stats & cats & hotspots

I wish I'd find one password and stick to it, but I don't seem
to be able to. I usually use a cat's name, but since I've had
five of those, it does get confusing. And, yes, I do write
everything down, but not all in one place. I know, there are
serious problems in Africa, India and now poor Karl Rove is
about to be indicted. Tsk. Tsk. And here I worry about my
password and my blog hits.

Anyway, I'm trying to get into the Stat Counter to see how
many hits commano has had, but there are issues. Wrong
cat or something. Maybe mañana.

Last night as we were breaking up our writing group, Chef P
was worrying about finding a Wi Fi spot for her computer
when she travels to Georgia today. I suggested that she
"Google Wi Fi" for the directory. Will then said, "imagine
15 years ago someone saying 'google wi fi' ~ we'd think
they were coo coo." Here it is, Sarah, in case you are
missing us, feeling homesick and reading this.
WiFi Hotspot Directory, Wireless Internet Access Locations,
WiFi Security, Equipment and News

this is it!

Commano's first birthday. It's hard to believe. Thank you
Mistress Jane for gently pushing us here. And a million
little thanks to the readers and the ones who comment
on and off the blog. Thanks to Michael who does blog
maintenance and to the Google folks for providing this
free blogspot. I still as am enthusiastic about the blog as
I was a year ago, maybe more so.

I have that free hit counter, but not enough time to go and
check it right now to see how many folks have clicked on
my blog. Maybe tomorrow.

With a few exceptions I have tried to write SOMETHING
every day. That was my goal a year ago. I have learned
so much and I always think that is one of the reasons I'm
here, don't you?

mister talese on mister bonds

My coworkers try to notify me when an author comes in
to sign books. Gay Talese (looking dapper, of course)
arrived last Sunday to sign his new A Writer's Life. Of
course he was pleased that we had the book on the first
floor in the memoir section. It was an honor to meet him.
Powell's Books - A Writer's Life by Gay Talese

In yesterday's Chronicle, Leah Garchik wrote:
As a former sportswriter and fan, Talese seems intensely
interested in Barry Bonds, whom he describes as having
been "singled out for crucifixion because he's a superstar
...It's savagery, him being dragged from town to town to
be pilloried. It's like the stations of the cross...I think
journalism should be respectful, not character assassination."

I agree.

cutting, pasting, sharing

I've spent most of the day either in the garden or buying
plants. When I obsessively checked my email the first time
I found this lovely one from my friend Mary who works up
at General Hospital. It's not exactly a posh work environment
as you might know.

m.a. -
I have gotten on friendly speaking terms with the middle aged
black woman who does the early morning maintenance in our  
hall. We are always the first ones here.
When I give her my morning greetings.  "Good morning.
And how are you today?'
She always answers, "I'm blessed! I am truly blessed! 
And how about you?  You blessed, too?"
She says this while she is emptying trash baskets into a big
rolling garbage bin, and she means it.
I hope you get a chance to go out and enjoy this beautiful weather.
mary
  

his sister calls him "Thing"

I have a new novel here and enjoyed the first chapter
immensely. I never did get hooked on Cloud Atlas, even
though it was supposed to be one of the best books of
2004 (or was that 2003?). Anyway, David Mitchell's
new book Black Swan Green takes place in 1982 in a
small town in England. The narrator is a 13 year old boy
and we know they are ALL subhuman, but this kid is so
funny and confused and likable that I was right there
with him from the very first word. Read a few better
reviews here:
Powell's Books - Black Swan Green: A Novel by David Mitchell

why didn't I think of that?

The Salon Mistress starts our first few days of Round Robin
writing with us sending/receiving everyone's daily work.
It's a bit different writing to 25 people, I filter my thoughts
and become (for me) a little more gentle and generic.

One of my invisible online class mates wrote something that
I'll think about for a long time. Now I'll paraphrase:
"If you are always drawn to damaged, tortured people,
you might want to stop telling yourself that you came from
a happy childhood. That nothing much happened, etc......."

By the way, it's great to be writing everyday again. I am
so grateful that I discovered
The Writing Salon :: Welcome

a difficult choice

Yesterday's writing prompt was "a difficult choice". I found
it extremely interesting that four people wrote about
either putting their dog down, leaving him/her with an ex or
giving the little darling up for adoption. How those wiggly
creatures worm their way into our hearts. Or maybe it's
because they are so dependent on us for their very life
and death and their pursuit of the yellow tennis ball.

I still think and dream about our Irish Setter. Sidney was
a Jewish Irish Setter and went from a long puppyhood into
senility without any quiet middle years whatsoever. His
presence remains in our home and I can still hear the
thump-thump of his tail on the wooden landing between
the stairs as he welcomes us home and begs for an ear
scratch. Brave Husbando took him to the vet for his
final shot and I deeply regret that I didn't go and stay
with him for his final moments. This is how we learn...

why I carry my camera

green hornet
Originally uploaded by the omster.

Now you need to look closely at this. Those are itty bitty pieces of red glass (I think) and it certainly does sparkle on one of our rare sunny days. I walked by this car on Precita Avenue one time when I did not have the camera ~ so I learned my lesson. Ginger from Kansas was with me the second time, and it was she who came up with The Green Hornet name. At that time I told her that I would post this when I had absolutely nothing else in the world to say. So now you know....

out of the blue

A couple of days ago Husbando remembered this that his
father used to say:
"The recollection of quality remains long after the price
  is forgotten."
I'd like to report that he follows these pretty words, but
actually he can remember what we paid for almost every
item we've purchased in the past 30 years or so. But
now I have a quaint little quote to use when he says,
"yikes, that's too expensive!"

is that you dan rydell?

Last night was one of the best ACT plays of this season.
Only one hour, only two actors ~ but boy did it pack a
wallop! A Number was written by Caryl Churchill and if
you were a fan of the TV series Sports Night, you will
know Josh Charles who played Dan Rydell, and if you
are a woman, you probably had a crush on him. (Some
men did too, of course.) Anyway, last night he played
3 different cloned sons of actor Bill Smitrovich. The play
not only addresses the whole concept of cloning, but also
the idea that parents sometimes want to create perfect
children in their own image ~ without their irksome flaws.
Lots to think about here, go see this play.
American Conservatory Theater - ACT San Francisco

did you say a rooftop?

I love small, crowded "real" bookstores where women have
long hair past their prime and wear Birkenstocks and smile
easily. And the men too, so alive, despite their grey pony tails
and maybe the same jeans they wore to the peace marches in
the 70's. We went to such a place last night:
Bird & Beckett Books & Records
Our Will from writing group read some of his perfect poems.
One (Happiness, I think) for his wife and the joy he finds
in the everyday moments of their life together. The Great
Plotnik played the piano and multitalented Will was on his
harmonica. Husbando and I had been on different wave
lengths (see how gently I say that?) before the reading,
but we silently forgave each other as the poet's words
reached into our cold, cold hearts. Healing, soothing.
Read our Great Plotnik for Will's cheesy shirt poem...
The Great Plotnik

Another poet (Jane Radcliffe) lived in Lima, Peru at one
time. Poor people rented space on various rooftops and she
lived that way and wrote about it. She was a teacher,
then a dancer and always a poet. So I learned something
new and that's always worthwhile.

un dia sin inmigrantes

Today at noon I walked along Market Street to show my
support for the Immigration Rights march. There were
thousands upon thousands of people and I stopped along
the way to smile and applaud. Check out the Chronicle
for the story and photos:
Thousands march in Bay Area for immigration rights

It was weird and eerie walking home from BART along
24th Street. All the pastry stores, small shops and
restaurants were closed and the usually bustling street
was deserted. I missed the noise, laughter and music,
not to mention the luscious food smells. I'd say this
special May day was a huge success...

jim & ted

When friend Ginger from Kansas was visiting us almost
two weeks ago, she would read snippets from a poetry
book and we would smile wistfully. Examples:

At the tip of memory's
great funnel-cloud
is the nib of a pen.

All those years I
I had in my pocket.
I spent them,
nickel-and-dime.

When she left me
I stood out in the thunderstorm,
hoping to be destroyed by lightning.
It missed, first left, then right.

Jim Harrison and Ted Kooser are longtime friends.
We don't know who wrote what in this delightful book
Braided Creek. The words, the poems are all that
matter. It is my staff selection for May and I bought
a copy for myself to read again and again.
Powell's Books - Braided Creek: A Conversation in Poetry by Jim Harrison

yes, ag, it is a grand thing

I like living. I have sometimes been wildly, despairingly,
acutely miserable, racked with sorrow, but through it
all I still know quite certainly that just to be alive is
a grand thing.
Agatha Christie, British Writer

ms. strout is a fave of mine

I loved Amy and Isabelle, so when Elizabeth Strout's
new novel appeared last week I grabbed Abide With Me
to bring home on our book loan program. See why:
Actually, the child did not resemble either one of her
parents. Not yet. Not now, as she scuffed through
the gravel of the driveway, clutching acorns in her
hand. There was no indication of her father's height
or her mother's fullness. And while in time the minister's
brow and mouth would appear with startling exactness
on the face of his daughter, right now the girl looked
almost part animal, like she came from nowhere, or was
raising herself, living outdoors on roots and nuts: skinny
little limbs, and hair so fine that in the back it stayed
matted in a big snarl, hung in wisps down the front.

Powell's Books - Review-a-Day - Abide with Me: A Novel by Elizabeth Strout, reviewed by The Atlantic Monthly

the premium rigid search

I would have skipped the movie Everything is Illuminated
because the hero wears those bothersome big glasses
all the way through. But then I read the Doctor's review
Chock Full of Inner Demons and decided that I had to
see it. Smart decision on my part ~ Husbando and I both
loved the movie (he watched it twice) and I wasn't
prepared for the excellent ending. Funny, touching and
sometimes sad...in a good way. Filmed in the Ukraine
where I'll probably never visit, so that was an extra treat.

a labor of honor

her life so far
Originally uploaded by the omster.

I didn't mind working on my day off yesterday, because I have always had great respect for Jane. She was a perfect guest, polite and gracious to everyone, taking her time to talk to each person on a personal level.

Before she started signing, she spoke about how her book came about. She started it when she was 59 and had to tuck her laptop inside her fishing vest when she went to the river with her then-husband, Ted. (Her favorite ex.) She would find a secluded spot and write until the battery died, then go and try to catch a fish before they met up again. Obviously, this husband wasn't supportive about any Jane-centered activities. She felt she had to figure out the first 2/3rds of her life before embarking on the final third.

The crowd was polite and she bravely asked for questions. There were no nasty people yesterday, but we know she does encounter them and she had her body guard and small white fluffy dog to protect her. The dog spent most of the time in her lap, snoozing.

Jane spoke to several of the customers in fluent French and that was a pleasant surprise to me. There were more Barberella (sp?) posters and DVDs than I would have liked to see, but she was sweet about signing them. One woman even brought a tattered copy of Jane's Work Out book, from the 70's, I believe.

Yesterday was very special for me. Thank you, Jane, for all you have done for America, especially women.

writing begets writing

It doesn't make sense, I know, but I can't think of much
to write about since I'm not doing the daily Round Robin
writing. Thankfully, that starts again next week. I guess
some gear in the brain clicks on to "write" and that
way I don't have to fill the blog with cat photos, or why
I love SF thoughts. I have learned to take my camera
when walking about this strange city, some unexpected
treats are always waiting for us, or so it seems. I'm
looking forward to two days off, but you knew that.

luv for sale

waiting for you
Originally uploaded by the omster.

Here's one of the kitties we left behind yesterday. Sabina or her brother Greg, I'm not sure which. I'm so proud of the no-kill policy of our SPCA and wonder if our government could ever be so humane.

shopping for furballs

nice digs!
Originally uploaded by the omster.

After work Bossman and I went to the San Francisco SPCA because he wanted to adopt two cats. I had not been since the remodel, but knew that I'd be impressed with the comfortable cat suites and you can see that they even have videos, toys, cat poles and lovely soft beds. It was great fun for me and Bossman now has
two short haired brothers, 1 1/2 yrs.
old. Here is one of them ~ Tiger or Rascal, but those aren't their real names...yet. What a fine experience to go to a well-run animal shelter and NOT be depressed. A happy new chapter, too, in the life of a Boss!

don't forget the mad brother...

Over the weekend my friend, Mary, was able to see TWO of these only-in-SF funerals.
I promised her this poem by Lawrence Ferlinghetti:

The Green Street Mortuary Marching Band
marches right down Green Street
and turns into Columbus Avenue
where all the cafe sitters at
the sidewalk cafe tables
sit talking and laughing and
looking right through it
as if it happened every day in
little old wooden North Beach San Francisco
but at the same time feeling thrilled
by the stirring sound of the gallant marching band
as if it were celebrating life and
never heard of death


And right behind it comes the open hearse
with the closed casket and the
big framed picture under glass propped up
showing the patriarch who
has just croaked
And now all seven members of
the Green Street Mortuary Marching Band
with the faded gold braid on their
beat-up captains' hats
raise their bent axes and
start blowing all more or less
together and
out comes this Onward Christian Soldiers like
you heard it once upon a time only
much slower with a dead beat

And now you see all the relatives behind the
closed glass windows of the long black cars and
their faces are all shiny like they
been weeping with washcloths and
all super serious
like as if the bottom has just dropped out of
their private markets and
there's the widow all in weeds, and the sister with the
bent frame and the mad brother who never got through school
and Uncle Louie with the wig and there they all are assembled
together and facing each other maybe for the first time in a long
time but their masks and public faces are all in place as they face
outward behind the traveling corpse up ahead and oompah oom-
pah goes the band very slow with the trombones and the tuba
and the trumpets and the big brass drum and the corpse hears
nothing or everything and it's a glorious autumn day in old
North Beach if only he could have lived to see it Only we
wouldn't have had the band who half an hour later can be seen
straggling back silent along the sidewalks looking like hungover
brokendown Irish bartenders dying for a drink or a last hurrah.

