Braver than a Possum?

I let a possum win.

Last Sunday I buckled down to do laundry, after all I needed my favorite jeans. I carried a basket of colors through my leafy courtyard to the tiny laundry room at the back of the Spanish-style building where I live. Luckily, my neighbor who owns a hair salon wasn't washing 25 towels and salon cover-ups that night - the laundry gods were on my side!

Thirty minutes later, I slipped on my Converse, grabbed keys and walked down the stairwell to switch my clothes to the dryer.

And then I saw him.

I heard a rustle in the courtyard and saw a massive thing, some kind of rodent scurry across the pathway toward the back of the building, long rubbery tail fluttering.

Oh shit. What was thaaat? Summoning my courage, I proceeded toward the back since I knew I could make it to the laundry room so long as I didn't spot my new friend again.

But he wasn't ready to say goodbye.

At the back of the building, just as I was about to hang right for the laundry room, I looked over and saw this furry creature - it was a possum! - climbing a small tree with orange flowers about six feet away. The possum froze as he gazed over, staring at me with big, beady black eyes. I figured he was mad since I disrupted his peace, but then I spotted the vulnerability in his eyes. He started to drool out of fear, clenching that branch even tighter.

I don't know who was more scared, him or me?

I stood there for what seemed like eternity, staring at this guy and trying to muster the courage to walk past the tree where he clung for dear life. "Don't be ridiculous," I reassured myself. But my fear only intensified as I pictured the possum leaping from his branch and wrapping his claw-feet around me. Irrational thoughts, I knew, though ... I just couldn't do it.

I walked back to my apartment, defeated. And laughing. Yeah, I let that terrified possum win.

Saturday Sipping in Santa Barbara Wine Country

Santa Barbara wine country was the highlight of my weekend. Only about two hours north of L.A, it feels worlds AND eras away.

Alejandro and I began our adventure with a pit stop for "American mountain food," as I called it, at Cold Spring Tavern that's hidden beneath a forest canopy on the San Marcos Pass mountain range that offers a dramatic entryway to wine country.

I first read about the tavern in the Los Angeles Times and have adored it since -- it's an old stagecoach inn that now stands as a rustic restaurant teeming with old-world charm and killer, hearty food. We sat in the front room, next to a massive stone fireplace with a manly wood mantle and actual burning logs that epitomize nostalgia. You can't go wrong with anything on the menu and we somehow managed to pick: western barbeque tri-tip sandwich and steak fries for me, their famous tri-tip sandwich with apple horseradish and bbq dipping sauces along with potato salad for him. We both tucked into the beer-battered onion rings, and all was well in the world...

Our first wine country stop was Rusack Vineyards, which has become a favorite. It's nestled in the rolling hills of Solvang, a cute little Danish town that brings a slice of Scandinavia to SoCal. The tasting room is a white country house and its expansive wooden deck is the real draw, built around leafy trees and offering a painterly view of the hills with patches of tall grass that were swaying in the wind. The tasting menu at Rusack was my favorite; we were both wowed by the crisp chardonnay with notes of pear and citrus (it was a standout!) while I ended up leaving with a bottle of the 2012 pinot noir since the price was more reasonable.

Next was Firestone Vineyard, which put Santa Barbara wine country on the map when it opened in the mid-70s. It was my first time there and though we tasted a few nice reds (he loved the merlot that was intense with a complex aftertaste and for me it was the Bordeaux-blend that changed a lot from start to finish and ended with a burst of vanilla), the wine experience at Firestone wasn't as impressive as the picture book windows that framed the golden-hued hills beyond.

It was nearly closing time of 5 pm as we zoomed off for our final winery, Rancho Sisquoc, which was recommended by a wine and travel writer in Napa Valley. Off-the-beaten-track in rural Santa Maria, this historic ranch estate was part of an 1852 Mexican land grant and is hidden from the world off winding country lanes, around the bend from the restored San Ramon Chapel and next to a bright green pasture with stocky black cows. We rushed through the wooden front door with a few minutes to spare and picked six wine samplings from the biggest tasting menu of the day. The rancho has a delightful throwback ambiance similar to that of Cold Spring Tavern, though I didn't think the wines were as memorable. We walked through the picnic lawn that would have been a lovely spot to sip if we'd had more time, and then moseyed over to that pasture to check out the cows and a citrus tree with electric yellow fruit that blazed against the blue sky.

It was an awesome Saturday sipping in Santa Barbara wine country...

Remembering How...

Has it been almost two years since I blogged? Yowza!

It's funny how time slips away and one week away from your blog rolls into a month, creeps into a year later and ... where does the time go?

A lot has changed, though enough has refreshingly stayed the same, since my last post in summer 2012. I'm enjoying life, which is kinda the point, right? And since my randomness has remained intact, I feel compelled to tell you that I ADORE my new-ish apartment and the old-world charm of my dining area where I'm remembering right now how this blog thing works: