halloween in the city

Every year it gets more difficult to know who is in
costume and who is just expressing themself.
We are so accepting here in San Francisco, most
of us, that is. I am fascinated by the contact
lenses in different colors ~ today someone had
pale blue cat eye contacts. Scary. Of course
I should have brought my camera...and didn't.

Tonight we are going to a friend's home for dinner.
They live in Twin Peaks and to get from here
(Bernal Heights) to there entails much greater
planning than this so-called President gave to the
whole mess in Iraq. Many streets are closed for
the big celebration in the Castro, and that's the
way we normally go. So, over Clipper to Portola
and don't run over any children or crazies, or
combination thereof.

a new book, a new blog!

Our writing group friend Karen has her own most
delightful blog now and again I will ask Michael
if he will link it over here on the right for me.
(After he finishes his homework.) I love hearing
about her life in NYC, even to the smallest detail
like how much the taxi cost. And I want to touch
and read her book and say "it's beautiful" while
I well up and fumble for my Kleenex®. So here,
check it out:
One Foot Out the Door

Kristin alerts me that I have coach and couch
confused in The Dead poem by Billy Collins and
I will fix that on my days off. It's not easy to
make corrections on my blog because I email
my posts in. I do this because it feels more like
I'm just writing to a friend and I don't fuss around
with commas and semicolons and sentence
construction. Or, perhaps you already noticed?

Ginger from Santa Barbara was here for a
wedding dinner and I was able to see her twice
and show her just a little bit of my city. She took the
muni, bought tons of soap at Lush and we had
lunch at John's Grill where she used to go with
her husband. I just loved having her visit me and
now I have to check to see if I said soap or soup.

Oh, hahahahaha, Ginger said her hotel was at
Sutter and Goo. Goo? She had to spell it for
me: G-O-U-G-H. "Good times" as we say in an
extremely sarcastic manner at work, but in this
case I mean it exactly as stated.

isn't it just plain fun?

How nice to see the bad guys getting their
comeuppance this time. Good ol' Scooter Libby
had a little problem telling the truth and
now we can only hope that Rove and maybe
even Cheney will be judged and found
guilty too. And don't we love the very low
approval rating for Dubya lately? Seems
like people across America are wising up.

for my friend Jon G.

...whose mother died three days ago.
I always find this poem soothing, I hope
you do too.

The Dead

The dead are always looking down on us, they say,
while we are putting on our shoes or making a sandwich,
they are looking down through the glass-bottom boats of
     heaven
as they row themselves slowly through eternity.

They watch the tops of our heads moving below on earth,
and when we lie down in a field or on a coach,
drugged perhaps by the hum of a warm afternoon,
they think we are looking back at them.

which makes them lift their oars and fall silent
and wait, like parents, for us to close our eyes.
Billy Collins

look for the bright orange awning

We had a fabulous lunch at a new (for us) restaurant
yesterday. It's called Windows and you'll find it on
Valencia right up there by Duboce. It's South East
Asian food with lots of interesting dishes (I had a
spicy duck with noodles and plump mushrooms).
One of the things we like best in any restaurant is
that the tables aren't too close together and the
service was fast and friendly. Of course it's very
reasonable or we wouldn't have been there.

Interesting that the restaurant was so busy despite
the fact that PG & E has some huge and messy
project going on and parking was nonexistent.

those great P-genes

Happy Birthday today to the Great Plotnik who, on a bad
night, looks 40. On a good day, more like 36.

I first met the GP at Jane's at one of her delightfully
crowded writing salon parties. He played the accordion (an
instrument I used to hate) and we all had a group sing of
Watsonville, a song he wrote. I remember emailing several
friends the next day about this gorgeous man with his very
engaging manner and his clever, laugh-along song.

Then, imagine my surprise and delight when I attended my
first Tiapos writers' group and there he was!  I've come to
learn that there isn't much the GP can't do: song-writing
(music and words), writing, playing any musical instrument
(it seems) and being one of the best conversationalists
on this planet.

The GP and his G Ducknik travel all over the world and we
can't wait to hear about their amazing experiences. I love
the big world map in their dining room with all the colorful
push pins of the places they've traveled.

One lucky wife and two fabulous children will be helping
the Great Plotnik celebrate today, and we join his many
friends with b.day wishes and thanking him for adding
so much joy to our lives.

(I almost forgot to mention that the Plotniks appreciate
interesting food too, and baseball, movies, theater. LIFE.)

peel...don't polish

How thoughtful I was when I was young to clip and
save thoughts, ideas and articles that I can use
now when I need them most. Today I quote from
Sidney J. Harris, a columnist from Chicago who died
back in 1986:

The personality of  man is not an apple that has to
be polished, but a banana that has to be peeled. And
the reason we remain so far from one another, the
reason we neither communicate nor interact in any
real way, is that most of us spend our lives in polishing
rather than peeling.

Man's lifelong task is simply one, but it is not simple:
to remove the discrepancy between his outer self and
his inner self, to get rid of the "persona" that divides
his authentic self from the world.

Thank you Mr. Harris, and thank you young-self ~ I
can't tell you how much I appreciate these words today,
during this time of change and unrest.

makes me proud

This morning about 6:45, the doctor and I watched ALL those
women line up for the Nike® marathon. We were on the 2nd
floor, directly over the starting point at Post and Powell. We
could feel the excitement and nervous energy and then at 7am
they all counted down and yelled and jumped up and down because
it was pretty cold and they had been waiting around for a while.

Later in the day I spoke with a pollice woman and I asked her
how many runners in the race. 15,000, was the figure she
heard...so that's a lot of money for the leukemia society and
a whole bunch of tired, happy women. I love that one of the
results of the women's movement is that we are no longer
sedentary and weak. Imagine, 15,000 running women! I hope
this is a yearly event now in Union Square.

jack gilbert

I had never heard of this poet until Will mentioned him in
the writing group last Thursday night.  There is a Jack Gilbert
poem entitled A Brief For The Defense that caused Will
and his fellow students to weep in their poetry class. I did
a little research and I discovered that excellent poem and a
short one that I'll type out here tonight. They are both to
be found in a new hardcover book Refusing Heaven -
poems by Jack Gilbert.

DOING POETRY

Poem, you sonofabitch, it's bad enough
that I embarrass myself working so hard
to get it right even a little,
and that little grudging and awkward.
But it's afterwards I resent, when
the sweet sure should hold me like
a trout in the bright summer stream.
There should be at least briefly
access to your glamour and tenderness.
But there's always this same old
dissatisfaction instead.

Jack Gilbert

in praise of doing our best

I have been managing people (not dogs, not cats) for maybe
20 years or so. One of the constant "issues" is that employees
don't feel appreciated. I think I used to feel this way until we
owned our very own business ~ the Great American Dream.
During this venture there was no time for praise, we were usually
just so happy to make it through another day. Soon I learned
to say "good job" to myself and once in awhile to my husband.

My friend Michael has this quotation neatly typed and taped
to his back door so he can see it when he leaves his home:

It's a simple formula; do your best and somebody might like it.

Now isn't that great? No promises of reward, no karma-talk, no
someday-in-heaven ~ no nothing. Somebody MIGHT like it.

I try to approach writing the same way. I just do my best.

herding writers

I come home to about 15 emails from my dear writing group
friends because we are not meeting at Jane's tonight due
to the fact that the photographers from Architectural Digest
are there at her cottage preparing the article for the February
issue. So we are not welcome.