Lawrence Ferlinghetti

little big city things

On my walk from BART up Powell Street this morning,
I was thinking about the unexpected pleasures of
city living. The waitress who gives us the best table,
even though we are clearly not wealthy people. This
morning the BART train driver waited for me while I
rushed down the steps to catch the 5:35. (I waved my
thanks and he waved back.) Then the tourist customers
who want to tell me how much they love my City ~
even people who live in London and Paris fall in love
with our magnificent San Francisco. Jim is my good
luck homeless guy and he is always happy to see me
whether I have a dollar for him or not. Of course we all
know that small towns are warm and friendly (and
small in so many ways), but I just think it's extra special
when we can find some sweetness in this urban setting.

not in my backyard

mickey @ crissy
Originally uploaded by the omster.

What is HE doing here at Crissy Field?
They must have seen us coming because Mickey was deflated in about 2 seconds, right after I cursed and snapped this photo.

After our sunny walk we had lattes and pastries at The Grove on Chestnut, then headed home to clean up and get to Lulu's on Folsom for an elaborate lunch which included those extra special grilled mussels, portobello sandwich and a few million other high calorie treats.
Stuffed and happy, we walked down to Triptych to see a photo show by a guy in my yoga class, then came home to rest a bit. At 4:30 we hit a very crowded Mitchell's for ice cream we didn't need, then took Ginger to the airport.

Now the Giants are blowing the game and I'm feeling a little sad because that's how I always feel when Ginger goes away. But what a lovely weekend and thank you for the sun.

new blog appears!

Notthatlucas has created a delightful photo-filled blog
and I was up early reading it and chuckling at his photos.
Great job, notthat.     But I wish I could leave a comment,
occasionally even maybe a nice one...
Click Here: Check out "Blog"

one full, fabulous day

crissy walk
Originally uploaded by the omster.

We started walking early and fast down here at Crissy Field. Does anyone ever get tired of this bridge? We had LOTS to talk about, two women who haven't seen each other in six months or more. One stuck in Kansas and one living in the city that she has loved since her first visit when she was in college. (enough with the confusing 3rd person stuff)

Then to Rulli's on Chestnut for gigantic double lattes and pastries. Two each giant lattes, that is. Sitting outside!

Husbando scampered out for Chinese chicken salad for us and then Ginger and I walked over to The Great Plotniks for a perfectly splendid afternoon in the sun with Dougo, Barb, Mistress Jane and Jackie Pie. We talked of many things and laughed in all the right and wrong places. Outside, in the sun!

Back home and then to dinner at Delfina's on 18th Street. Steak, halibut and duck with sauerkraut and kumquats.
Very special. Great, friendly service.

Now we are watching the Giants and talking about our most perfect day.

a quick hello-goodbye

My friend, my rock, my heart (Ginger) is visiting us for
just two days. She lives in The Little Apple (Manhattan,
Kansas) but is a City Woman still in her soul. We have
known each other for 30 years and I think she knows
every horrid and every admirable thing that I've ever
done. And probably vice versa.

We shall be laughing/crying/walking/talking for two days
and commano will get short shrift, I fear. Well, maybe
a photo or two...plus, NO RAIN today. Sunshine!

easter sunday

lilly season
Originally uploaded by the omster.

These are from our garden. It's about the only flower that I can grow successfully because they don't require that I give them any attention or food or worry. And god knows they are getting enough water this year.

"It never rains after April 15th in San Francisco". I heard that when I first moved here and usually it's true. But it is raining again this morning. Oh, more tedious gloomy weather...more irritable customers putting their wet umbrellas down on the books. Poor people who had planned outdooor events today and even worse news for all the homes sliding down the hills all over California.

Giants lost last night, good thing I didn't stay up to watch.

thwarted and still 6-3

I guess I missed a good Giants vs. Scumsucking Dodgers
game last night, it was postponed until past my bed time.
Dang. I love to watch baseball after a hard day at work
because I can still noodle around on msBook and even
read a book or magazine. This year the rain has followed
our Giants around, but we still keep winning. So let's
hope for tonight and tomorrow night ~ we are the ESPN
game o' the week with a most perfect 5pm start. Now
I need to think about getting to work....

veddy french

Usually I take my little boring brown bag lunch, but today
I met my writing friend Jeff (who has a corporate job
downtown) at this delightful French restaurant. Mary
(also a writer) introduced me to this place and now it's
where Michael and I have Christmas breakfast. So you
can see it has a history, and sometimes an attitude, but
that's OK by me.
Cafe de la Presse Frnch Restaurant and Cafe

We talked about writing and how hard it is, one of those
habits that's impossible to acquire easily. Nothing like
cigarettes or booze, that's for sure. Jeff is working on a
book and I am, hmmmm. Today my boss said the title
for my book, if I were to ever do such a courageous
thing, might be Memoirs of a Geisha in Retail.

Tonight is my writing group (Tiapos) and I'm just taking
an old 200 word piece from 2003. But I think they'll like
it because it's different and after many months I actually
thought it was a bit above average.

My croque monsieur was way above average.

another simple truth

Our car Ken the Toyota is still in hospital, so I walked to/fro
yoga this morning and thought about this subject for ol'
commano...and a poem that sort of fits.

Several weeks ago a friend surprised me because he
absorbed something from the movie The Weatherman
that already changed his life. When the father (Michael
Caine) tells his weatherman son (Nicolas Cage) this:
"usually in life, the most difficult action is the correct
one to take". I have paraphrased badly here, I'm sure,
but you get the gist. So often I have taken the easy way
out of a situation or hoped that a problem would go
away on its own, when I needed to step up to the plate and
do what I had to do...even if that was a far cry from what
I wanted to do. I am grateful to my friend for sharing
his thoughts (and some new actions) about this discovery.

Now here is a poem that I've sent to people when they
have needed it:


THE JOURNEY

by Mary Oliver


One day you finally knew

what you had to do, and began,

though the voices around you

kept shouting

their bad advice --

though the whole house

began to tremble

and you felt the old tug

at your ankles.

“Mend my life!”

each voice cried.

But you didn’t stop.

You knew what you had to do,

though the wind pried

with its stiff fingers

at the very foundations,

though their melancholy

was terrible.

It was already late

enough, and a wild night,

and the road full of fallen

branches and stones.

