cat on roof

Did I say I was going to knit? Yes, of course I said that. But knitting I have not done. I have read the words of Luckybuzzzzzz (luckybuzzz.blogspot.com), and I am shamed. Not a-shamed, so don't get feisty. But there she is busy and distraught, and yet she can ramble with the best of them. And me? Not knitting. Not dancing. Not helping to deliver a baby - yet. I could use the excuse that Mama Brown and Papa Brown will be parents any minute now, and I am meditating and practicing my coaching techniques. But, as you may have guessed, some of that would be a lie. I have been sending out positive birthin' energy across town, since Papa Brown is now on maternity leave, and there's really no reason to wait any more. But sending energy doesn't take all that much time or effort. Unless I'm doing it wrong. I plan to go see Tom Petty and the Black Crowes on Friday, with Smokey and The Yogini. But again, this barely explains why I have been sitting around doing nothing. Unless I am listening to albums (how old am I?) and practicing lyrics so that I will be ready for the show. Alas, I am not. But now that I bring it up, I wonder if I should be doing that too, whilst I knit. Ah, to knit. Perchance to dream. I should be writing a wedding ceremony for Fat Bat and the Lost Dog, too. We met last week to figure out the ceremony, and I have a lot to work with. Maybe I am more like Lucky than I thought. I am sure the others think I am on it. And I will be, for sure. Everything is bound to get done. But I am motivated like a snail. In soft, dry sand. Who is drunk. And has a full bar, a bbq and a cozy bed with a new comforter in its shell. Yet, strangely, I have none of those things.

I just stepped away for a few minutes while I rolled dough and put a batch of cookies in the oven. I've done something! Of course, this particular act seems to further implicate me. As a lazy bum, I mean. I did have to search around for ingredients. And then for a recipe that didn't require eggs, as I have none. For cooking, that is. And cookies really are best with a cup of tea, so I filled the pot and turned on the stove and took out cups....you see where this is going. I've been a busy little bee. I think I should sit back and relax now. And have some cookies. Implicate? Dimple bait? Simple mate?

If you watch the news at all - and maybe you don't because blogs are your source for current events - you may have heard about a humpback whale that washed onto the shore in Half Moon Bay. That whale is not the aforementioned whale of my beautiful day. I'm not just saying this to make me feel better, though I might if I thought it was necessary. That whale washed up the day before my sighting. Of course, this means there is still sadness attached to my superday. Our whale probably hung with the other one. Maybe they were related. Maybe they were dating. So unless, as I tried to convince myself the other day, whales celebrate death because it is tiring traveling the seas for hundreds of years, this was probably a bummed out humpback giving me such joy. Hmmmm.

So, I "marched" 11 miles today. Or I just walked. But three and a half were walked from the Mission to West Portal to see March of the Penguins. And three and a half were walked home. And though there was an extremely steep and mountainous hill to climb and descend, those penguins really endure a hell of a lot more. Every year. Most of the year. Have you been wondering about my math? If not, you should have. But me add good. The Yogini and I did a morning walk earlier in the day to get breakfast, and then to check on the newly planted vegetables in the garden. To my surprise, they were all still there and seemingly pest free. Shook a few pears from a tree and thought of Steve Miller.

About the penguin movie - if you haven't seen it, here's my opinion. I love documentaries. I love nature. I have been a fan of National Geographic for a long time. Starting to wonder where this is going, and if it is going downhill? Yes and no. It was cool and beautiful. The location was stunning and freezing beyond what human folk can really comprehend. The story had the ups and downs that come with nature. The sort of stuff that reminds me time and again that nature sucks. And (or but) it was made kid-friendly, even the steamy sex scene with slo-mo and pump music. I liked that it was made and put on big screens. I just wonder why the thousand other documentaries with just as interesting animal and nature filmage were not. And probably will not. I've seen better. And that's my review. I wondered the whole time how many feathers per square inch (FPSI) these penguins have. And I wondered how the human crew stayed warm. And I wondered if it is hard for nature film makers to stand by and watch animals die, or if they are just at peace with nature sucking.

Made little pizzas for dinner tonight for crappy movie viewing Saturday. Fake sausage, new potatoes, fresh oregano, red onion, garlic and mozzarella. Tomorrow I shall knit. Oh yeah, the crappy movie is on tv. It's Futureworld from 1976 - Peter Fonda and Blythe Danner in the sequel to 1973's Westworld. Fantasy land with robots and the scrappy fella from the Rockford Files. Hard to write....must watch bad good movie....Peter Fonda glasses so big.

