joining NAPOLA saying “those are different people from you and me”. He only woke up the next morning to find a note left by the son:

… Dear father, I falsified your signature. If you retrieve me from the school, I’ll announce what you have been saying about it.

Maybe my parents’ generation in China would find some resonance in this detail? Indeed it’s hard to overlook the interesting facts shared by various totalitarian governments throughout history: The rise of totalitarianism often benefits from the roiling of current social-economic hierarchy. It inflames rebellion from the young against the elderly, expedites promotion of the subordinates over the seniors. This social turmoil under the name of an idealistic revolution, having seeped into the personal aspects of life, specializes in demolishing family structures.

Here stood our young Arian hero: tall and blonde, fair and strong, he fit well into the ordinary definition of handsomeness. He was compassionate, honest, tough, and, most importantly, blessed with a lack of introspection.

Friedrich dwelled in a world without mirrors. The ice that claimed Albrecht’s life allowed him, for the first time, to greet his own soul. And one glance was enough to convert him for good, from a participator to a beholder.

Once the youth refused to participate in the game, he was out. I found it a cruel irony that Friedrich, having dismissed his own parents, having witnessed everything in NAPOLA, including the death of Cadet Gladen yet still choosing to compromise to the Führer’s doctrines, was finally abandoned by NAPOLA in such a disgrace. The very officer who announced “men make history, we make men” would not even spare him a pair of underwear on the way out, because, “your underwear belongs to NAPOLA as well”.




I was reminded of Riefanstel’s Olympia, a world famous documentary of the 1936 Berlin Olympic. The camera seamlessly joined a long shot of ancient Greek statues into a scene of a naked, handsome German youth throwing disc, skillfully weaving Arian beauty into the Olympic spirits. The grand statement of Nazi aesthetics Riefanstel made proved irresistible to the art loving audience, winning her the Golden Lion in the 1938 Venice Film Festival. Even to this day, Nazi aesthetics with its idealization of human forms and ritual worship still appeals to our eyes.

But a beautiful body does not just accept worshiping; it also invites the harshest humiliation. Milan Kundera in his Unbearable Lightness of Being described a broken down mother who would not allow her daughter Teresa to lock the bathroom door when taking a shower, “for she insisted her daughter remain with her in a world of immodesty, where youth and beauty mean nothing, where the world is nothing but a vast concentration camp of bodies, one like the next, with souls invisible.”

The elitist officer who ordered Friedrich to march out naked, how he resembles Teresa’s mother – at a time without individuality, to deprive one of his uniform is to deprive him of his entire values and esteem. The youthful and beautiful body underneath the uniform means nothing by itself: the world is a vast concentration camp with bodies one like the next.

Nazis doctrines inevitably led to the complete obliteration of privacy, which defied the essence of Beauty, for beauty is a distinctive feature that belongs to individuals. As every single youth in every single Greek city had his own beauty, the ant-like Spartan could not be aesthetically judged without a personal identity.

Riefanstel should have seen that. During the latter years of Hitler’s reign, modern artists as Picasso and Van Gogh was banned, and the so called “Nazi aesthetics” had deteriorated fully into kitsch.

Naked, trembling with shame, Friedrich marched down a long, long hallway. It was only now did he understood why Albrecht had chosen to take his own life.

The surviving boy left the gates of NAPOLA in his ragged shirt brought from home. I thought I saw for the first time, true strength, as his lonely back figure faded into the vast outside world covered with snow.

Hartwell's Visit to California

The Young Rock Climber in Red

-- Song of Yosemite



’Twas a misty day and
the boy in red set out from underneath
a giant Sequoia crown.
Around his lean waist a coarse rope grasps,
the end
of which he cannot see, but along which can only –

ascend
high past the Fall
they call ‘Bridal Veil’. As in mid air he sensed
the watery fingers of the mist weaving
through pine tree tops
to reach her,
silently freeing her
of her wind-born vanity.

The Sequoia crowns have turned into dots,
drops of deep
green ink smudged the granite
cliff-edges defined by a stroke of glaciers
long, long gone.
Yet the boy is still in red.

He set out for a view of the shapeless clouds,
drifting through the world
just to rest on
Half Dome’s shoulder, they say,
where a dying sun sets her long burning glance
until it’s too weak.
And many a ghost of youth start weeping
on many a twilit creek.

Only mist ebbs and flows around
the boy in red.
Now he looks too small,
to either rise or fall.

Best of Yosemite Photos

The best photos from our May 2011 trip to Yosemite:

6th Anniversary

Had a wonderful full-day date to celebrate our 6th wedding anniversary. Started off the day with a delicious breakfast at our favorite local family-run Carpinteria restaurant, Esau's. The interior of this place is all surfing theme. There are several surfboards hanging in the dining area, and many paintings and photos of surfing, and continuous video footage of surfing legends. The food was delicious. I had a "gnarly burrito" and Sweewawa had a smoked salmon omelette.

Then headed off for Stand Up Paddle Boarding near the Santa Barbara Harbor, a first for us! We fell a bunch (me a lot more than Sweewawa) but the wetsuits were warm and it was a blast. Started to get the hang of it pretty quickly. SUP is decidely even more fun than ocean kayaking. First of all, the challenge of keeping your balance is quite invigorating, and once you get good enough at it the feeling of standing and paddling along the gently moving waves is quite relaxing. You really get a great view doing SUP. The picture below is right where we were paddling -- absolutely gorgeous stretch of coastline right near the Santa Barbara harbor. Definitely excited to make this be one of our regular sports.



After working up a mean appetite, headed to Cold Spring Tavern, a unique establishment I have been wanting to try since even before we moved here a year ago. I thought this place would be perfect for our anniversary, and it was.

Cold Spring Tavern was built in the 1860's as a way station for stage coach travelers as they made their way across the San Marcos Pass. This now paved road is what we use to travel from Santa Barbara over the Santa Ynez mountains to get to Lake Cachuma and the Santa Ynez Valley wine country beyond. The buildings, decorations, and the surrounding nature really make you feel like you are experiencing an untouched piece of history. Dining here is the first time we had had this feeling since enjoying Honey Mead by candlelight at the Fleece Inn in Bretforton, UK (in the Cotswolds). As if this wasn't enough, the food was delicious. I had charbroiled new zealand rack of lamb with champagne - mint glaze -- nom nom nom nom. Bar-b-que baby back pork ribs, which was also excellent.



After our early dinner there was still plenty of natural light. We rode our "stagecoach" back over the San Marcos Pass and decided to take the scenic route past the Santa Barbara Mission. Took a romantic stroll along the Mission Rose Garden before heading home.



What a day!