But little by little,

as you left their voices behind,

the stars began to burn

through the sheets of clouds,

and there was a new voice

which you slowly

recognized as your own,

that kept you company

as you strode deeper and deeper

into the world,

determined to do

the only thing you could do --

determined to save

the only life that you could save.

the book, the poem, the day

My current favorite book of poetry is New and Selected
Poems by Mary Oliver. I bought it on 09/13/04 for $6
at Bart's Books in Ojai. Isn't is odd that we are never given
any sort of premonition when we wake up, that this will
be a special day? An extraordinary day, in fact.

This is the day that I ran into my college friend Ginger,
after decades of losing track of one another. It would have
been a fine day anyway, because my friend Michael and
I were going to have coffee at the French Bulldog in
Summerland and then head to Ojai for lunch and a bit
of sightseeing. But there she was, looking pretty much
like the very same Ginger from years gone by. "Excuse
me, did you go to the University of Colorado?" I asked.
The rest is happy history and now I have two Ginger
friends in my life. Oh, most fortunate me!

I love this book of poetry because it is pre-marked by
a woman with a 415 area code. Sometimes I feel like
calling her up, her name and phone number are on the
front page. There is a poem with a line "Oh, you never
saw such a garden!" and tucked in between those two
pages Ms. 415 left me a pressed flower. It traveled
from the Bay Area to Ojai and back again to stay.
Don't you just know that she was a perfect first owner
for my poetry book? Here is a poem that we both love:

      The Sun

Have you ever seen
anything
in your life
more wonderful

than the way the sun,
every evening,
relaxed and easy,
floats toward the horizon

and into the clouds or the hills,
or the rumpled sea,
and is gone ~
and how it slides again

out of the blackness,
every morning,
on the other side of the world,
like a red flower

streaming upward on its heavenly oils,
say, on a morning in early summer,
at its perfect imperial distance ~
and have you ever felt for anything

such wild love ~
do you think there is anywhere, in any language,
a word billowing enough
for the pleasure

that fills you,
as the sun
reaches out,
as it warms you

as you stand there,
empty-handed ~
or have you too
turned from this world ~

or have you too
gone crazy
for power,
for things?

Mary Oliver

with an Italian theme!

flowers @ macy's
Originally uploaded by the omster.

This is the week of Macy's flower show and here is one of the sweet displays. I guess when they heard I was planning the trip to Italy in 2007, they decided to plan their yearly extravaganza around that. How thoughtful.

I love the way the store smells with all these fresh flowers and it seems like the clerks (errrr, associates) are in a better frame of mind...or maybe I am. It surprises me every year to discover the number of people who are a block away from Macy's and don't go in to enjoy il
fiores.(I'm not taking my Italian class until October, so that might be incorrect.)

want to paint that fire hydrant?

I'm amazed at the number of tourists in town now for the
Earthquake anniversary! It's something I didn't really
expect, I thought it would be one of our quaint little SF
events, but it seems to be a Big Deal nationwide. I'm
guessing these are history buffs, or maybe just folks
who used to live here. Check out this web site:
San Francisco Rising: Events

read all about it

When I send entries using Flickr (below), I can't get the link
for my faithful readers and this is all so interesting that
I thought you'd like it here in orange. And yes, Ms. K is
correct, some shacks still exist, 100 years later.

Western Neighborhoods Project - 1906 Earthquake Refugee Shacks

beats an empty trailer

1906 refugee shack
Originally uploaded by the omster.

We are gearing up here for the 100th anniversary of that big earthquake. Yesterday I went to see this little cottage that is on display (free) down on Market Street, where O'Farrell ends. They built more than 5,000 of these basic one room shacks and put them in parks across the city. Our own little Precita Park held a bunch of them. Of course when the government wanted to remove the shacks a year later, many people still didn't have a place to go.
The similarities to New Orleans are obvious. Read about these shacks:
Western Neighborhoods Project - 1906 Earthquake Refugee Shacks at www.outsidelands.org.

back to yesterday

sun&small boats
Originally uploaded by the omster.

Gees, I got so many nice comments that I'm going to keep talking about Opening Day. They have these new "big glove" rubber boats and people are floating around and calling their friends on the ever present cell phone. Pretty soon they won't let us in this little jewel of a ballpark without a flip. Even I, luddite of the decade, called Kristin ~ but's that a tradition and those are holy. Only one call, honest.

So after the huge ovation/hooting and stomping for Barry, this good looking man who recently had his teeth whitened approached me and he had a microphone. Right behind him was a TV camera and Mr. Brite Smile asked me how I felt about Barry and they wanted me to be on TV with my exceedingly original thoughts. I said, "oh no, I'm too shy to be on TV" and they both rushed off to find someone who had consumed the $7.75 beer and wanted to be a star.

I do love Opening Day, right down to all the clerks at the Safeway on 3rd Street wearing orange and black Giantswear. Too cool, there is a certain electricity....

stop the chop

bunting!
Originally uploaded by the omster.

Our SRO tickets were $15 each and we stood for quite some time right behind home plate. The ceremony was very nice and of course we all hooted and whistled for poor tormented Barry, to make up for the abuse he'll take when the team is out of town. We had Polish hot dogs with sauerkraut and as you know by now we beat the so-called Braves by a final score of 6 to 4. The sun did come out and when we walked around the park I was amazed at the number of people NOT paying any attention to the game. And they probably even had seats! Muni was running on time and all in all, it was a mighty fine Opening Day!

dusty in a good way

"London looked all right, Helen thought. The pavements
were dusty ~ but dusty in the way, say, that a cat's
coat is dusty, when it has lain for hours in the sun."

I'm reading a new book, one that has been compared to
Mrs. Dalloway. Sarah Waters is the author of Tipping
The Velvet and Fingersmith, and now this novel is
getting terrific reviews. It takes place in London in the
1940s and is rich in plot and glorious detail. So rent,
buy or borrow The Night Watch and you'll love it too,
I betcha. You can read about it here:
Powell's Books - The Night Watch: A Novel by Sarah Waters

actual rain-free blue skies

sunshine on bernal!
Originally uploaded by the omster.

I know, it doesn't look like this anymore, the sky is gray and I think it will be raining again soon. I'm glad I have proof that this did exist today.

even the orchestra is beautiful!

from the movie Cabaret (1972)
The rain stopped about 4pm and I was able to walk
for almost two hours. I headed up to Anna's Linens
on Mission Street because it smells like the department
stores of my youth and also I needed to buy another
sheet for the sofa bed. One cannot buy just one sheet
anymore, just a set, but no complaining when the sun
is actually out. Everything was beautiful, even the...

We had an Irish lunch on Guerrero Street (note the irony)
at Liberties, sitting at a table in the front window,
watching unhappy people walking under umbrellas for
the 435th day in a row. Listened to a man bragging
about his sexual prowess and when I finally was able
to turn around and see him I thought, "oh, yuck, how
you lie." But I liked the restaurant, our first time there.

Watched Blood & Wine this afternoon (the movie) and it
was OK, not great, but fine for a rainy afternoon.