I'm not suggesting that you have to see a humpback whale to have a good day. I don't believe you need to wake up in a forest with towering redwoods and fir trees, either. You certainly don't need to have a morning campfire, steamy coffee and a warmed croissant with melted cheese. And every good day doesn't include waking up next to The Yogini the morning after a 5 mile hike up a mountain. But, if you have even one of those things, and I am saying this from experience, it is bound to be a day to remember and one worth savoring. Because how likely is it that any of these things will happen again any time soon? I can't say for sure. I can say that if I had to choose between a full-time job with lots of pay and working for myself so that I could have days like this last one, the answer would be B. Because...I SAW A HUMPBACK WHALE TODAY!!!!! Not to negate all the other wonderful stuff, like the one I forgot to mention, stopping on the way home and planting vegetables in the garden. Or walking downtown this afternoon with The Yogini and planning for our future. But, as we turned out toward the coast,halfway between Half Moon Bay and Santa Cruz, and we had just passed Pescadero beach, I asked The Yogini to let me know if she saw a whale. Then, and I swear I am not making this up, three seconds later I looked out and there was this great beast rising out of the water to take a look around. Luckily I screamed with joy, so The Yogini could see her too. I have been known to spot "seaweed" sea creatures on occasion. We pulled over and jumped out and climbed a ridge. Two guys were there, and they asked if we'd seen the humpback. We giggled and answered something that meant yes. Then we scanned the sea for her. And there she was again and again and again. Her tail. Her blowhole blowing spray into the air. Her huge body caressing the waves. Or the waves caressing her huge body. I don't know. It was, needless to say, hard to leave. Each time we said goodbye and asked for a final glimpse, she agreed and showed up. There is probably more to this story, but I have to keep you coming back. Can you rhyme something GOOD with humpback?

I got off the ferry into the sunshine and headed down the Embarcadero towards the ballpark. I wasn't headed to a game, I just wanted you to get a sense of my route. I ride this path several times a week, and I enjoy it much more than anything that takes me near Market Street. I can forget about the misery and violence and mental illness and even the stench of my fair city if I can just stay away from Mission and Market. So I do. So I ride along in the bike lane next to the defeated commuters who herd themselves toward the freeway and parts unknown. Sounds busy, but it is a smooth ride and the lights work with me. I don't actually go as far as the park, I turn off just before at Townsend, where there is a bakery called Town's End, a restaurant that has fondue night on Wednesday and an apartment building called Mutiny on the Bounty or Crushing Waves or some other deep sea sort of thing. This is a block past Brannan and it was when I got there that I felt someone on my tail. And then I heard him. Just a little whirring noise every ten or fifteen feet. It started to disturb me. I imagine that this is because one of the ferry workers kind of pissed me off on the boat. I've sailed with these fellas 40 or 50 times in the last few months, and I know where to put my bike. I wait until all the rental bikes are stowed and then I lay it gently on the last one. I like my bike. Well, one of the seamen felt a need to exert his power on me today, and started yelling at me across the crowded deck to put it somewhere else. I ignored him and took care of things, but I guess it stuck in my craw. So the repeated buzzwhir right behind me wasn't greeted with enthusiasm. I figured that since I was turning off at the next block I could handle it. So I turned. And the whirbuzz came right along with me. This was too much. I came to a near stop and turned my head. I don't do that a lot on my bike. I've got places to go. It turned out it was only a mere messenger boy. His message to me: sorry. Pretty lame, he suggested, to be drafting a girl. He'd been riding all day though, 35 miles or so, and he was tired. I laughed and said it made sense to me. So hang on. Okay, I didn't say the last part, but I told him it was no problem, as I'd just gotten off a boat and I had strength enough for two. And I rode. Much like the wind. And he drafted and chatted and told me about his day, and how he'd almost seen a car/bike fight when a messenger laughed at a car in traffic and said he hoped the gas prices hadn't gotten too high. He really had a lot to say for a tired rider. I laughed occasionally and agreed once or twice. Then, after about a mile, and a history of the traffic problems over the years on this particular road, he headed off to his last delivery of the day and told me he'd owe me a beer on pay day. Only problem, he added, was that it was pretty hard to find him on pay day. Then I was on my own, remembering a tired me last week on this same stretch of road. As a girl on a bike, there are certain hazards or annoyances that one must accept. There are others that one can ignore and taunt. Almost daily I am passed by boys who don't actually ride as fast as I do, but who can't stomach the possibility that they will be seen trailing a female. They stand up on their bikes and peddle their asses off until they are about a half a block ahead, then they settle into a speed that is still faster than they are used to. But at least they are not pulling up the rear. Which is funny, because I always enjoy a nice rear view. Anyway, last week, when I was tired and had a ways to go, one of these boys struggled past me, and rather than laugh him off, I picked up my pace and steered against his back tire. I drafted that little fuck for ten blocks. So today, when messenger boy - he never told me his name, but neither did I - needed a rest, I figured it was my due.