Just in case you think there are lots of people in the writing
group, the 15 emails are from 5 people. So we will meet at
the Great Plotnik's...I think. I'll wait for more emails.

Anyway, the stringing of old writes didn't go so well because I
started reading them, but at least I did make some notes. So
I decided on a couple of old ones from 2002, when we (Giants)
were in the playoffs and then (is it possible?) the World
Series. Those were heady days and nights. Great tension.
Tremendous joy and sorrow. "Dang" as Jeff Kent would say,
that sure was fun. Sort of.

the stringing business

Today I'm going to skip yoga and work on creating a conglomeration
of daily writes from the past 3 years to see how that works. When
Jane and Karen (NYC) do this they produce perfect little masterpieces,
but somehow I don't think mine will be much to brag about.

I will choose the topic "holidays in retail" because I must have 20
little pieces written about this most distressing time of year. The
most amazing things happen to customers ~ anger, frustration, fear,
loathing and constant consternation. I am empathetic, up to a
point, but even I lose it around the 23rd of December when we
are out of product and patience.  One of my coworkers suggested
that just as everyone has to serve in the Israeli army at some point
in their life, we Americans should force every citizen to do a stint
in retail in December, so they know how it feels.

Besides, when I dig up these pieces, maybe it will prepare me for
the battle ahead.

how to waste a morning

A friend at work sent me this damn web site and it has more
than 2000 photos of cats resting/sleeping/curling up in sinks.
I particularly like the orange guys because they remind me of
our dear Uncle Junior who was such a lovable old cat thing.
Cats in Sinks - for all your cat and bathroom needs

Then Baseball Allen tells us that we can Google to find
out about the Red Sox players hitting the Jack Daniels during
the World Series last year.  How come I didn't know that?
So that's next on my list of important chores for my day off.

credit where credit is due

I need to ask my tech friend Michael to put El Greco's blog
in the right hand column over here on my blog. When I emailed
the borrowed walrus photo yesterday Flickr® wouldn't let me
do the link thing, so here it is. A very SF blog and well-written.
I laughed when he got the two Dalys confused during the golf
tournament. That could happen to anyone.
Critical Cloud
At first I didn't like the new museum, but now I do and I love
the top of the tower because you can walk right up to the
glass and see parts of Golden Gate Park and beyond that
have never been seen before, to my knowledge.
It's my Friday night and I'm ready for baseball and more
baseball. Go Cards, so we can extend this series.

thanks walruswong

DSC05614.JPG
Originally uploaded by walruswong.

For this photo from Flickr® because I
didn't get to poke around the new De Young inasmuch as I had to work as usual this weekend. You can read about it in the Critical Cloud and a bunch of other blogs, I'm sure.

What I love is that it was FREE and open all night, but I hear that the lines were never less than 3 hours, even at 2am. Maybe folks exaggerate? We'll go see it when things calm down a bit.

we suffer in paradise

My friend Mary reminds me of that when we get into
these mild depressions. We have so much and too
many have nothing. But sleep was elusive last night
and I dread a full day of work (our busiest day, ugh)
and suddenly there seems to be a lot going on in my
life right now. I like Jane's quote about a writer doesn't
really know what she is thinking until she writes it down.

I try to leave work stuff at work when I walk from BART
to Bernal Heights, but I didn't succeed yesterday.
Change is in the air and I notice that it rained last
night while I was not sleeping. Our sidewalks in SF have
become odoriferous and this weather will help.

My absentee ballot arrived yesterday. Is it right that
I vote against all these propositions simply because I
hate Arnold? Should I maybe at least read them?

I love coming home to the baseball games and I remember
a few years ago when I would request vacation for the
last week in October to watch the world series. We would
rent a cabin in Mendocino or Sea Ranch and wait for the
games to start. One year in Sea Ranch we were fogged in
and then one afternoon the sun came out about 5pm and we
complained that it was ruining the TV viewing. Priorities.

Time is passing too quickly. My friend Jeanmarie's baby
girl is 3 next week. Yesterday (it seems) we worried through
her pregnancy. Next month Kristin's baby girl will be 2 and
that doesn't seem possible either. My friends keep having
these dramatic birthdays, as do my husband and step
children.  When my youngest step child turned completely
grey I was shocked, but didn't present him with a bottle of
Clairol®, which was thoughtful of me.

OK, I feel better here in paradise. Writing always helps.
Today I will act as if I slept last night and when I come home
there will be two exciting baseball games. Everything is
as it should be ~ I think.

as predicted...

Remember when I posted the photo of those long stemmed, bright
pink flowers called Naked Ladies? Back in August, I think. Yes, August
24th. (One of the things I love about this blog business is how fast
and easy it is to look things up here!). Anyway, at the time I mentioned
that a lot of folks will be disappointed when they do a search on
Flickr®, the fabulous multipurpose free photo site when they want
to see some naked ladies.

So last week I checked my "photo stream" and it is pretty funny.
Most of my photos (San Francisco sunrise, Kansas cowboy, the new
museum, etc.) have 4 to 6 hits. But these female flowers have more
than 220. It's nice that there are so many nature lovers out there.

688 San Jose

heaven
Originally uploaded by bkusler.

Hurry, the pumpkin ice cream is only available here at Mitchell's for a very short time, two months max, I think. Of course all their ice cream is so rich and creamy and indescribably delicious. We like to sit on the bench outside and eat our ice cream and watch all the people with huge smiles of anticipation as they enter this little old fashioned ice cream store in San Francisco.

pho' is our friend

On my days off, when the sun is somewhere in Concord or
Walnut Creek, and the fog feels more like a mist or light
rain, we like to go out to Clement Street and have a big bowl
of noodle soup at the Tu' Do restaurant on the corner there
at 11th Avenue. What a bargain for $6.25! You add your own
fresh cilantro and bean sprouts, a squeeze of fresh lime and
slurp away until you're full. For the un-Pho'd few, this is a
Vietnamese soup, usually with slices of rare roast beef, but
of course other meat and sea food is also available. Somehow
they know how to cook the noodles perfectly...you'll see.

So this was our yesterday lunch, followed by a walk up and down
Clement Street with a stop at the chic Goodwill where I had an
open to buy of $6.00, but nothing caught my eye. On to the
Bargain Bank for Halloween candles (2 for $1), keep on truckin'
to comment on the number of new bargain stores out here,
including a restaurant supply store and 20 gazillion plastic items
on both sides of the street. Baskets, boxes, dishes - all priced
even lower than our city's overwhelming fog layer.

aunt rebecca & the snow flower

I didn't post here yesterday and am feeling some of that
writer-type guilt, so I will cover two topics today and hope
I can relax on the rest of my precious day off.

Many years ago, my husband had a most wonderful and
inspirational Aunt Rebecca who was way into her 80's when I
first met her. Last week, when the water heater bid farewell
to this earth, I was forced to de-clutter my office because it
is oh-so conveniently located right next to my desk. Some
papers were water soaked, but the important personal stuff
is fine. Anyway, I came across this small note that I had
jotted down after a conversation with dear Aunt Rebecca.
How to survive a crisis:
1) Be still
2) Have confidence
3) Ask for courage

I am reading Snow Flower and the Secret Fan by Lisa See.
I almost picked up the new Joan Didion book and/or Spalding
Gray's new memorial essays, but even though they are touted
as "life affirming", I just don't feel like doing suicide and double
deaths this week.