I took a photo of a very green Bernal Hill in the sun and
I will post is as soon as I dig out the camera cord, etc.
Tonight is baseball again ~ double hooray.

for wednesday, in purple

On Wednesday of this week, April 5 at two minutes and three seconds
after 1AM, it will be 01:02:03 04/05/06.  This will never happen again in
our lifetime.
(thanks to Havey in SoCal for this bit of info.)

poetry and baseball

A-Rod was in our store today, not in the poetry section,
however. The baseball players always head for the
magazines. Now I'm watching our very first game
of the season (we are playing in San Diego) and looking
forward to 3 days off. Baseball, movies and poetry ~
and maybe even some sun?

This poem is by Stephen Dunn in his book The Insistence
of Beauty and I particularly liked the little jab of self-
deprecating humor at the end.

Love-Lies-Bleeding

I said to her who takes plants seriously,

Someone gave Love-Lies-Bleeding its name,
who on a different day, differently reminded,
might have called it Love's Sweet Aftermath
or Early Passion, its drooping purple-red
flowering spikes so broadly suggestive.

We had a book open between us.

That someone, I continued, must have been
an authority for the name to have stuck,
Don't you think so? Or perhaps a wit.

Isn't Love-Lies-Bleeding comic,
like midlife crises to those long past them?
The name, I mean, isn't it funny,
like B movies, the dialogue purple
as a giant bruise, all the characters
actually saying out loud what they think?

No, I don't think it's funny, not at all,
she said, and laughed the way I'd seen
good actors do in lieu of what they felt.
It was time to stop talking about it, I was sure.

But I continued on.

oh, do not ask, "what is it?"

April is National Poetry Month and to that end (ahem)
I'm going to try to explain to myself and to you, just
what it is that I love about an elegant poem. One of
the young uns at work selected T.S. Eliot's The Waste
Land and Other Poems for his staff selection. I dug
out my college copy (95ç new) because it was probably
the first poem that I ever really studied. The pages
are filled with backward slanted red notes: "tragic -
petty, meaningless daily lives".  Was that me? Or
was I just writing down what the professor said?

That of course would be forThe Love Song of J.
Alfred Prufrock  (1917) as is the title of this post. I still
recite these lines when I go to the museums:
"In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo." And this is the poem with the
famous "I have measured out my life with coffee spoons".

I think I enjoyed melancholy more then, in fact I know I
did. The Waste Land (1922) begins:
April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.

My April will be better. The rain WILL stop, baseball
season begins this week and I will bring some cheerier
poems here to celebrate this poetic month.

RIP Sister Rose

You need to consider going to see Our Lady of 121st
Street at the SF Playhouse up on Sutter. It's very New
York, very clever (which equals very New York) and
extremely well acted. It has been extended through
April 22nd and it also had a terrific review in the Chron,
but let's not start that again. I guess it's a comedy,
but not really ~ you know what I mean. One of the
best plays we have seen this year.
sfplayhouse.org

dueling reviewers

Well, my cold is not that bad and I am getting sympathy
from fellow-workers and I can breathe germs on mean
customers. In the Chronny today, Robert Hurwitt wrote
his review of ACT's The Rival. Some of you readers know
that The Great Plotnik loved this sappy play and I didn't.
Mr. Hurwitt agreed with me. Smart man. Actually, I liked
what TGP wrote in his e-mail to me ~ something about
this is why there were originally two reviewers on Noah's
Ark. I had completely forgotten that. Viva la difference.
(sic) And honestly, I have disagreed with Hurwitt in the
past, so why am I still talking about this?

today ~ tomorrow!

I am coming down with a cold so right off the bat this
was a difficult day. Then, a special treat that cheered
me up for a few hours. Tom Tomorrow was in to sign
his new book Hell in a Handbasket. We chatted for
a while, he seems to be a gentle man and we know he
has a razor sharp wit and no tolerance for all these
fools in Washington, D.C. One of the best things about
working in a book store is meeting my heroes. Here is
Tom's web site:
This Modern World

malaprops cause malaise

Just when you were thinking, "that woman likes any damn
play", here I am with a review of ACT's The Rivals by
Richard Brinsley Sheridan. It takes place in 18th Century
Bath (Bawth), England and the first act was one long
hour and twenty minutes. I don't know about the 2nd
act because we left at half time.

This is the play where Mrs. Malaprop uses the wrong word
every 20 seconds or so. It always amazes me how one
person can find something funny and another person
will say, "get me out of here". There were folks laughing
out loud, the way I do with Larry David or Jon Stewart.

Husbando doesn't like American actors struggling with
fake British accents and he begged me to include that
thought in here too. I agree.

The actors, costumes and stage settings were magnificent.
We are huge fans of René Augesen and Gregory Wallace,
but this play written in 1775 was simply not funny to me.
There seemed to be more empty seats than usual last
night, so maybe others were forewarned.

when do WE say "enough"?

I have never watched "Boston Legal", but this morning
my friend Mary in St. Louis sent me this, and it's too
impressive and moving not to post:

Alan Shore's closing argument

Alan Shore: When the weapons of mass destruction thing turned out to be not true, I expected the American people to rise up. Ha! They didn't.

Then, when the Abu Ghraib torture thing surfaced and it was revealed that our government participated in rendition, a practice where we kidnap people and turn them over to regimes who specialize in torture, I was sure then the American people would be heard from. We stood mute.

Then came the news that we jailed thousands of so-called terrorists suspects, locked them up without the right to a trial or even the right to confront their accusers. Certainly, we would never stand for that. We did.

And now, it's been discovered the executive branch has been conducting massive, illegal, domestic surveillance on its own citizens. You and me. And I at least consoled myself that finally, finally the American people will have had enough. Evidentially, we haven't.

In fact, if the people of this country have spoken, the message is we're okay with it all. Torture, warrantless search and seizure, illegal wiretappings, prison without a fair trial - or any trial, war on false pretenses. We, as a citizenry, are apparently not offended.

There are no demonstrations on college campuses. In fact, there's no clear indication that young people seem to notice.

Well, Melissa Hughes noticed. Now, you might think, instead of withholding her taxes, she could have protested the old fashioned way. Made a placard and demonstrated at a Presidential or Vice-Presidential appearance, but we've lost the right to that as well. The Secret Service can now declare free speech zones to contain, control and, in effect, criminalize protest.

Stop for a second and try to fathom that.

At a presidential rally, parade or appearance, if you have on a supportive t-shirt, you can be there. If you are wearing or carrying something in protest, you can be removed.

This, in the United States of America. This in the United States of America. Is Melissa Hughes the only one embarrassed?

*Alan sits down abruptly in the witness chair next to the judge*

Judge Robert Sanders: Mr. Shore. That's a chair for witnesses only.

Really long speeches make me so tired sometimes.

Judge Sanders: Please get out of the chair.

Alan: Actually, I'm sick and tired.

Judge Sanders: Get out of the chair!