Here goes another (lame) attempt to make something happen on this page. That's how it feels right now, anyway. I really get how people who work full-time jobs lose time for all the other interesting stuff. I myself don't have one, but I have. Oh, I have. Worked full-time over half my life thus far. Luckily I got laid off a couple of times in the last two years. And laid on, too. Or lain. Which is a nice segue to how I'm filling up the hours these days. Back to the land of proofreading - and I know this sets me up for all you pompous correctors to abuse - from whence I came long ago. I guess I've been proofreading since about a week or two after I learned to read. It was bound to happen. People are always spelling things wrong and using multiple tenses in the same sentence. And where I came from, the use of a word like "ain't" could actually cause a ruckus at the town hall or L'il Peach or, if it was a Friday night, the Friendly's parking lot. And I was on it from the first. I and me were never casual words in my world and if you tried to toss them around without a license, I was the annoying punk who was going to do something about it. And then I decided I liked having friends, so I gave it all up. Started smoking pot and sneaking out of school to drink wine coolers in the gully. Couldn't help but get A's in English, but I managed to hide my linguistic ways most everywhere else. Barely made it into college, so I dropped out lest anyone start to wonder. And it was shortly thereafter that Shazam told me about a job at a publishing company. And since, at the time, I was slicing meat and stocking coolers and getting to know all about who really reads Playgirl, I crossed a picket line - and I know this sets me up for all you pompous teamsters to abuse - and got me a job reading words and fixing mistakes. And not just any old words and mistakes - legal jargon, legalize, codes and laws and the kind of things the general public (often misprinted pubic) think they're ready for but couldn't handle without proofers like me. And so I proofed and I read and I reread and I stetted occasionally, used carats and colons and squiggles and slashes and even, when necessary, I talked to editors. And then, I stopped all that. Different reason than in my youth. Won't go into my heroic gesture, but it was clearly time to step away. And I did. Far away. Went back to slicing meat. Tongue. Mortadella. Did I mention I've been a vegetarian longer than I've been working full-time? Tried a few ventures - lovin' and teachin' and researchin' and combinations of the three. But I'm back with the words now, and I'm afraid that the more I read and earn money for rent, the less I get the urge to write when the day is done. But I'm trying. And I wonder if anything rhymes with mortadella.

I know - from the 5th to the 11th without a word. For a boring old married person I must have been busy. Or so you would think. I realized a few things over the past week while I wasn't writing. It may have been silly to tell so many of the people I know about this thing. They may come to expect something from me, like words. Also, now when I get the urge to write about the silly or odd or interesting things they do, I have to consider if they too would find it silly. Or not. Makes a girl think she should start blog2 - but girl can't keep up with blog1, so....NO. What else did I think of in the last week? I thought a bunch about my friends. I saw a bunch of my friends. Which reminded me why I complain to myself or more likely The Yogini when I am missing them. Even the ones that live down the street. My friends are cool and fun and good to be around. I've caught a glimpse or two of other people's friends, and I am glad to be me. Sure, Azucar flew in and spent three nights - nonconsecutively - and she can fairly be considered the cream of the crop. Probably nobody ever said that about her before. Or about a friend. But I was thinking about pizza and tops and looking for something verging on clever. And then that happened. You might remember that there were a few out-of-towners here a week or so before. And I know no other people who would have played a full day of pig tossing and so, they must be considered the crow's toes. And then Mama and Papa Brown. At the baby shower, Papa B got up for his baby's mama to thank everyone, AND, he read each and every book they got. He has thousands of readings ahead of him, but there he was " a bah and a moo and a cock-a-doodle-doo." And Mama B, the very next day at Ms. Highlights and The Rocker's wedding, with her hair all sweet and curled, laughed and laughed and even danced with Papa B to the delight of all us onlookers. There are so many more sweet pictures floating around in my head. And, though it would seem appropriate to keep writing, I am not going to. I'm achy and cranky and feeling like I do every month or so about this time, and I am logging off. I will write more. I will write more often. I might even have something interesting to say. But not now. I've got to go write my dissertation. Or was that someone else? What do you think rhymes with dissertation? And, by the way, I was hoping for delight and surprised by insight.