My choice was a good one. As is often the case, a customer
recommended this novel to me. In a small village in 19th century
China, women had their own secret language which they painted
on fans and embroidered on handkerchiefs. Female friendship,
history, love, tragedy and joy - I can hardly wait.

which wolf will win?

Wolf
Originally uploaded by HAL9000v2.

(Thanks to my friend Ginger in Kansas for sending me this post.)

An old Cherokee is teaching his grandson about life.

"A fight is going on inside me," he said to the boy. "It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves.

One is dreadful -- he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and selfishness."

He continued. "The other is good -- he is peace, joy, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, faith, compassion, and trust."

He paused for a moment. "The same fight is going on inside you, my grandson -- inside every other person, too."

The boy thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather. "Which wolf will win?"

The old Cherokee simply replied...

"The one you feed."

pre-party

We are going OUT to a birthday celebration at our friends'
homes (they live next door to each other) tonight. I am
too mature to worry about what I should wear, but what in
God's name shall I wear? I have nothing that even looks
remotely attractive, so I think I'll flop down on my bed and
cry like I did when I was a teenager. No, that's too much
work - maybe something will appear when I start searching
in the closet. Maybe I'll forget about these superficial things
and think about how much fun we'll have seeing everyone.

geena & kyle

I'm liking the new Commander In Chief program on
Tuesday nights with Geena Davis as the President and
Kyle Secor (our old friend from Homicide) as her
husband. It reminds us of West Wing when it was
new and exceptional for a non-HBO program. As
we all know, the best TV shows owe everything to
the writing, and I suppose good acting does help some.

don't call them angels!

This is Fleet Week. I hate Fleet Week. Here is what
Lawrence Ferlinghetti has to say about this noisy
and difficult weekend:

And for another destroyer of  poetry and peace, how
about those killing machines, the Navy's Blue Angels, who
have just carried out their annual attack on the City? But
the poetic life requires Peace not War. The poetic life of
the City, our subjective life, the subjective life of the
individual is constantly under attack  by all the forces of
materialist civilization, by all the forces of our military-
industrial perplex, and we don't need these warplanes
designed to kill and ludicrously misnamed the Blue Angels.
They dive upon our city every year, in a frightening
militaristic and nationalist display of pure male testosterone.
I've seen old Vietnam ladies in Washington Square diving
under the benches! Do we really need to be reminded yearly
how our planes have bombed Third World countries back to
the Stone Age? In San Francisco, of all places, do we really
need "bombs bursting in air to prove our flag is still there"?
What would Saint Francis say?

a small poetic gift

GIFT

A day so happy.
Fog lifted early, I worked in the garden,
Hummingbirds were stopping over honeysuckle flowers.
There was no thing on earth I wanted to possess.
I knew no one worth my envying him,
Whatever evil I had suffered, I forgot.
To think that once I was the same man did not embarrass me.
In my body I felt no pain,
When straightening up, I saw the blue sea and sails.

Czeslaw Milosz

who needs words?

san francisco sunrise
Originally uploaded by the omster.

Well, I do, it seems. We give up so much, those of us who live right in San Francisco. Our friends move to more livable places where they can buy a mansion on 6 acres of land for $500. It takes 1/2 hour to drive 1/2 mile here and then there is no parking. This past summer was one of the worst because the fog settled in about May 15th and didn't leave until the end of September. We tire of the weather experts calling it marine layer - we all know better. The Giants break our hearts year after year and those 49er fans live in the past.

But then, October. Reward time. This is the view from our tiny overpriced home in Bernal Heights this morning as the sun came up over Potrero Hill. I have a million photos like this and I'll take a million more. We have a big picture window in our little back room and we'll spend the day here feeling everso smug and pleased with ourselves while we admire this sparkling wonder of a city.

where's the fire?

Today San Francisco fire chief Joanne Hayes-White was in our store
to buy a book from our guest author, Dennis Smith, and she had
it autographed for Mayor Newsom. The book, San Francisco is
Burning: The Untold Story of the 1906 Earthquake and Fires is
selling well and Chief Hayes-White gave me a friendly wave -
maybe because my husband and I saw her at lunch a few months
ago. I have not mentioned in this blog how very proud I am to live
in a city with a woman fire chief AND our chief of police is Heather
Fong. I wonder if any other major city has two prominent women
in these powerful positions...

writing and friendship

Funny, isn't it? I'm reading a series of questions that my friend
(and teacher) Jane has to ask her doctors about the recently
discovered breast cancer. Smooth and beautifully crafted. I'm
convinced that her writing is helping her through this terrible
time - to organize her thoughts and to keep all of us informed.
And of course her writing friends are right here for her, lined
up and begging to help in any way we can.

My 3 SoCal friends are writers too. Joan is the bird expert in
Santa Barbara and has just published a book. She loaned me the
New Yorker Jonathan Frazen article on bird watching and I read
it on the train home. Excellent, and he deserves the fan letter
she sent him and nice of him to write her back.

Michael is a gifted writer who should be writing to publish. He
is currently taking a typography class and creating an alphabet
using his camera. For instance, a droopy palm tree makes a
perfect "r"...you get the picture, right? I'm hoping he'll take
a writing course as well, to push him a little here.

Now Ginger is my Project. She has volumes of notes from a long
(21 day) Sierra hiking trip that she and her husband took back in
1991. Just the two of them and one donkey named Jennie. After
Ern died, Ginger put the journal, maps and photos away, but this
story needs to be told. Ern wanted her to write about their
arduous trip and she will. So she now has Jane's "just write for 10
minutes every day" rule and my relentless reminders and she
will get all of this on her computer and we'll take it from there.

Four more word birds who have enriched my lucky life.

autogeddon

My beautiful city, nice to be home even though I had to work today.
Sleepy, small Santa Barbara has traffic jams and people don't seem
to walk there the way we do here. Here is what our own Poet Laureate
has to say about cars:

What destroys the poetry of a city?
Automobiles destroy it and they destroy more than the
poetry. All over America, all over Europe in fact, cities and
towns are under assault by the automobile, are being literally
destroyed by the car culture. But cities are gradually learning
that they don't have to let it happen to them. Witness
our beautiful new Embarcadero!

Lawrence Ferlinghetti

leaving santa barbara

padaro beach
Originally uploaded by the omster.

Another splendid beach day yesterday and
I actually surfed on a foam boogey board
with my friend Ginger and her friend Ginny. I was hoping to capture those wonderful salt and sun filled feelings of my youth when I spent two weeks every summer at San Clemente with my family. And I did! A perfectly delightful day. This photo is of those strange homes at the end of Padaro Beach if you take the Santa Claus Lane exit off 101 South. Note how soft and clean the sand is too.

Coming home this morning, gotta run.

padres 6, gigantes 0

Oh oh - I just clicked on MLB and I think this does it. Glad I'm not watching
that game, even though a TRUE fan would. I am a fair weather fan and I
like winning. Speaking of fair weather, it's hot down here in the coastal
resort area and I had a perfectly delightful day having coffee and walking
twice (5 mile total) on Padaro Beach. That has been my day. No meetings,
no tasks, no deciphering corporate emails and best of all no staff or
customer issues to deal with. I did go to the vets in Carpenteria because
a human stepped on the little paw of Bliss, the dachshund. (Not this human)
But she is OK and nothing is broken. And I did read more Drop City  which
I am enjoying. There were dolphins cavorting very close to the shore on
my afternoon walk, but I couldn't get a photo, they do their pirouettes much
too quickly. But beautiful.

and two more girlfriends

auri and bliss
Originally uploaded by the omster.

