Memories of good food, naps, laps
The Collectabelles of Lake Wildwood (this particular chapter founded by the gracious Nita Bryant) came to Washington for lunch last week and to listen to me blather about the town’s history and its residents, both past and present. They stuffed me with salad and French fries (the salad canceled out the fries), and I waxed eloquent for much too long.
I had a great time and was so grateful … they laughed in all the right places; what a relief! Dear sisters, thank you from the bottom of my heart for spending your afternoon with us in Littletown.
Let me recommend the Café Salad, which made all the taste buds in my mouth stand up and sing “Ode to Joy.” The various dressings for same are all freshly made by Chef Wil: ranch, blue cheese, creamy Italian, raspberry vinaigrette, etc. I never knew ranch dressing could taste so good.
I’ve been told that the French fries are trucked in by the bag, which I find hard to believe. Lori must be doing something magical to them back in the kitchen, because they are excellent.
Thom Staser sent me the following sad yet inspiring obituary.
“It is with great sorrow that I come to inform you of the death of Clyde Matson. Clyde was born in Sonoma County, Northern California, in 1988. He was raised by his foster mother, Iris, and moved with her to Nevada City in the summer of 1999.
“Clyde loved good food and a good nap, or a good lap. He was an avid hunter, keeping the bird and mouse populations down.
“Earlier this year, Clyde was diagnosed with epilepsy, and was put on drugs to control his seizures. This was quite embarrassing to him, as he had always enjoyed robust health.
“On the evening of Monday, August 23, Clyde suffered his first seizure since starting his medication. This upset him, as he hated for us to see him with slobber dripping from his powerful jaws. It was then that I think he made up his mind.
“After laying on my lap and purring for awhile, he hopped down and wanted out. He stared into the darkness, looked back at me, and stealthily disappeared into the night.
“I was awakened a little after 3:00 a.m. to the sounds of the battle about to be joined. Like Leonidas at Thermoplae, Roland at the Pass or Custer at the Little Big Horn, Clyde was up against a vastly superior opponent, and chose to stand and fight, not to run. It was loud, swift and violent, over by the time I could leap to the window.
“Clyde left no blood relatives that we know of. He is survived by is foster mother, Iris, and friend, Thom. According to his wishes, and the fact that we couldn’t find his body, there will be no services.
“The family asks that in lieu of flowers, alcohol (for medicinal purposes) be sent. In his memory, we ask that all of his friends remember him one last time by having a nice big lunch and taking a long nap. He would like that. Below is a picture of how he would like you all to remember him.
“Good hunting and napping, Clyde!”
That is not a bad sendoff for man or beast, is it?
The Washington Mung Fairy made an earlier-than-expected, extended visit at my house. She’s wearing a flannel shirt, Levi’s with both belt and suspenders, and logging boots, and she is as mean as a bucket of snakes. If you should come down with some kind of bug, please let me know and I will bring you chicken soup.
Vivian Herron is a long-time resident of the town of Washington whose column appears on Saturdays. You can write her in care of The Union, 464 Sutton Way, Grass Valley, 95945.
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