That's right, I've been cooking. I had to leave the sunshiny rooftop at noon to go earn a little money, and I left more than beautiful weather behind. The Yogini and Azucar were laughing and drinking Fat Tire when I went. And when I returned it looked much the same, only they had added a Chicken. And I am not talking poultry. And grits ain't groceries. They were a jolly threesome and I was a grumpy me-some. I decided the best way to get over my mood was to start preparing for tomorrow's event. Chopping onions and garlic usually fixes things. It took a while, and some ginger grating, potato peeling, chutney brewing and spinach fixing, but it did the trick. Also, watching Chicken and Azucar stem the most humongous bag of spinach in town was nice. I could watch that most Friday nights. What annoyed me and how does this prove I am nuts? Listening to at least an hour and a half of Led Zepplin on full blast. Spilled beer on the deck and the "attempt" to clean it by spraying 1/3 of the deck with water - and I was in socks and no shoes. People asking me what to do. Sad puppy drunk faces. Drunken babble. Yeah, I got issues. But the food has turned out nice so far. And by nice I mean yummy good. Just have to transfer the chutney from the pan to the jar. Then I think bed is the best place for me. And yes, I do know how early it is. There is so much more weekend ahead of me, though. And I don't have a bumper pool table. And I haven't come up with a good word by accident yet, and I'm not sure if one will slip in if I just keep writing this sentence. Nope, the sentence is over and there's no fancy word worth rhyming in sight. But do any cool words rhyme with sight other than blight and ignite?

Luckybuzzzzz just set up The Yogini with blog capabilities. That's what os9 does to you. If only Shazam was here, we would could climb up on the upper roof and dance naked in the wind. Smokey would probably get in on the fun too, without going upper deck or naked. Ms. Highlights could forget for a moment that she will be married any minute and she could spit irishItalian curses at the hotel keeper. Mama Brown, if she could stay up this late, would try to calm all of our insanity and Luckybuzzz would just be so damn glad to be on the rooftop that she would smile smile smile and remember to herself that she is no longer a smoker. Azucar is somewhere over Nevada sleeping off last night's drunk, and it's almost time to get in the silken Lumina with JakBJak to fetch her and bring her home. And those are the people in my neighborhood.

I got a phone call last night - well, a message - from a long time friend (we met almost 18 years ago). He was giddy and he said he is moving to San Diego. I don't know the details yet, but it sounds pretty good to me. Why, you are wondering? Especially if you knew that he WAS living outside LA in Santa Monica, which, according to my California map is closer to SF than SD. The answer - two words - Jet Blue. Or is it JetBlue? Either way, it's a fabulous ticket to Long Beach and I think it costs less than the drive down there would, considering the Bush Family & Friends Plan which has raised the price of gasoline to just under the national deficit. So, I must have been thinking about this friend of mine when I went to sleep last night, or at least thinking about San Diego, because I had a dream about another long time friend (we met almost 33 years ago). She has lived in Oregon and Alaska and Oregon for many years. But in my dream, she called to say she was moving down to San Diego. Now in her case, this is a shorter distance no matter how you look at it. But I just couldn't wrap my brain around her moving to a city, and I was pretty distraught about it. What does this have to do with you or religion or politics? Nothing as far as I can tell. Just trying to keep my fingers tapping, and this is what I came up with.

Since you have been so patient, and you keep reading even when I go on about almost nothing, I will share something that could affect my credibility in the future. I'm willing to risk it, especially since it is possible that there are only two people reading this, and one of them is me. I've been watching Rock Star INXS. From now on I will give that an alias. If you can think of a good alias for a show that pretends to be hard core and calls INXS a rock super group and has a chick named Brooke calling Dave Navarro (self-proclaimed poster child for rockers) her best friend at least twice a show, please let me know. Right now I am leaning towards Le Crap and Kick Ass! or possibly Ass Kiss. Why, then, am I watching week after week? Apparently, I'm not very busy that time of night. Also, they actually have to sing rock-type songs and where can you see that without paying eighty bucks? Alright, there is no excuse for this type of behavior. At least I do not vote. For the future lead singer of INXS, I mean. I try to vote for politicians when I get the chance. It doesn't seem to work. Maybe I should vote for the tv stuff - it would be the first time my vote ever bagged a winner - if it worked. I guess I'm not willing to risk that as freely as I'm willing to risk my reputation.
Hmmmmmmmm. Enough divulging for today. And I think I will make that the word of the day: Divulge. Other than "my bulge," what rhymes with that?