I'd forgotten how much fun it is to live with a dog, and now I have two to keep me guessing. Where are they? What is that noise? Why is she barking? What is that in her mouth and WHAT is that on the floor? So meet Auri (blonde) and Bliss the dachsund puppy. This was a full day of talk and sunshine and laughter and now I'm going to say my prayer for a Giants "W" (it's easier being away for these tense games)and hop into bed. But first a little gratitude for friendship and I'll say it again, I
am the luckiest woman in America to have so many unbelievably warm and generous and bright friends. Thanks to my SoCal group: Ginger, Joan and Michael. Two beach walks scheduled for tomorrow!

t.c. and me

What a perfectly solitary selfish day I had taking the Caltrain to San Jose and then the Amtrak bus to San Luis Obispo and another train to Goleta where my friend Michael met me and drove me to Summerland to stay here with Ginger and her doggies. Alas, Skye (the 3-legged doll lab) went to dog heaven this morning, so it's good I'm here to try to say comforting things.

Yes, I was able to nest in two seats all the way down here - surrounded by my luggage, computer and amusing pink backpack. I read old New Yorkers, Drop City  by T.C. Boyle and a book of poetry by
Lawrence Ferlinghetti. Everything was smooth and I didn't speak to a soul which is what I needed.
Dinner tonight at Ginger's with our other college friend Joan and we laughed through a box of
Kleenex®. Three women who each remembered bits and pieces of our days at the University of Colorado and whose lives took strange and unpredictable turns. It was such a fine, fine time and I
know I'll remember this evening forever. The two remaining dogs were a little puzzled at the way
we carried on and now it's late again and we're all ready for bed. Oh, and it rained here today!

a little night magic

It's after 11pm and that is v. late for me. We went to the Magic Theatre tonight to see the extremely fine play Family Butchers  by Edna O'Brien. It is a funny/sad play about a family in Western Ireland and centers around the youngest daughter who is a successful author. Based on Ms. O'Brien's
experiences, I'm guessing. I've been reading her short stories and novels for years and years and now she is a successful playwright too. www.magictheatre.org

Tomorrow I'm on the 7am train to San Jose and then on to Santa Barbara. Of course my trusty msBook travels with me, so I'll write next from my half of Ginger's home in Summerland.

god bless you, Mr. Vonnegut

Oh, hooray - I'm loving A Man Without A Country  by Kurt Vonnegut. New. Powerful. In this passage that I will type out, he is responding to a man in Seattle who wonders if he could ever imagine the absurdness of removing our shoes and having them x-rayed at the airport. The reader (and this blog poster) are hoping that no one ever invents explosive pants. The Great Vonnegut:

The shoe thing at the airports and the Code Orange and so on are world-class practical jokes, all right. But my all-time favorite is one the holy, anti-war clown, Abbie Hoffman (1936-1989) pulled off during the Vietnam War. He announced that the new high was banana peels taken rectally. So then FBI scientists stuffed banana peels up their asses to find out if this was true or not. Or so we hoped.

city stuff

Last night at the writing group Karen said she liked to read my blog because it's about San Francisco and she lives in NYC now. She used to live here and the piece she read to us last night was exquisite with the descriptions of her big apple life and her SF dreams. Anyway, I was thinking about her while I walked up Powell Street in the dark this morning, when only a few of the regulars were out. Some I say hello to every morning, but a few are too dangerous - one gets the feeling that they're close to snapping and when you live in a city you learn to take care of yourself, to walk by the curb and not to sit too closely to people wrapped in blankets in BART. Once in a while I remember to look around me and see the cable cars, the tourists in their Walgreen's zip front sweat shirts taking photos of Union Square with their new digital cameras. They shiver in the fog and wave at everyone riding the cable cars - all tourists because those of us who live here can't afford the $5.00 ride. We're all sick of the guy who says (in a sing song voice) "just a nickel and a smile will last a long while", but our tourists smile and give him money. I live in a very small, very pretty big city, but it ain't Manhattan.

tiapos tonight

I have a 450 word essay to take to my writing class tonight.
It is one I actually LIKE and my friend Kristin said it was
"lovely" - a word we know they use in the UK. To excess,
but I'm not one to judge harshly.

Plus I'm taking some chocolate covered molasses chips
from See's Candies which now has an itty bitty store in Union
Square, an establishment I have to avoid at any cost.
Now how could anyone work there and not gain 50 lbs.
in 3 weeks?

my life: e-nriched

I've written a lot about how much I love e-mails (and how I so
hate the phone) and I'm going to cut and paste a beautiful
graph from my friend Kristin who is another word bird in my
life. I don't think she appreciates her talent, plus she is so
busy being a loving mama, but I'm sure she won't mind if I share
her words with you down at the end of this post tonight.

You know they say that writers live twice, but I'm thinking
we maybe live three times because we also get to read our
work later and remind us not only of the details but how
we were feeling at a particular time in our lives.

So here is Kristin's Sunday last in Golden Gate Park with her husband
and 22 month old daughter:

Bill started feeding the pigeons and soon we were very popular (among
the pigeon population). All of a sudden they all flew up in formation and
did huge sweeps over the lake, and they actually looked pretty. The sun
caught the bottoms of their wings and they glimmered like silver leaves. I
couldn't get a picture to do it justice, but I was glad to know that even
pigeons could contribute some measure of beauty to this world.

not my cup o' assam

So I don't like monsters, aliens or scary sci fi stuff, so of
course I disliked Lost although the idea of 48 strangers on a
desert island would work for me. But then all the noise and
the dog and everything, plus the pilot in the tree...nope.
(Assam is a strong British tea, but you knew that)

This morning while reading my New Yorker outside the BART
station I ran into Anne from my first writing class and that
was such a fine surprise. I got to ask her how she named
her baby Lucca (aka Lucky) and YES, they named her
after our favorite deli on Valencia Street!  Lucca Camille,
isn't that a fabulous San Francisco name?  Anyway, Anne
looked even more beautiful than ever - what fun!

this pesky spam business

OK, so I missed a comment from Big Blog Martha, so now
I'm back to anonymous and I will ask that someone try
this new feature because you have to type in amtrak
backwards or something. I think this spam is electronically
generated to hit our blogs and it makes me v. irritable.
I didn't understand the team business either, some
blogger elitist thing, I guess.

getting lost

I broke down and went to Blockbuster on my walk home today
because Netflix has me on the "Wait Forever and Then Some"
for Lost (Disc One). Some of my fellow workers really like
this TV program and I want to see what it's all about. I agree
that the Emmys are contrived and I just watched a little
because I wanted to see Ellen and a few other stars, but of
course I had to go to bed early because I have the opportunity
of opening the store every morning at 6am. Rough, but it
beats the closing shift. Anyway, Lost won for best drama
series, meaning the wait from the Flix might last until Feb.
I hope I love it because I need a new addiction.

for Doctorow fans

Here's a brief review of a new book coming out this week. The March is a fictionalized
account of Union general Sherman's march in 1864, after he burned Atlanta. Sherman
marched his 60 thousand troops east through Georgia to the sea, and then up to the Carolinas.