Alan: And what I'm most sick and tired of is how every time somebody disagrees with how the government is running things, he or she is labeled unAmerican.

U.S. Attorney Jonathan Shapiro: Evidentally, it's speech time.

Alan: And speech in this country is free, you hack! Free for me, free for you. Free for Melissa Hughes to stand up to her government and say "Stick it"!

U.S. Attorney Jonathan Shapiro: Objection!

Alan: I object to government abusing its power to squash the constitutional freedoms of its citizenry. And, God forbid, anybody challenge it. They're smeared as being a heretic.   Melissa Hughes is an American. Melissa Hughes is an American. Melissa Hughes is an American!

Judge Sanders: Mr. Shore. Unless you have anything new and fresh to say, please sit down. You've breached the decorum of my courtroom with all this hooting.

Alan: Last night, I went to bed with a book. Not as much fun as a 29 year old, but the book contained a speech by Adlai Stevenson. The year was 1952. He said, "The tragedy of our day is the climate of fear in which we live and fear breeds repression. Too often, sinister threats to the Bill of Rights, to freedom of the mind are concealed under the patriotic cloak of anti-Communism."

Today, it's the cloak of anti-terrorism. Stevenson also remarked, "It's far easier to fight for principles than to live up to them."

I know we are all afraid, but the Bill of Rights - we have to live up to that. We simply must. That's all Melissa Hughes was trying to say. She was speaking for you. I would ask you now to go back to that room and speak for her.
David E. Kelley, James Spader, and The Writers of "Boston Legal", Wings of Justice Honorees

loving big love

It just gets better and better, this new HBO program
that comes on right after The Sopranos. One husband
with three wives and a bunch of children. They live in
three side-by-side houses in the burbs (some place in
Utah of course) and the wives are friends, except when
they aren't. Lots of clever subtleties, very well written
with great actors like Bruce Dern, Harry Dean Stanton,
Chloe Sevigny, Bill Paxton and lots more. It is reported
that the LDS folks aren't too pleased with the show...
HBO: Big Love

more history, less violence, please

We watched A History of Violence last night ~ bad idea
right before sleep. Man, those makeup artists can do so
much to make smashed body parts look realistic. The
actors were fine (Viggo, Ed Harris, William Hurt) and I
guess the story was OK, but I should have waited to
watch it on my Saturday at 7am, and then let life dilute
such intense and gory drama.
My Sunday mood? Tired and a little irritable. Bring me
the head of a scam artist at work today...

you will suffer with me

Here we go with an old daily write. If you don't like sad shaggy cat stories, you might want to move on to the next blog. I could never read this aloud to my writing group and besides, we've banned this kind of piece. It's from 2003...

THREE GOOD YEARS

Yesterday when I came home from work Uncle Junior wasn’t on the stairway where
he always greets me. My husband said that one of the cats had peed in front
of the cat box and he had put paper towels on it. When he said that he hoped
it hadn’t hurt the surface of the newish bamboo floor I snapped that it wouldn’t have
killed him to mop it up this one time. We have two cats and Uncle Junior is my
big old orange cat that we adopted from the Pet Hospital three years ago.

After I changed the cat box (thinking that was the reason for all that pee, a dirty
cat box) I went into the living room and called him many times. “UnK-el Juuuuu”
I called quietly. He always came when I called. I know from owning a few cats
that this is not the norm, but the Uncle always came to me. “Ju Boy” ohhhh,
“Where’s my Uncle?” No response.

I started searching his favorite hiding places. In the back room on a shelf where
he first settled safely when he came to live with us. In amongst the books
in the back room. Then the living room under his table. In my closet and in the
back room closet. Finally I looked behind the sofa. He was stretched out and
I reached down to pet him. His eyes were wide open. My big orange cat
looked normal, but he was dead.

When I went to get my husband, he probably thought I had was being a little
unrealistic since I always fear for my cats. We moved the sofa out, he looked and he
said, “yes, he is dead”. I didn’t cry then. I asked Bill to call our vet (Lee) and
I sort of walked back and forth and wouldn’t look behind the sofa. For $60
they would take Ju, so we wrapped him in a towel and put him in a Calistoga
carton. He was already stiff in some places and one orange paw came out
of the box. I still didn’t cry.

I drove to the vet’s and having Uncle Ju in the back seat seemed so normal
because I was always taking cats to the vet. I asked Erica at the front desk
to please put him on a table so I could say goodbye. Then I cried and told
him what a good boy cat he was and that I was sorry that I hadn’t brushed him
more. He loved to be brushed. I kissed him goodbye and scratched him
behind his sweet furry ear one more time.

We adopted Ju three years ago and I guess he was 13 or 14 by now.
The vet said it was probably a blood clot. Even though cats are never ever
allowed on the kitchen table, the last time I saw him alive was under the
lamp on top of the Chronicle where he always said goodbye to me in
the morning. His sister Tosca was curled up next to him. He was a happy cat.

He didn’t suffer any pain, the vet told me, but I do.

apres le throttle

Netflix® has been good to us lately. Yesterday Capote
and tomorrow History of Violence. Tonight I watched
Pride & Prejudice which one of the women at work
loaned to me. Husbando did not want to see the latter,
needless to say. I don't have time to review any of
these movies tonight (dang) because I want to watch
Jon Stewart who is exceedingly wonderful, as always.

writing and rewriting

When I started this blog I thought I would be posting
more thoughts about writing and books, but that isn't
how things turned out. So today I will write about this
most important part of my life.

Yesterday I submitted a piece (1027 words) for either
publication or rejection. I had lots of help: husbando, my
Tiapos writing group, Karen in NYC and Kristin down in
Pumpkinville. I won't know until August if it is accepted,
but just rewriting it 5 times and actually sending it out felt
so rewarding to me. I guess most writers have stacks and
stacks of stuff we are "working on".

I also signed up for the next Round Robin class. This is the
valuable daily writing that produces some amazing ideas
and forces me to write every single day. The Writing
Salon offers so many excellent classes ~ check it out:
The Writing Salon :: Welcome

tulips, crafts and food

deyoung
Originally uploaded by the omster.

Yesterday we went to the DeYoung, not to see the flower show, but for the "Arts and Crafts" exhibit in the basement. Well, the joint was jumpin'...too many people for me because I get to deal with so many glorious customers and employees at work, but I would certainly recommend a visit this week for folks who love flowers, crafts and crowds. My favorite of all the ingenious flower designs is right here, partly because of the unusual color, but mostly because tulips are my friend Kristin's favorite flower.

In the afternoon I worked on a rewrite (sigh) and then we hopped on BART for dinner at Citron on College Avenue in Rockridge. We met some friends there and had a very fine time indeed.

Today we might have sunshine!

percy speaks this morning

This morning I was poking around in my aged Bartlett's
Quotation book looking for this little gem from Shelley.

O Wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?

...then I happen upon this fine little moon thought:

That orbed maiden with white fire laden,
Whom mortals call the moon.

