Suzanne has a multi-level house built into the bedrock on the side of a mountain in the middle of a redwood forest. When you walk out onto her back deck you look down over a huge valley of green trees meeting blue sky. She wears a lot of pink and purple tops and bottoms with petite flowers, and when she lays on her side with her back to you on her purple velvet couch, it is impossible not to take her picture. She is tall and stately, has bodacious breasts, and she's killer in a tank top with short shorts with bare legs and Uggs. The word "frail" does not come to mind when describing Suzanne. She has a son, Pablo, who emanates purity and goodness, and it was all I could do to keep from bringing him home.
Suzanne is the kind of hostess who asks what you like to eat and then makes sure she has plenty of it at all times, and when you're hungry and she scrambles you fresh eggs for breakfast, your mouth explodes with the pleasure that only good simple well cooked foods can bring. She also gives great writing feedback, although in my case it was incomplete because there just wasn't enough time. However, what she did give me was extremely helpful.
Suzanne is sensitive yet delightfully politically incorrect, as well as extremely funny. She is one of the few people besides myself whom I have ever heard cackling in another room at her own witticisms. She is fiery, extremely bright, and very fun to laugh out loud with. She is also generous, bestowing gifts of precious books and wondrous socks upon delighted blonde cold-footed guests from Pennsylvania. However, in my opinion, her gaydar could use a serious tuneup.
Suzanne is not someone who likes to pose for pictures. She's like a rarely-spotted almost extinct creature of whom very few images actually exist. My visit did not do much to increase the world's collection of images of this rare bird. However, I did garner this one portrait of her, seen here in her natural habitat.
Winding roads lead to Suzanne's house. Because it's California and there's a great reverence for all things green, redwoods are preserved whenever possible. Therefore, one may be driving along a road only to be confronted with a huge tree growing in the middle of it. Parking spaces must be reached by driving precarilously around the big trees that have been left haphazardly along the road sides, by squeezing in between them and the actual edges of the roads. While driving on any mountainside street you may be surprised by a stop sign which suddenly becomes visible as you pass a huge tree in the road which you previously didn't realize had been blocking your visibility.
I am also not one for having my picture taken, but here I can be seen at 5 A.M., in front of some majestic redwoods which the streets and parking spaces have been built around. Cars have wound through the trees into their parking spaces down the sides of the road. Navigating this maze of massive trees is like driving down Lombard Street, only thankfully minus the tourists.