Almost hypnotic in its narrative drive, The March stunningly renders the countless lives swept up in the violence of a country at war with itself. The great march in E. L. Doctorow's hands becomes something more — a floating world, a nomadic consciousness, and an unforgettable reading experience with awesome relevance to our own times.

writing is/as work

Be sure to read my friend (and teacher) Jane's post
today in her blog Writing Salon Mistress Muses. Funny,
I was thinking the same thing during my work day.
It's usually not a joyful experience for me to write,
I'm tired, I have nothing to say, I have no talent...
well, you all know these reasons and might even
use them yourself.

There are two reasons I write every day in my blog.
1) after 3 years in Jane's fine classes it has been
    drilled into me that writing begets writing, it is
    better to write badly than not to write at all.
2) when I first started commano, Dr J told me that he
    stopped reading his friend's blog because she
    didn't update it enough - so right then and there
    I vowed to write SOMETHING everyday. I mean,
    wouldn't you, if he stopped reading your blog?

and another goodbye

Today I want to wish my friend Bruce Almighty the very
best as he climbs the corporate ladder and transfers to
our store in Sunnyvale. He will be faced with new and
unusual challenges and my only hope is that they appreciate
him half as much as I do. The Almighty was always one
of my favorite employees because:
.he was never late
.laughed at my jokes
.teased me without surcease
.took care of yucky men's bathroom "issues"
.asked lots of questions
.took the service manager phone often and willingly
.helped me with computer problems (plug it in!)
.willingly did whatever we asked of him
.reads everything and shares NYTimes articles
.reads my blog and doesn't write enough in his
.had a gazillion good ideas and implemented them
.created all of our signs and tested me with a few
     misspelled words every now and then
So, I'll really miss you Bruce, but I'm pleased that
you have been promoted because you so richly
deserve this opportunity! Stay in touch...

bumper sticker

I saw this one on my day off, Tuesday.

NIXON IS NO LONGER THE
WORST PRESIDENT EVER

one day, two movies

This morning at 7am I was watching Walk on Water from
Netflix. It was filmed mostly in Israel with a few scenes in
Germany. I highly recommend this movie because it will
give you so much to think about. A story, really, of
friendship, love, forgiveness and redemption. Excellent.

Then this afternoon we went out to the Balboa to see
Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress and that was
a delight. We went with Mr. and Ms. Plotnik and had a
fine time losing ourselves in the mountain region of China.
The film was almost as engaging as the book. Almost.

small thoughts on big creations

I think I'm pretty typical in that I like quick doses instead
of long well-thought out pieces. For instance, I'm reading
(and returning, unread, I'm sure) Shalimar The Clown by
Salman Rushdie. One of his paragraphs (or "graphs" as my
dear Martha would say) is about 1200 words, I think. It
is beautifully written, but by the time I reach the end my
mind is wandering and I'm wondering about walking to Walgreen's
for a sweet.

One of the things we all like best, I believe, about Six Feet Under,
The Sopranos, Rescue Me, Seinfeld, etc. is the staccato pace.
All those intertwined vignettes. Not dwelling on one character or
situation too long. I have a short attention span and I don't think
I'm alone here. Books too - short chapters and even shorter graphs.
(Except Mr. Rushdie.)

Anyway, my friend Kristin asked me about Crash and whether it
was a downer. I didn't think so, although there are some unpleasant
scenes. I'm not a movie reviewer-type, but this reminded me of
Grand Canyon, Magnolia, Short Cuts - all movies that I really liked.
No time to get bored or press the pause button. Lots to think
about and some really interesting L.A. characters. So, yes, I
would recommend Crash with four Mitchell's ice cream cones.
Four out of five, that is. Small cones, that is.

and Barry's b-a-c-k!

Well, isn't this fun? We thought for sure that his very
first hit was a home run - and it was close. Every
pitch was exciting (and there were 10 or more of
them in Barry's firsr at bat). Now we realize just
how much we've missed him: the excitement, the
star power, the knowledge that we are probably
watching the best baseball player ever. By the way,
Baseball As America will be at the Oakland Museum
soon. Straight from Cooperstown. More on that...
now when does Barry hit again?

a poem from my friend will

We have been missing Will this summer because he
and Valerie are in their home in Provincetown, RI.
He is an important member of our writing group
and we eagerly await his return. He e-mailed me
this lovely poem and I will post it this Sunday, in honor
of my friend Joan whose son died a year ago
today. September is a difficult month for so many.

WHAT THE DEAD DO BEST

Will Walker

Though seldom said, it's true: the dead
release us when they die. We do not know it
for a while, we think we hear their voices,
we think they linger in the shadows of cats.
We think we become them, the way
they sneezed, the way they pruned
their roses. And yes they may be with us,
but now so far in love with the world
they watch us raise our glasses to them
and think Ah, a perfect earlobe,
Oh, the rippling sound of laughter,
the profligate perfection of fingerprints!
Then they do what the dead to best: watch a bud
grow to a leaf that lasts a green season,
then free itself in a brief, lit symphony
of flight and recreate itself as loam.
They love to watch a wave
course a thousand miles, pulse
over a whale, lift plankton near Greenland,
then build and break across
the patient sand. They breathe
in centuries. They follow dawn's
quickening birdsong around the globe
for decades. When they feel the need, they drift
into our sleep and light our dreams.
They love it that, through the years,
we realize we, too, are free.

it's september 10th, hurry in to shop

dead trees all over the streets.
Originally uploaded by swissmiss.

Yesterday I put the boxed holiday cards out in our store. I will not carry on about this today, because we have a lot of time yet to talk about the happy holidays and how they turn a reasonably sane woman (who works in retail) into a complete raving maniac by Dec. 25th. My friend Irving always said, "Christmas has us by the throat again" and of course I agree. Just now I spent 1/2 hour on Flickr trying to find the perfect picture - there were more than 2000 PUBLIC photos to choose from and all look amazingly alike. Lots of chubby children and animals under the tree. I wanted something different, so I selected this one by swissmiss. I try to remember when I last really enjoyed this holiday and it would to be more than 20 years ago when we would chuck all this silliness and go to Europe. That was simply the best.

just doing his job

The first item I read in today's Chronicle is
this superb piece by Mark Morford. Read,
enjoy and send him a "thanks" email before
you send it to all of your friends...
Stop! Don't criticize Bush for doing what he was hired to do

sometimes - a poem

Sometimes

Sheenagh Pugh

Sometimes things don't go, after all,
from bad to worse. Some years, muscadel
faces down frost; green thrives; the crops don't fail,
sometimes a man aims high, and all goes well.

A people sometimes will step back from war;
elect an honest man; decide they care
enough, that they can't leave some stranger poor.
Some men become what they were born for.

Sometimes our best efforts do not go
amiss; sometimes we do as we meant to.
The sun will sometimes melt a field of sorrow
that seemed hard frozen; may it  happen to you.

getting my strength back

I'm not a "spiritual person" by any means, but once a week
I go to yoga in a beautiful old  building on Dolores Street in
San Francisco. I guess I've been doing this for 4 years now
because today I was remembering going to yoga the day after
911 and crying throughout the class. I cried some today, but
felt soothed too and it was good to stretch and chant after
all the family stuff, the airplanes and the depressing scenes
of all those poor people down on the Gulf Coast.