Finally then, for my trip next year:

Thou Paradise of exiles, Italy!

Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792 - 1822)

rainy day monday

There is always a line at the museum on rainy days and
then I am extra happy that I'm a member and can just
dash on in. Today I spent my lunch hour down on 3rd
San Francisco Museum of Modern Art because I
wanted to see yet another 1906 Earthquake exhibit.
This one also had lots of photos, but they were smaller,
except for some of those magnificent panorama shots.
One thing I learned was that people traveled to SF from
far off places to see (and take photos of) the incredible
destruction. I remember after the 1989 quake that all
sorts of tourists and natives wandered around through
the Marina to look at the crushed buildings. Odd, no?

There is a huge Calder exhibit too, on the 4th Floor.
I didn't spend enough time there, but I did see some of
the highlights and I would also recommend that.

In 1906 the common person was just starting to use
the camera ~ Kodak was king then. This is why we have
so many pictures of the aftermath of that earthquake.

These past few years I have really taken advantage of
working downtown and walking to the museum for a
quick look-see. I will never understand why these visits
refresh me so much, I just know they do.

bad choice, good choice

I should NOT have watched that documentary on
Wal-Mart last night! It made me quite anti-retail today
and I fear I snapped at one or two people. The only
positive thing about the whole Wal-Mart saga is that
many, many communities have kept them out. All
grass root, everyday citizens just like me. That
kind of corporate greed just makes my blood boil.

This afternoon, on the other hand, we went to an
absolutely delightful new play out at the Magic
Theatre (Fort Mason). Ice-Breaker by David Rambo
features only two actors (both superb) and a fine
story, extremely well written and so moving that I
welled up at one point. It's about the environment
and glaciers in Greenland and two people falling in
love. Magic Theatre - San Francisco's home for New Plays

sold out bee!

Yesterday I tried to buy tickets for the Spelling Bee which
The Great Plotnik reviewed so beautifully last week. The
bad news is that there is nothing this month, but the good
new is that this is a HIT and it will be a nice long run. The
tickets are expensive ($60 to $65 each), but I bought two
for a Sunday night in May for $40 each. This is a deal!
Every seat in the house for the 7pm show every Sunday
night is this rather reasonable bargain price. It's at the
Post Street Theatre, one of my favorites. Free street
parking Sundays, too. Here is the link:
The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee

one hundred years ago

I have a third day off today, so we went to Bill's out on
Clement and 24th Avenue for death defying burgers,
fries and a vanilla milkshake. There is something exceedingly
comforting about this less-than-attractive restaurant
with the glass chandeliers that simply "don't work". The
waitress didn't quite call us "honey", but almost.

Then out to the Legion of Honor to see the Earthquake
photography show. Exhibitions After the Ruins. This is
fabulous ~ large photos from 1906 along side current
ones. What struck me, aside from the fact that the poor
folks back then had to dress up, was how far and wide
the devastation was. From Fort Ross, through the city
of course, down to a big mess in Palo Alto at Stanford.
Also the Then and Now quality of the photos made me
appreciate all the work that went into rebuilding San
Francisco. This is well worth a trip out to The Avenues,
but stop at Bill's Place first to fortify yourself.

did you miss the dining room table?

a dinner for a saint
Originally uploaded by the omster.

I've had a delightful day cleaning and puttering ~ getting ready for the dinner party. The corned beef smells perfectly wonderful and I've splurged on lots of flowers. It's an easy meal, really, just pop in the yucky cabbage and red potatoes, make a salad, serve Mitchell's mint ice cream with chocolate bits. The coffee must be strong and there must be lots of Irish laughter. (Jewish humor works too.)

reed and patricia

Netflix® was very nice this week, sending us Good Night,
and Good Luck  on it's release date.  It is a fabulous
movie with David Strathairn and George Clooney (NOT
looking gorgeous), but our surprise was Patricia Clarkson,
Robert Downey, Jr. and Reed Diamond. Reed is an old
friend from Homicide: Life on the Street, one of the best
TV series ever. If you haven't seen Good Night, you
are in for an impressive hour and a half.

one of our houseguests

bliss
Originally uploaded by the omster.

Here is Bliss, isn't she something? She is wearing a coat because it is a little chilly in our house, unless one is right next to the fireplace. We had a wonderful evening and talked about Italy, the French Bulldog,writing,books and friendship.

overnight guests

My friend Ginger is arriving with her two dogs to spend
the night on her way from Marin County back down to
Santa Barbara. Husbando is cooking for us and I know
she will understand that I can't stay up too late due to
my fabulous retail career. We will tape both The
Sopranos and that new HBO special about the man
with 3 wives. What a concept. Then tomorrow I have
to shush all the people at work who already watched
tonight's programs.

This Ginger is the oh-my-God is that you? Ginger
that I went to college with 300 years ago. I spotted
her at the French Bulldog in Summerland two years
ago. She hasn't changed one iota. We had lost track
of one another due to name changes and the oddities
of life. My life was enriched even more that day.

a helpful hint or two

Dear Customer ~ this morning when I was summoned to
talk to you and had to come down from the 4th floor
to the 1st, it wasn't wise to ask me what took me so
long. When you started on your little list of why you
hate the company I work for, I wonder if you should have
kept the fact that "they said you are a schizophrenic
but they're wrong" out of this particular conversation.
Also when you start blaming "the Jews" for everything,
you might first ask what my last name is. And you
didn't even notice how I was ushering you out the
front door as you were ranting and raving. All in a
day's work, I thought ~ for both of us, most likely.

everyone talks about the weather

...but tonight I'll recommend (much to my surprise!)
The Weather Man with Nicolas Cage and Michael Caine.
I liked the way they used the nasty weather in Chicago
and New York as a background. The father-son
relationship was realistic, the teen age children too.

the tub doctor's house call

We are having our bath tub re-glazed today and the
entire house smells absolutely horrible. It's not
easy to describe, but trust me, it's ghastly. The
tub is about 84 years old (as is our house) and
has needed this face lift for a decade or so. I'm
glad I had to work today and didn't have to deal
with this mess and odor. I'm tempted to say it's
man's work, but of course I won't.

hear me roar

Today is International Women's Day. Sometimes I worry
and think, "oh, this truly seems like a step or two backwards"
but then I'll see or hear something else and be heartened.
In my soul, I believe the true goal of the so called neo-cons
is to put women In Their Place. Back at home in the kitchen,
never questioning, never accomplishing anything. It was so
much easier then for some men, wasn't it? And if the Little
Woman bored the husband, he could always get something on
the side and who would/could question the Bread Winner?
It really starts and ends with the pocketbook. When women
earn what we're worth, when we all have solid choices in
life...but hey, here I am preaching to the choir again.

two too early deaths

I'm saddened this morning by the news that Kirby Puckett
and Dana Reeves have died. Both only 45 or so. I guess
that people who have strong religious beliefs deal better
with the unfairness of it all than I do. I hope so, anyway.
Both these people contributed so much to our lives.

