Some friends and I went up to the Russian River area for the weekend. It was supposed to be a weekend with Dad and Adele, but because of Dad's health they had to cancel their annual March visit. Sadness.
It was a nice and relaxing getaway, although I came down with an irritating cold. I'm still congested. Colds suck. Really. And why is it that only one side of my nose is stuffed up? Is there some sort of weird body physics that causes that to happen?
Anyway, I made the best of it. I read City of Thieves, the book I mentioned in my last post. It was an engaging read. The story is about two young men who are forced to undertake a dangerous quest during the siege of Leningrad, during which they become unlikely friends. Given the time period, it wasn't a very happy tale. Nazi's trying to crush Mother Russia, in the dead of winter, just doesn't inspire uplifting images of new friends hiking in the forest and learning about each other as they romp through a field of wheat. Despite it's dark setting and equally dark humor, I couldn't put it down. Some might think it should have illicited a more emotional response, that certain events in the books should have brought tears to my eyes. But I'm glad that wasn't the case, as I would have felt manipulated. I liked that the story was told in the voice of one of the boys, Lev, and that throughout he is trying to find his own strength, though he believes he lacks such strength. This was one of my favorite passages:
I nodded. Despite what he said, the arithmetic seemed very bad for us. They hadn't lifted a hand for Zoya, but what could they have done for Zoya? Six Germans and eight bullets in the Tokarev. I hoped Kolya was a good shot. Fear coursed through me, electric, forcing my muscles to twitch and my mouth to go dry. I felt more awake than I ever had before, as if this moment, in the farmhouse outside of Berezovka, was the first true moment of my life and everything that came before was a fitful sleep. My senses seemed amplified, extraordinary, responding to the crisis by giving me all the information I needed. I could hear the crunch of jackboots on packed snow. I could smell pine needles burning in the fireplace, that old trick to perfume the house.
I liked that the scenes didn't always pan out as I expected them to, and I liked the pace of the story, the dialogue and the descriptions. I say, give it a go. Myself, I've moved on to the new Tracy Chevalier novel, The Last Runaway.
Other then lazying about reading over the weekend, we also tasted some champagne over at Korbel. You'd think after all the times I've gone there I would remember why it is they get to call their champagne "champagne" instead of "sparking wine". It's not an exciting explanation. They were grandfathered in.
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| The Trio |
We looked at the river.
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| View from our porch |
We enjoyed Baxter's cuteness.
We also had a very nice drive up on Saturday. We all met in Point Reyes Station. I took Lucas Valley Road and then drove through the Nicassio Valley. It's one of my favorite drives. It's always green and fresh and beautiful.
In Point Reyes Station we walked around, visited the shops, had a coffe and chatted.
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| Not sure what to make of Peanut Butter graffitti |
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| Too bad Baxter can't read |
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| Cowgirl Creamery cheese |
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| The two Michael's |
Then we drove north to Marshall and Bodega Bay, stopping for lunch at Nick's Cove. Raw oysters and a crab sandwich. Yum.
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| Bold seagulls - fodder for Hitchcock's The Birds |
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| Bodega Bay |
A nice drive through the country. A nice weekend by the river. To my cold I say, pish-posh. To my friend's I say, thanks for putting up with my nose and all my tissues.
