cheers to my newfound independence

Dear Readers,
I know in the last post I promised a reflective of my husband (LOVE IT!) and my trip to Snugatuck. However, I realize that if I keep re-capping, I will never move forward so I am going to take a break from the re-cap (after one whole blog) and update you on some of our most recent activities.
Since arriving in Oakland on Friday, the four of us have been totally beat. My incredible enthusiasm and natural drive to "nest" is really the only thing keeping me going, and Brendan has even less motivation, and more exhaustion. Gatsby really captured this feeling the best when this morning, I walked in on him in his "bedroom" (our walk-in closet) and found that he had attempted to get out of bed, but apparently passed out while standing up leaving his back paws still in the bed and elevated above his head, while his head and front paws were stretched onward in the walking motion. "I know how you feel cat," I thought aloud. Suffice it to say, we have not been very adventurous as of late. However, armed with gift cards from friends, relatives, and other well-wishers, and the realization that even after my belongings arrive we are running pretty low on furniture, we decided to take a drive to the Target in Berkeley, where we managed to do a decent amount of damage purchasing a set of "everyday" dinner and salad plates, a leather Parson's chair (Not Talcott, Daniel (we wanted 2 Parsons chairs for our bar, but they only had one in stock)), and a few other odds and ends that we desperately needed. It was our goal to make a pit-stop at Target, and Walgreen's before voyaging out to the Ferry Terminal at the Embarcadero, but when we got to the home and garden section of Target, we were simultaneously overcome with malaise. It was all we could do to walk, and we promptly cancelled our afternoon plans, and even our return trip to Walgreens. Instead, we made a bee-line home threw the chair next to the bar, and took our places sprawled out on the bed.