On a lighter note, there is sunshine here this morning as
I sit by the fire writing emails and drinking coffee. My
weekend will be just in time ~ the work week included a
woman sprawled out in the computer section. I thought
she was dead. When she woke up, I wished she was.
Those are all my thoughts on death for today.

post-oscar buzz

Yes, we enjoyed last night thoroughly. Jon Stewart was
wonderful, especially with the Bjork dress joke and then
when he said, "gees, I didn't know we could wear jeans".
It moved smoothly and the only speech that was ultra
phony was Reese's, even though I do think she was
spectacular in Walk the Line. Just too rehearsed last
night, I believe.  Oh, and I liked all the montages,
especially the old Western movies...fun night!

hairstyle by l.l. bean

We are dressing for the Awards ceremony tonight.
Husbando is wearing the matching beige sweats from
Target with his attractive brown fleece lined slippers.
Yes, the ones with the green pesto sauce spots!

Inasmuch as it is cold here, I am wearing the heavy
black drawstring sweat pants (with two pockets),
from Costco and the long sleeve brown Old Navy
tee shirt. I'm topping all this off with the red 49er
fleece jacket that Kristin gave me about 10 years
ago. We both dislike the 49ers for assorted reasons.
Glamour abounds on our very own red carpet. No
jewelry, no Versace tonight, we don't want to overdo.

pre-oscar buzz

OK, I'll start with something that I find amusing. I heard
it on the radio yesterday, so I'm sure it's true. The Baron
(Christopher Plummer) used to call "that movie"
The Sound of Mucous
Imagine.
Two good movies these past couple of days that I
highly recommend:
Separate Lies and
Nine Lives
The first one is British and features Emily Watson who is
always wonderful. The latter is one of those vaguely
intertwined series of vignettes about nine women. I
love those because we never know which character
will pop up in which story.

san francisco photo show below

Here is a delightful blog site that 1Foot linked in her blog
and I will now do the same. Fantastic photos.
Joe Pennant's 'Itinerant outta NY' blog
My day? OK, am tired from such a fine writing group last
night. Today I talked with a customer that I have known
for years. She is in her 70's and lives on $900 a month
Social Security. That's it. In this city? But she looks
so wonderful and is full of life. Her treat is the occasional
book, mass market of course. Mystery genre.

thank you for reminding us!

In the glow of modern progress, the stories I tell my children about my girlhood sound as ancient as the Parthenon, beginning with my impossible (and improbable) dream of being an altar girl. The classified ads divided by sex, the working women forced out of their jobs by pregnancy, the family businesses passed unthinkingly to sons-in-law while the daughters stood by: the witnesses to those artifacts are going gray and growing old.
One of the most haunting reminders of those bad old days is on my desk, in a book to be published this spring titled "The Girls Who Went Away." I knew instantly who they were: the girls who disappeared, allegedly to visit distant relatives or take summer jobs in faraway beach towns, when they were actually in homes for unwed mothers giving birth and then giving up their children. They came back with dead eyes and bad reputations, even though, like some of those in Ann Fessler's book, they may have gotten pregnant the first time out. And they came back riddled with pain and rage and an unspeakable sense of loss. "I'd have an abortion any day of the week, before I would ever have another adoption—or lose a kid in the woods—which is basically what it is," recalled one woman bitterly.
That's what a pregnant 16-year-old might well do today: have the abortion. Or she might have the baby and raise it with her family's help, or give it up for adoption after handpicking the adoptive parents and drawing up a contract allowing her to visit the child from time to time. It's a whole new world, in which female sexual behavior is no longer a moral felony. But those of us of a certain age remember those other girls, who were expected to serve a life sentence. Their parents called them whores and threw them out of the house, or simply pressed their lips tight and pretended nothing had happened while their daughters died inside. In "The Girls Who Went Away," one recalled, "It was the beginning of it being invisible."
The number of us who remember being invisible is dwindling. Coretta Scott King remembered when a black woman was seen in some quarters only as a hired domestic, Betty Friedan when a white woman was often treated like a major appliance or a decorative home accent. But both of them are now gone. Sandra Day O'Connor, who with little fanfare stepped down from the high court recently, remembers when a lawyer could tell you, without a hint of apology, that his firm never had and likely never would hire a woman associate.

O'Connor, the first female Supreme Court justice, was never known as a feminist firebrand. But she had what I think of as transformative experience, something that can't help but suffuse your life and your mind. She carried within her the memory of what it was like to be reflexively devalued despite being smart and capable. I think it's probably a good thing for a judge to have faced down that sort of organized systemic injustice. One argument is that it's not supposed to matter, that judges are simply there to consider the statute as written, as though the law were algebra and its subject numbers. But jurisprudence is not math, and judges are not automatons but people who have been undoubtedly and sometimes mysteriously marked by what they remember, or choose to forget.
The justice who nominally replaced O'Connor, Samuel Alito, was questioned closely during his confirmation hearings about his membership in a group that opposed the admission of women to Princeton, his alma mater. Justice Alito appeared to recall little of the controversy. But I do. I remember the condescending and insulting way women were discussed when various Ivy League institutions considered granting the honor of their Y-chromosome diplomas, the questions about whether Yale women could be permitted to use the pool at the Yale Club. One Princeton alum told The New York Times in those days, "Girls are being sent to Princeton less to educate them than to pacify, placate and amuse the boys." It was certainly an education, to witness the resentment and outrage that erupts when the invisible insist on being seen, even acknowledged.
That was a long time ago. In the light of progress the shadows fade, yet how vivid they still sometimes seem. There is now only a single woman on the Supreme Court. Imagine the world if homes, businesses, schools, had only one woman for every eight men. It would be an odd sort of world, wouldn't it? Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg surely can remember well when abortion was often a do-it-yourself affair, when an accidental pregnancy sometimes meant an exile into a hidden and unacknowledged hell. I suppose the landscape seems very different to her than it did when she was one of the lawyers arguing before the high court that it was impermissible to force pregnant teachers to give up their jobs because of the ridiculous presumption that expectant mothers are unable to work. Yet today she finds herself where she has so often been in the past: the only woman among a coterie of men. Not quite invisible. Not quite.
Anna Quindlen

las mejores de san francisco

Cubana tortas today from Tortas Los Picudos located
at 2969 24th Street, near Folsom or Bryant or one
of those streets. Imagine living one's life where we
couldn't walk a few blocks and be dropped into another
culture completely. We were the only two gringos in
the restaurant, but that's OK by me. Our sandwiches
dripped with everything including avocado and we
each have 1/2 of a sandwich left for tomorrow. $6.00
per Cubana ~ yum.

Thanks, Loren ~ I will go to Pompeii, I've always been
fascinated by that place and The Smithsonian just
presented me with an article to read, clip, save.