Oh yeah, and I've been slacking in the recipe arena. This weekend I will be preparing some appetizers for a baby shower. We'll be having samosas made with a vanilla yogurt dough, fresh ginger, potatoes, sauteed onions and peas. I will serve these with a side of mango, apple, nectarine chutney (those are the fruits that have been ripening too long on the baker's rack). I'll also be serving my classic baked brie with sliced almonds and garlic, wrapped in The Yogini's puff pastry. Of course, we will roll out about a hundred spinach balls, prepared with fresh chopped spinach, onions, garlic, parmesan, butter and the secret ingredient - don't go no-name on this - Peppridge Farm Herb Stuffing Mix. For dessert, we will have a make your-own-sundae bar with hot fudge, caramel, peanuts, cashews and whip cream. I'll let you know how it goes.

I ain't talking if I can write. These were the words I just spoke to The Yogini after I hung up the phone. Sure, it wasn't someone I can talk to very often or for long, but really, what it was about was opportunity. With a capital O. Ends in Y and so do I, almost. Maybe it would be better if I did talk this out first. Seems to be going in uncertain circles heading nowhere. Possibly. Or am I being presumptious? We shall see.

I wrote camping bits yesterday - about the drive and the hike. And I wrote a letter to France (an individual, not the country, but in the country, though with a different name) today and babbled on about last year's baby deer and bunnies and the after dinner walk with the white-faced cows. And so, what I am getting at is this: I cannot write the same thing twice. The same story anyway. This enhances the challenge of keeping you entertained, while assuring one-of-a-kind documents a- traveling to and fro. And thus. It came about when I remembered that I didn't remember what I last wrote (not here, duh, that's easy enough to figure out) so I determined to remove the risk of redundancy. Really.

In the spirit of coming up with something new, I can't think of a damn thing. I guess you have been updated, sort of. And the computer seems to be working, so I could, potentially, come back later and embellish. Doubtful. Other than relish, what rhymes with embellish?

I know I say this often, especially upon return from the north woods, but I've got to get out of the city for good. Driving back today, though pleasant for a while, turned into traffic and then it all became cement and unhappy people living obscenely, whether in poverty or wealth. This is no good for me. What is good for me? Well, once Red and The Pagan finally showed up (why do I expect people to show up on time, they are not me) we drove out of town. Took about a half hour in the middle of the day just to reach the bridge. Yuck. Followed by yum. Over the Golden Gate and to the woods.....The whole ride, we were in the shadow of turkey vultures and hawks coasting over the golden fields. Cows and newly shorn sheep in every other farmer's pasture, and goats and horses and baby horses trying to walk and once, a couple of zebras! Yes I am in California not Zimbabwe. When we hit the coast and turned right at the Bodega Bay Lodge where we stayed with MG (need an alias from you) once and swam in the freezing pool after soaking in the octagonal englassed hot tub, the misty cool fog took over. The breezes were almost too cool for August anywhere else. Stopped at the corner store for some cold ones to celebrate arrival, and then we arrived. Checked out the riverside spots, but decided to head to our usual campground. It was Monday, and though there were a few cars, we alone were camping, so we had our choice of any site in the new growth redwood playground. Red chose the furthest site, and since they were staying three nights, and us only one, and this was their first time here, we went along. With all our gear and food and wood. And our gear is heavier now that we are almost in our late 30's and we camp with an air mattress. Thought that might be all the hiking I would do - back and forth with camping equipment, but I saw that glimmer in The Yogini's pretty brown eyes, and I knew I had to go on. And up. This was the first time I did the hike to the top in a few years, and I found something out. I'm in better shape now than I used to be. It was a pretty serious incline, but it was not too difficult coming up through the trees and jungle-thick shrubs. And when you reach the sunshine at the peak, and the air is like honey, it is absolutely worth whatever it took to get there. We hiked on a bit further on a new path that took us narrowly through berry bushes and ferns. I climbed up a little hill where I suspect the deer sleep at night, and looking out I could see the curves of the coast at Jenner, where the seals gather and the tourists embark on the curviest jags in the coastal highway. The sun beat down and the white caps crashed against the shore and I was very glad I didn't stay at the campsite. More later maybe, but for now I must knit.