Meanwhile, we felt guilty for not taking advantage of the beautiful day. I know that I live in Oakland, California, and beautiful days are not hard to come by, but I just feel like it is a sin to pass up an opportunity to venture into San Francisco. We realize we are incredibly lucky to live in, what is by all accounts, paradise, and I can't quit my tourist mentality that I need to soak it all in before I must return home. Therefore, after chiding ourselves for being lazy, we vowed to make-up for it on Sunday with brunch at Ma Ma's. This, of course, was seconds before I realized Sunday was Mother's Day, and MaMa's and most any other restaurant in the Bay Area would be packed. We had resided ourselves to a lunch of peanut butter and jelly, but when the morning sun hit us, we knew we were going to have to do it--long line or no long line. Scrapping our first choice (a place called Ma Ma's is bound to be packed). we decided to go to our favorite Hog Island Oyster Company. Our wedding cake decorator (we share her with Martha Steward--no joke) Wendy Kromer tipped us off to their sinful grilled cheese decked out with an organic (but of course) sampling from the Cowgirl Creamery next door. After waiting in a surprisingly short line, we took our seats overlooking the bay and ordered Oysters Rockefeller, clam chowder, and of course our little sandwich with the intention of sharing it all. So adorable, I know :)
Our fresh bread and sweet cream butter was served promptly, and I made the all-too-frequent mistake of indulging too much. Little did I know that my stomach would need to be at full capacity to enjoy all that is Hog Island clam chowder. The oysters, served as an excellent introduction for what was to come next: the soup. Soup. I don't even know if this masterpiece qualifies as soup. It certainly cannot be compared to the canned stuff that lines grocery stores everywhere, and was certainly unlike anything I had ever experienced before. Because we have never been privy to clam chowder at HI, we were wrongfully expecting a small bowl of chewy clam chunks floating in a sea of thin white broth. Instead, we got a heaping bowl of thick stew-like cream, butter, and bacon thoroughly decorated with whole oysters that only hours earlier were in the very ocean our cozy seats overlooked. There in their shells, these succulent sea-creatures were waiting to be plucked from their little caves and devoured to our gastronomic delight.
Certainly, there was no way I could have predicted the chowder. My small mind is simply not capable of it's magnificence. So when ordering, I made the mistake of taking ownership of the sandwich (my tried and true) which was placed before me. The bowl of steaming goodness found a home in front of Brendan. Trying to speed the process of getting the soup into my stomach, I judiciously removed half of the sandwich from my plate and placed it in front of Brendan, waiting eagerly for what was owed. He, of course, being the more savvy of the two, plunged his spoon purposely into his bounty. Because soup is, by nature, difficult to share, and because no person in her/his right mind would part with a morsel of this particular clam chowder, I knew I would be left to fend for myself. When we raised his spoon to his lips I would launch my sandwich into the broth, and carefully return it to my mouth trying desperately not to lose a drop to the table. (Who am I kidding? It would not have been lost, I just preferred not to have to lick food from the table in public.) Forgetting my recent promise to follow a Kosher diet because it just makes good sense. I began removing entire clams and placing them on my plate along with bacon and cheese, sopping up their juice with my crust of bread. Indeed, this was the best clam chowder ever created--no apologies to my East Coast counterparts who loudly that you can truly only enjoy clam chowder in the New England States. It was perfection. The culinary cure to what ales you. Happiness in a bowl.
Sadly, one can only eat so much cream, butter, and bacon before feeling full, and even with both of us trying our best, we left pieces of sandwich and drops of broth uneaten in the bowl, before both agreeing it was time to throw in the towel. When Brendan finally emerged from his food coma, he announced confidently, "This was the best meal I have ever eaten." Now, I am not one to make sweeping statements, so I quickly searched the files of my brain and realized I would be forced to agree. "It's right up there.." I allowed. Sure, Hog Island does not have the panache of some of the finer restaurants I have dined in. Unlike Kraft, in New York, the waiters are not donning suits. Nor will they tell you about their wine selection. Instead the heavily inked staff wears t-shirts, jeans, and whatever shoes will enable them to run quickly enough to keep up with their customers demands. The open oyster bar allows you to watch the chefs shell the oysters and stew them in large silver pots, the clanging of which can make it difficult to engage in conversation, but it doesn't matter. I guarantee that while dining at HI your mouth will be so stuffed, and your heart so satisfied that you will barely have the strength to release a buzz of "mmmm" from your lips--but you will.
After leaving HI, we quickly had to shelve our plans to walk around the city. We were finished. There was nothing more to see. Instead we weaved through about 50 girl scouts and found ourselves back on the BART, where we were entertained by one of the most creative (if not the craziest) BART-freak I had ever seen, but I will spare you the details, dear reader.

After we returned, we retired to our bedroom where we finished watching a couple of movies, and snugged off our heavy meal. Later, I made an attempt at cleaning and putting away more presents. I promised to write thank you cards, I still have only managed to eek out a few. There is just so much to say! It takes me a long time, and we planned the next day's events. This morning I was awoken by the scratching of one very, very naughty cat on our bedroom door. I offered him his food, and was left alone for another couple of hours before he returned. Finally, Brendan was able to scare him off. I did not wake again until Brendan kissed me squarely on the head and re-tucked me in on his way to work. A couple of hours later I turned on the television to find that The Price is Right comes on at 10 here. Weird. A contestant won both showcases, which seemed like a good omen. I took it as a sign that I should travel out on my own today. I needed to got to Trader Joe's to get groceries for dinner, and the only way was to go it alone.
Brendan came home for lunch, and we went over the BART maps one last time before I set-off. I only had one minor snafu finding the train before I was on my way. Once I arrived to the Rockridge station I felt overwhelmed with pride and happiness. Not only did I make it there on my own, the "there" was paradise. I wandered through some various European-esque boutiques, and a couple of re-sale shops where I narrowly avoided purchasing any of the overpriced adornments, and finally made my way to TJ's. After buying about twice as much as I set out to, I paid my bill and headed home. No snafus. I managed the BART all on my own.
So, all in all, I have to say it was a really great day. I got to spend quality time with the hubs, and accomplish most of my to-do list. Now, back to more thank yous, or just drifting off under the covers...