If you haven't tried yoga, invest in the Beginners Class and
on this web site you can find the schedules and some basic
descriptions of the classes. Integral Yoga Institute of San Francisco
You will be doing yourself a favor.

still more tears

Since I'm off on Tuesday, I was shampooing my hair in
the shower about 10am this morning and listening to
Ronn Owens on KGO. He played that tremendously
moving tape from the President of one of the Parishes
around New Orleans - the heartbreaking one about his
friend's mother who died in the rest home last Friday.
Waiting for help. I thought I had done all my crying
last week, but there is still more, it seems. The speaker
ends up yelling and crying because he was so, so
angry. Listen for it, if you can take it. And, read this
letter from the New Orleans Times-Picayune in this
fine blog: Critical Cloud

enough with the wave

Even though I said I wouldn't do this thing, even though
my heart has been broken every year since we used to
be season ticket holders at Candlestick (16 years or so)
and even though I said "NOT THIS SEPTEMBER", here I
am watching the damn Giants again and thinking the
unthinkable. Maybe, maybe we can get into the Post
Season and maybe even go on and - why am I doing this
to myself? Why am I hiding in the (dang) kitchen when that
dishonorable Jeff Kent hits what could be a double,
except that Moises Alou makes a fabulous catch...oh
can my heart take this again?

My baseball e-mail friends (Allen, Dougo, Sally and
Kristin) are starting to think Post Season too. We dare
to dream, we check the other teams and even though
Dodger Doug is anti-Giant, he will want us to suffer in
October and his insightful emails will increase in number
and intensity. I feel it, my nerves feel it. Here, late in
the season, I'm trying to figure out which are my lucky
clothes and second-guessing Felipe Alou and hoping
against hope. Those stupid L.A. fans are doing the
WAVE, of all things...so typically SoCal ridiculous.

right where I belong

It's early evening here in San Francisco and the sun
will set in a clear pink fog-free manner tonight.  A
lovely welcome home. Long day again on airplanes,
but this time we had the Sunday New York Times and
some impressive editorials on the ineptitude of our
federal government. In addition, I read the Malcolm
Gladwell article in the New Yorker on health insurance
(or lack thereof) for so many Americans. For a
wealthy nation, we do such a poor job and I was
in a funk of a mild depression because the rich just
collect more wealth, while so many suffer needlessly.
But it's good to be home and I'm starting to
recognize myself again after many days of frequent
smiles, family gossip, bad food, upper middle class
platitudes and long sleepless nights worrying about
those desperate souls on the Gulf Coast.

gazebos & flags

I'm coming up with a theory here about upstate New York.
First, every small town/village/hamlet has a park with a
gazebo. "Precious", as my friend Ginger in Kansas would
say. No one sits in or under these, but today the wedding
will be in the one in Clinton, New York. So maybe they are
Ceremonial Gazebos? I know in movies people use these
gazebos, but so far, not in real life.

Next, the flags. Oh, my, this is a nest of true patriots. Why
just one flag in front of your home when 6 will work better?
And the yellow ribbons. We ALL want our troops to be safe,
we want them home. Now. Yesterday we saw one house with
no flag and a sign that said, "Another Family For Peace"...I
had a moment of hope.

It's always a shock coming from Left WingLand to this other
world of Family Values. Plus you could get a huge house and
a lot of land for around $90,000. Tempted?

middle finger lake

blue lake, ny
Originally uploaded by the omster.

No, no - I just wanted to use The Great Plotnik's line here, it's really Blue Lake and we had a fabulous drive around the
Adirondacks yesterday. There was no traffic and the roads were in fine condition and there were so many lakes that most weren't even on the map. And it isn't commercial here - no billboards, no flashing lights. In fact, few motels and fewer restaurants. We stopped in Speculator (such an odd name) for coffee and fresh fruit and ended up in downtown Utica in the afternoon where we walked and had coffee at the Marbazon Pastry Shoppe & Cafe. So it was a full day of driving and oooohing and aaahing.

The sun is already out and bright this morning and the bridal shower looms. I will spare you family details.

In the meantime, our friend Mr. Moore:
Welcome to MichaelMoore.com! I'm sure you all get his emails, except maybe Dr J.

no fresh fruit?

new hartford, NY
Originally uploaded by the omster.

Here is the view from our motel room after we arrived yesterday about 6pm. Long day on airlines and then a strange rental car with the usual button and knob problems,
then msBook was cranky and didn't want to do anything until this morning, so it wasn't a very good night. But, as usual, the morning is better and we went to iHop where I convinced Bill NOT to have the funnel cakes even though the photo looked pretty inviting. We puzzled over the fact that they had NO fresh fruit at the International House and we muttered some other food-snobby things, as is our wont. But, the coffee was weak and the waitress told us her name, so all is well. I will not discuss dinner last night because it was horrid. But today we will have AN ADVENTURE and are heading to Adirondack Park and I think my next picture will be nicer than the one I'm sending today. This is Free Day and Family Days begin tomorrow.

the very best table

mission bay
Originally uploaded by the omster.

On those rare days when I'm off
and the sun is shining, we like to
buy sandwiches at the working person's
deli on Cesar Chavez and head for
Mission Bay to study the big ships
and to stare at the water. There
was only one other person, a man
fishing on the pier, and a bunch
of laughing sea gulls. It was so
peaceful - a pre-vacation vacation.
Someday this whole area will be
covered with condos and chic
restaurants and our little
graffiti covered concrete
table from today will be gone.

a beautiful overcoat

We saw ACT's The Overcoat yesterday afternoon and I
wanted a little time to think about the play before I write
about it here.  It is glorious, perfect. Based on the short
story by Nikolai Gogol, the 20 or so dancers do NOT
SPEAK A WORD. It is all pantomime and exceedingly
detailed dancing choreographed to the haunting and
dramatic music of Dmitri Shostakovich.

The story is bleak, yet funny. Our hero is Everyman
and he is universally understood, despite or because
of his wordless universe.

As the Salon Mistress often notes, I am a writer who
practices brevity and this production is under two
hours - one too long intermission between two 40
minute acts. Treat yourselves!
(Through Sept. 25th - www.act-sf.org)

today I was happy

TODAY I WAS HAPPY,
SO I MADE THIS POEM

James Wright

As the plump squirrel scampers
Across the roof of the corncrib,
The moon suddenly stands up in the darkness,
And I see that it is impossible to die.
Each moment of time is a mountain.
An eagle rejoices in the oak trees of heaven,
Crying
This is what I wanted.

another trip - no bus or train

On Wednesday my husband and I are flying to
Utica for a big family gathering and wedding.
I myself prefer small gatherings, another person
and myself...or just myself, but that's for another
posting at another time.

I like to travel with one poetry book and one "I'm
hooked" fiction book and some old New Yorkers.
I have not selected the fiction, but I am taking
Risking Everything -110 Poems of Love and
Revelation edited by Roger Housden. Some of
our favorites in here: Cummings, Collins, Neruda,
Oliver and Rilke. Tomorrow I'll treat us to a
short poem by James Wright.

Now you need to read a touching farewell
piece by The Great Plotnik - delightful.
The Great Plotnik

am I on the wrong track?

