Skipping Town

The Call of the Wild . White Fang . The Klondike stories. “To Build a Fire.” The Sea-Wolf . Chances are good that one or more of these works by Jack London once kept vigil on your bedside table, or maintains a place on your bookshelf—he was once a neighbor, after all, a denizen of nearby Glen Ellen, a tiny town in the Sonoma Valley. This weekend, I stalked Jack London—through the town where he lived, to the ruins of the house he loved, to the very bedroom where he died at forty. My exploration began on Friday, with drinks at the Jack London Saloon, next door to the Jack London Lodge in Glen Ellen. This bar/restaurant was established in 1908, which coincides to the time when the Londons were living in the area—conceivably, Jack London once hoisted a pint (or three) just as we did, overlooking the creek that runs beside the outdoor patio. Saturday, we headed to the Jack London State Historical Park, an 800-acre park that was Jack and Charmian London’s “Beauty Ranch.” Though Jack Lon...

I feel something stirring—A Good Thing. I can feel it seeping into my brain and hands; I can feel it shaping me. It rises up in very clear ways… …like these deviled eggs… …and my collection of Patio Tomatoes and flowers… …and here, in my Nicely Set Table. It rises up when I say to Andrew, “I’m so excited about cooking dinner for your parents—we can use our new serving pieces!” It rises up when I feel a thrill of excitement over using a new granite cheese board. For now, the dust bunnies and piles of leaves on the terrace keep it all at bay. But it’s lurking, biding its time, while I spend ungodly numbers of hours at home and look for diversion desperately wherever I can find it (and if that happens to be in my kitchen cabinets, then so be it). The transformation begins.

I was reading in the New York Times this weekend that the Encyclopedia Britannica is phasing out its print editions, in favor of online versions. The same goes for other encyclopedia companies as well. This struck the same chord of horror and disgust that I felt years ago, when I first read Nicholson Baker and became aware of the endangered state of card catalogues and print newspapers. Horrifying. It’s been a while since I’ve read Baker—but I do remember him obsessively buying bound newspapers from libraries, collections that were on their way to the trash, and stockpiling them in his garage or barn or some other structure. I was so inspired by (terrified by?) Baker that I purchased my own card catalogue, and I aspire to one day acquiring the card catalogue from the Connellsville Carnegie Library as well, cards and all. I’ve never had an encyclopedia, and I admit that if I did, it would probably get just as much usage as my thesaurus and dictionary currently do—that is to say, not m...

Andrew and I have started trying to “eat healthy.” We’ve never done too badly—we cook almost every meal at home, and we eat fast food only when we’re stuck in an airport—but at the same time I have a fondness for soups and gratins and pastas that would be healthy if only they didn’t contain several sticks of butter or cups of heavy cream or delicious slices of prosciutto. But after our bodyfat-testing adventure this weekend, we went to the food co-op, then another grocery store, and stocked up on genuinely Healthy Choices: rice cakes, Kashi all-natural crackers, fruits, vegetables, V-8, cranberry juice, grapefruit juice, salad, lean meats, yogurt, granola. It was an impressive display. This has nothing to do with our becoming “Californian,” really, and more to do with things such as the fact that since moving to California our walking has been reduced by about 99%. Hence the health food, and hence our gym membership. I’m shocked at the effect that California has had on us: who knew th...

Greetings, greetings. It’s been a while since I posted on Skipping Town—I’ve been writing regular posts on my new Sacramento blog, Desperately Seeking Sacramento ( http://saclights.com/blog/MargoOL ), but have neglected to stay up to date here. Part of the reason is that there hasn’t been too much to report these days. Andrew and I are finally settled into our possession-filled home; the last box has long been unpacked, our books are on the shelves, and we’re relishing the convenience of having pretty much every kind of kitchen utensil and appliance known to mankind. Though we blow a fuse anytime we microwave anything for longer than three minutes, for the most part our home life is functioning smoothly. We’re about four months into married life now; and it’s getting better every day. Of course I always appreciated the charms and humor Andrew brought to my life…but now I’m starting to appreciate his value as A Husband. That oil problem the mechanic told us about two months ago? I forgo...

Whale-watching and wine-tasting—could there be two more fabulous, and Californian, ways to spend a weekend? For weeks Andrew and I had planned a trip to Mendocino for the annual Mendocino Whale Festival, so early Saturday morning we loaded up the car and headed north. Sacramento’s location remains, hands-down, my favorite thing about the city. The drive to Mendocino was beautiful—we wound through vineyards and redwoods and rocky hillsides, through sun and rain. We stopped at Dean & Deluca as we went through Napa—who knew there was one out here?—and sipped coffee while debating what could lead a D&D cupcake to cost a shocking $6. Fortified, we continued on, passing several signs warning FLOODED and SLIDE AHEAD (but we saw neither floods nor slides). And soon enough we were surrounded by wine-glass-carrying crowds and more than a few former hippies. The Whale Festival name may suggest a focus on whales, but the real focus of this weekend—Saturday in particular—was on wine. Ei...