My friends and I used to tell this joke when we were kids:
“Why do Mexicans make tamales for Christmas?
So we can have something to unwrap!”
Ok, that’s not really true, we were spoiled brats and did have a lot besides tamales to unwrap. Regardless, my family has made tamales every year since Mom and Dad were married in 1954. This past Christmas, Jim and I got to participate in the annual tamalada at Mom and Dad’s house, something we never had time to do before we hit the road.
I’m trying to capture the Agredano recipe, and put one of my custom books together that shows how to make them. But getting the recipe from Mom is a little tough.
“Oh, just add a little of this, a little of that,” she says. She doesn’t measure anything. All I really know is that it’s the lard that gives them their flavor. But once a year, this vegetarian will look the other way, because these tamales are just so darn good!
When we left California in June 2007, the cost of biodiesel was comparable to diesel fuel. Maybe a few cents a gallon more, but to me it was worth it to do my part in helping the planet.
However, since returing to the West Coast, we’ve had a harder time finding anything better than B5. Even back in Eureka where we first started filling our tank with it, locating an outlet was challenging.
Suddenly, not as many stations seem to be offering it anymore.
When we finally did pull into a station that had some, they were selling it at $4.00/gallon for B100. Almost twice as much as even the priciest diesel in San Francisco. We pulled out of that station faster than we pulled in.
It’s disappointing to see that biodiesel is becoming less of an option today. Someday in the future we’ll build our own stealth fueling station, but until then, it looks like nasty ol’ Number Two will going into our tank.
If you have any secret sources for finding biodiesel on the road, please let us know with a comment below!
I think it has to do with stuff. Too much stuff in their closets. To much stuff going on in their lives. All the “amenities” of life in the big city come with definite drawbacks.
The fine flatware, the library, the house plants, the wine cellar … these require lots of space, which only means you end up accumulating more stuff. Which in turn means you need more space.
The hot tub, the workshop, the garden, the manicured lawn … these things require time. Lots of time. Less quality time.
The big screen TV, the Wolf range, the Sub Zero side by side … these things require debt. Debt requires a good paying job, which often means a commute, and only adds to stress and speed of life.
Stress is the killer road big city life leads us down. Everything is rush, rush, rush. We forget about humanity and the things that really make us happy. It’s all about me. Now. My job. My time. My stuff.
Stuff does not equal happiness. Having lived on the road for a year and a half, and come to sense true freedom, it’s easy to feel self righteous when imersed in the typical daily grind. But I can tell you one thing about the pain and suffering metropolitan life inflicts upon people without them even being aware. It’s contagious.
It’s hard not to be affected when confronted with the lack of smiles in the supermarket or while sitting in traffic. I say slow down. Ask yourself what truly makes you happy. And don’t rush to come up with an answer. But feel free to share below once you know.
Before we got to L.A., we stopped in San Francisco to see old friends and reminisce about our life back in The Day. Veering from our usual frugal routine, we splurged and stayed at the Red Vic Inn in the Haight, just around the corner from the old party house where I spent the better part of my 20s.
Back in 1995, I was a slacker with five roommates inhabiting a non-stop party house. Jim was a long-haired biker posing as a responsible marketing guy in a Saab. One night Spoonie played matchmaker, and brought us together. Despite the vast differences in our lifestyles, our lives converged and we were never the same again.
In December, thirteen years later, we were back where we started, at least for a night. After a walk through the city and several cocktails, we returned to our room. I promptly climbed out onto the fire escape overlooking the scene on Haight. I had to take it all in again, at least one more time.
The energy below felt exactly the same as it did in 1995. All of the same characters were there. Street punks with their dogs, musicians playing on corners, bicyclists coming home from work, and strolling tourists. Nothing ever changes.
I sat outside, barefoot and hoarking down an Anchor Steam. My mind played back scenes of our life together; they went through my brain like the pages in a flip book.
The Gold Cane on Haight, Where We Met
We’ve been through so much together, and come so far from where we started. It’s been a wild ride getting here, and after all these years, it just keeps getting better. I can’t wait to see what’s around the corner when we hit the road again in a week or so.
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