At the end of September I'm taking Amtrak from
San Jose to Goleta to spend a few days with my
three dear friends who live down there. I bought
my tickets at the Amtrak station in San Jose last
Tuesday. My friend Michael is visiting this week
and I told him that I thought it was ODD that I have
two tickets - long story (boring). Anyway, he looked
it up online and it seems that I am taking a BUS from
San Jose to San Luis Obispo (SLO). Why didn't the
ticket seller mention this? Why am I taking a BUS when
I bought a train ticket? I feel like I'm dealing with some
government agency here - oh wait, Amtrak is...
Anyway, I told Michael just now that this whole thing is
going to be blog fodder and I'll stick with the hand
that I was dealt. Stay tuned...

i'm gaining on you, Lance

A couple of months ago my husband bought a
perfectly fine stationary bike at the Salvation
Army for $50.00.  My excuse for not using it
(more than twice) is that I get bored too quickly.
So today we splurged on a TV at Best Buy ($73)
and then had to go back for an antenna ($13)
and now it is all set up in the garage and I'm
sure there's nothing I want to watch on daytime
television right now.

However, I do want to report that the Toynase
(spelling?) van up there on Harrison next to Best
Buy does have the Best Cubano sandwich in the
city ($6) and next I'm going to try the Large
Taco ($5) and then for sure I'll bike my little
heart out while watching my soaps. It takes 30
consecutive days to get a good habit going, and
about 10 seconds for the bad ones.

naked ladies

naked ladies
Originally uploaded by the omster.

Think of all the disappointed
folks who search this photo out
by the tag I gave it on Flickr.
Anyway, these gals are in our
back yard and have been with us
for 10 years now. Bill, Ginger
(currently in Kansas) and I spent
a glorious week in a rented house
in Mendocino in 1996. Ginger gave
us a Naked Lady bulb because they
grow wild and don't seem to need
any sunshine. We spent the week
in front of the fire, taking walks
and watching the Braves/Yankees
World Series. Yankees beat the
hated Braves - what a fine week
it was.

buses, trains, bad food

Today my husband and I took the train to San Jose,
but first had to take two buses (both late, of course) to
get to 4th and Townsend with only 3 minutes to spare to
catch the 10:07am Caltrain. The trip itself was so pleasant
with lots of room to spread out (we each took two seats)
and of course it beats driving and there is a lot to see,
although it seems that the ugliest parts of cities are
right by the train tracks. Interesting, if not beautiful.
The last bullet train is around 9am, but our non-bullet
only took an hour and a half, and we were not in a hurry.

The San Jose train station is right across from the HP
Pavilion (an unattractive monstrosity) and we walked
about 7 blocks to the heart of downtown. I was amazed
to see people in actual summer clothes without coats
or heavy sweaters and we were able to eat lunch
outside and be perfectly comfortable.  Since we are
San Francisco food snobs, we were not impressed with
the wilted lettuce salad or cardboard sandwich, and
the prices were high even though San Jose doesn't
have the $8.75 hourly minimum wage law that SF does.

It was a good mini-adventure, however. San Jose is
clean and quiet and sunny and sane.  I was glad to
get home to just the opposite.

farewell ruth, david, nate, claire

...Brenda, Maya, George, Rico and the entire extended
family of 6 Feet Under. I just wept through the final
episode and feel like some of my closest friends are
gone forever. Even though the program would often
irritate me (they surely did whine sometimes), the
writing was superb and the acting phenomenal. I
loved how every program would start with a death
and some of those were shocking and unforgettable.
Now I need to get used to life without the Fishers
and it's not going to be easy.

imagine - two gingers!

Today I had a delightful lunch with my other Ginger
friend who lives in Santa Barbara.  We talked about
Italy, friendship, fog/relentless fog, her 3 dogs, her
snake dress, movies, 6 Feet Under, the Orange Man
in Goleta, writing and even (gulp) money. Then I
went to see two of her dogs who were sleeping in
The Great White van but bounced up excitedly
when Ginger unlocked the door. (I know, you need
photos, and you'll get them in October.)

I am taking the Amtrak to visit her and my other two
friends in SB at the end of September and we are
making plans about what to do and see.  Lots of
dog walks and we are going to work on a writing
project - a long hike Ginger and her husband Ern
took a few years ago.  She has a journal, she must
find the journal....

How fortunate I am - friends make my life so rich.

mr. ferlinghetti

The beat poet, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, lives here in
San Francisco and this is a lovely quote from him:
Poetry is the sound of summer in the rain
and of people laughing behind closed shutters
down a narrow street.

my city

There is a dilapidated powder blue car parked in
just the right amount of space in front of our
house. It allows us to park there by our front
door, using half of our driveway. Parking and
housing prices are the two main topics of
conversation in San Francisco.  This silent
agreement between our neighbor and ourselves
is a major accomplishment.

The blue car never moves - it was probably
created back in the 50's. Once in a while our
neighbor will open up the hood or climb under
his car, but we've yet to hear the motor turn over.
This is as it should be.

Today I walked outside and there was a young
woman sitting on the sidewalk with lots of
paint tubes and brushes surrounding her.
"What are you painting?", I asked.
"The Hudson", she answered with a smile.
"Oh."  (Me being dumbfounded.)
"Is it yours?" she asked.
"No, it belongs to the neighbor", I said
and pointed.
I had to look down and see her work and it
looked ever so much better than the old car
that never moves. I love this city.

aqua fresca

Today's writing prompt:
BE THE WATER
I have been thinking about this all day while
I counted money for the bank deposit, dealt
with a couple of unhappy customers, called
corporate to find out why the computers
and the phones were all dead, picked up my
project at Kinko's and talked to my fellow
managers about a new hire.
I so appreciate having something other than
work to think about when I'm working.
However, I still have no idea what I will write
about - would you?

back in the game

Suddenly the Giants are playing extremely well and
I'm back to the breathing with every strike. There is
really nothing quite as exciting as a well-pitched,
tight game that we win. The kind of game where
I have to watch from the other room because it's
too scary to be too close to.  On the other hand,
the A's have crumbled way before I thought they
would, they usually save that for September.

walking on goldsworthy

de young floor
Originally uploaded by the omster.

You will have to click to
enlarge this photo of the
new "faultline floor" here
at the entrance to the new
De Young Museum in Golden
Gate Park. Those lines run
up and through the stone
slabs...like a real fault-
line. Andy Goldsworthy
brought all of this from
Yorkshire: stones, slabs?
How? It's beautiful, but
easy to overlook. Sorry,
you can't really see the
entrance doors here...

jen is in Paris

Notre Dame Gargoyles III
Originally uploaded by omj.

Today we were discussing
a man sleeping on the 4th
floor of our store. We
all had guesses as to
which of our sleepers it
was: guy in the jean
jacket? the stalker? Mr.
Smell Bad? But Jen gets
to go to museums and to
Notre Dame to look at
these gargoyles that I
found on Flickr.

another billy collins poem

This is from the New Yorker, 7/25/05

     STATUES IN THE PARK

I thought of you today
when I stopped before an equestrian statue
in the middle of a public square

you who had once instructed me
in the way of equestrian statues.

A horse rearing up with two legs raised,
you told me, meant the rider had died in battle.

If only one leg was lifted,
the man had elsewhere succumbed to his wounds;

and if four legs were touching the ground,
as they were in this case --
bronze hooves affixed to a stone base --
it meant that the man on the horse,

this one staring intently
over the closed movie theatre across the street,
had died of a cause other than war.

In the shadow of the statue,
I wondered about the others

who had simply walked through life
without a horse, a saddle, or a sword --

pedestrians who could no longer
place one foot in front of the other.

I pictured statues of the sickly
recumbent on their cold stone beds,
the suicide toeing the marble edge,

statues of accident victims covering their eyes,
the murdered covering their wounds,
the drowned silently treading the air.

And there was I,
up on a rosy-gray block of granite
near a cluster of shade trees in the local park,
my name and dates pressed into a plaque,

down on my knees, eyes lifted,
praying to the passing clouds,
forever begging for just one more day.

Billy Collins

the New Yorker

One day soon I will be copying another Billy Collins poem
that was in a recent New Yorker.  My husband marked
it and said, "for your blog?" and he will often comment
on a short story, poem or article that he particularly likes
and doesn't want me to miss.  That is one of the things
that we have in common, we both love the New Yorker.

I grew up in a Life Magazine household, but when I had
orthodontia work done in high school, the dentist's office
kept this exotic (to me) magazine in the waiting room.
As soon as I graduated from college I subscribed and
have loved the magazine ever since. The covers, too,
of course, are outstanding.  I'll never forget the one
after 9/11 - just a big solid totally black cover.

My love for the city of New York was probably
influenced by the magazine, too.  I'll type up the poem
for the blog tomorrow - it's a good one.

we love secrets

Here's a nifty little community blog where
people tell their secrets in a safe and
(maybe) anonymous way. I don't know if
I have the necessary art talent, but like most
of the world, I do have my share of secrets.
So have a look-see and enjoy...
PostSecret

in a writing mood

Tonight is Tiapos (my writing group) and I have a
small first draft piece about our upcoming trip to
Utica, NY, for our grand daughter's wedding. I
tried to make it a little amusing, even though I
am not looking forward to this huge celebration
with family members from all over the globe.
But I'm sure it will be fine...

I'm hooked

I started two books worth reading a few weeks ago,
but I can't seem to get into them, so I borrowed
a copy ofThe Broker by John Grisham. What fun!
Bruce Almighty recommended this as his August
Staff Selection and I wondered if the original great
story teller Grisham had returned, and it seems as
though he has.  I believe he got a bit lazy or dried
up or whatever for a few of his books there in between
the original "big hits" and the last ten or so average
(or less) novels.  But this is a superb story - fast moving,
with just the right amount of tension that builds from
the very first page. So, back to Italy...

always amending

In the tomato recipe below, you'll want to cut
the big guys into nice wedges and the little
cherry size stay as they are.  Best to wash them
all too - like, der...

tomatoes a la plotnik

There are 3 glorious things about August:

1) blueberries
2) tomatoes
3) naked ladies (the pink wild flowers -
       photo to follow one day soon)

Today we went to Whole Foods and spent
$20 on tomatoes - all colors, all kinds.
Last year The Great Plotnik gave me this
easy recipe for a BIG bowlfull of splendor:
.lots and lots of tomatoes
.thinly sliced red onion marinated in
   lemon juice and kosher salt (put in later)
.basil leaves, chopped - from your garden
.tablespoon red wine vinegar
.tablespoon balsamic vinegar
.3-4 tablespoons olive oil
.kosher salt
.lemon juice
Let the whole thing stand in the cool and
foggy SF climate - add the red onion
and serve with expensive bread as a salad
or even a main dish. (Taste it first, adjust)

another goodbye

I'll always connect the Millennium with Peter Jennings
who wore a tuxedo and worked from one edge of
the continent to another.  Our anchor of choice
died too young and too soon and even though ABC
had to show a football game tonight, the other news
stations talked about his life.  It turns out he was an
anonymous volunteer at a soup kitchen in NYC,
among other notable accomplishments. He was a
good and compassionate man.

it's easy not to write

I've been struggling to say something pithy
here in this blog and feeling guilty when I don't
write, or fill-in with photos and poems.  The
first and most important thing I learned when
I started at the Writing Salon 3 years ago is
that I don't have to be in a writing mood to
write.  I just have to write. That's really all
there is to it.  So here's a quote (to fill).

It's easy, after all, not to be writer. Most
people aren't writers, and very little harm
comes to them.
     Julian Barnes, Flaubert's Parrot

If I wanted to take the easy way out, obviously,
I wouldn't have taken all the writing classes
and filled my house with "How To Write" books.
No pain, no joy, no new group of writing friends
who mean so much to me. Onward.

not for the misbegotten

I'm ashamed to say I had to look that word up, even
though I've seen the play twice. It means of
illegitimate birth or of dubious origin.  As an adopted
child, I was always sensitive to the "illegitimate"
word and am pleased that we live in a time and in
the Bay Area, where I don't hear that word used
about children anymore. It's just plain mean.

But, I did want to write about the moon over there
to our right. Thank you, Michael, for somehow
getting it from the moon web site to my blog. For
one thing, we can now tell for sure if Ryan's
sleep issues coincide with the full moon.  She is
only 21 months old and her father has A Theory
about the full moon and her snooze button.

I do know for sure that our customers get crazier
when the moon is full, so now I can plan ahead
and prepare myself for dealing with those moon
soaked men and women in the weeks ahead.

Oh, you can click under the waxing crescent and get
right into the web site.  How cool is that?

hear the bells?

SF city hall
Originally uploaded by the omster.

Last Tuesday, our dear
friends Kristin and Bill
were married here at San
Francisco's beautiful
City Hall. Their two
daughters (Claire and Ryan)
were the witnesses and then
they had a festive lunch at
Max's where Ryan (21 months)
played happily with all the
items on the table. It
was a happy day indeed for
everyone (except maybe the
waitress).

back to class

The Salon Mistress just asked me to do some daily
writing (for a week) as a substitute in the Round Robin
class. Perfect timing because I have been using the
term "writer's block" when I really should be saying
"lazy, lazy" and haven't written much of anything
for a week or two.  Commano keeps me interested in
the written word, but it's too easy to copy a poem
or find an intriguing photo, and we all know the whole
reason I have the blog is because I promised to write
every day.  So I'll copy down the daily prompts now
and get back in the saddle.  Hi Ho Silver....

at our fingertips!

Imagine spending two minutes and no money and being
able to find any (it seems to me) photo that you want
to see or send or post on your blog, or whatever. There
are many of these free photo sites, but I am so
delighted with Flickr, that I'll be loyal to that one.
Welcome to Flickr!
A few of my photos are in my account there (I email
them in) and then when I need the Trevi Fountain I
just do a search and about 100 photos are waiting
for me to click and enjoy.  The only minor complaint
I have is that some folks like to empty their cameras
and there might be 10 shots of the same building
from the almost-same location.  But I have learned
to quickly scan through those boring photos.

Trevi Fountain - Fontana de Trevi

Trevi Fountain - Fontana de Trevi
Originally uploaded by Vir2005.

I love travel emails
and this year Jen
has been writing from
Italy, the Great Plotnik
from South Africa (and
me from Kansas.) There
is something so personal
and immediate about
the beautiful "I'm
sitting in an internet
cafe in Orvieto" emails
and I'm posting this
photo for Jen, who
recently tossed three
coins in here - just
like she's supposed to.
Keep writing, Jen!
Welcome home G. Plot!