So, last night I'd just gone to bed with a good book when the bed started shaking, the house rattling and what sounded like someone dragging a tin can body through our patio. It was of course "our little earthquake" which "struck" at 8:04 PM. It shook for 30 seconds and I was scared. I mean, our house didn't fall down and I didn't die but the thing is, when an earthquake starts, who really knows where it's going?
The last time I wore a dress was in 1972 when I worked for the welfare department in Barstow California. I hadn't done my laundry in a while and found the dress tucked away and slipped it on to make the 60 mile drive to work. Many of us lived in far-flung desert "ranches" with no electricity. We'd bring our un-ironed clothes in and iron at a board set up in the kitchen of our office in-between seeing clients. Too bad they didn't also have a washing machine. And maybe a dryer.
A while ago my daughter-in-law, Diane introduced me to the nail buffer, maybe in an effort to "glam" me up. I loved it. I buffed and buffed and was so dazzled by the sparkle that I went out and bought 3 more nail buffers so I'd have one in almost every room... Yesterday, with the encouragement of my hair dresser I had my eyebrows tinted in an effort to reduce the "wobble" across my brow caused by the dreaded old age "thinning".... Now I'm wondering what's next? A dress?
I gave up coffee many years ago but I still have a passion for the desert..(I guess this particular VFW shares that passion)... Edward Weston though just cuts to the chase, forget the mashed potatoes and salad..
Lately I've had blogging-inertia. Every morning I visit a series of blogs and when I come to mine I think, why doesn't someone update this thing. What I need is a designated blogger, sort of like in baseball only without the stadium, the bases and the chewing tobacco.
I hate that expression: Get a life! When you lose something you hear people say, "well, you're just going to have to get a life". What if that was your life? People say, "when one door closes, yada, yada, yada." What does it take to make a life? Isn't it a combination of many things? Who says change is always good?
This morning I saw a 50 year old man wearing hot pants and smoking a cigarette in a long silver holder. I saw a woman in spike heels and fishnet stockings schleping a baby and two toddlers. I saw a man playing a tuba and a chihuahua sipping a latte. I saw a young man giving a young woman a hickey while people flowed around them like water. I saw a rooster on a string leash parading through the crowds crowing every 3rd step.
I heard one man say to another: Good Morning!
The 2nd man said: What's good about it?
Man #1: You're alive and kicking. What more could you want?
Some guy has invented a "walkstation" to replace the traditional "workstation". Apparently you walk on a treadmill while working on the computer, talking on the phone, etc. What I don't get is, how do you put your feet up on the desk and read the paper? (oh wait, that's county employment I'm remembering...)
Yesterday Irene and I and our friend, Joyce spent the day at Point Lobos, just south of Carmel. Irene's cousin, Wayne is a docent there and gave us a private tour. What a beautiful day. Perfect blend of wildness, weather and company!
Bohemians were red wine drinking poets who hung out in garrets. Hippies wore tie dye, made the peace sign with a little "V" of their fingers and experimented with lot of substances. BUT beware the beatnik exploding from alleyways and ivory towers and living by their code of rebellion and mutiny!
This morning there was a guy walking around the Flea carrying a big scythe. The flea market has become one big sad-fest with a closing date of Thanksgiving weekend. Hundreds of us who have gone to the flea every weekend for 3 decades are now on personal panic-buying expeditions.
I overheard a fellow customer say to the man with the scythe: What are you doing?
Man with scythe: I'm hoping to get this sold.
I think that's already happened the other guy said.
I was up early enough this morning to catch the Cauliflower Market Prices: market steady, cartons film wrapped CA white 12s 8.00-9.00 some 9s 8.00 organics greens 18.00. There's a whole other world out there: "In The Dead of Night" is a real place. I once listened to a radio call-in show at 2:00 AM all about cement. And there's always the suicide call-ins with a troup of people manning the phones bent on talking people out of destruction. And if you're real lucky you might catch a snippit of the midnight waist-band measurement discussion...
Peggy Chin, an RVer, gets a group of 40+ women moving. She shared a variety of percussion instruments and some women drummed and chanted for the first time in their lives. Drums do that for people. And we come easily back to the pulse.
I picketed Sears & Roebuck once for five years. A private little picket, more like a boycott really. They'd been kind enough to give me a credit card and because those were the very lean times I fell behind in my payments and couldn't keep up with their 21% interest rate.
They resorted to calling our house day and night. They called once too often, at 6:00 AM and after one of my kids answered they threatened to take "your mom to jail". That's what started my protest. I'm just happy they came to their senses over the years and neither I nor Sears seem to be carrying a grudge.
In 1947 my brother and I hitchhiked to Cleveland Ohio from Los Angeles with my father.
He was a writer always working on the "great American novel" and he also wrote a weekly column for a "Negro" newspaper in LA. Where ever we were he'd find the postoffice and mail his travel column off. I came across one of these columns recently and learned we arrived in Cleveland with 47 cents "in our jeans". I read how lonely he was and how afraid as we tramped through snow and wind without a ride in sight.
I remember even at its harshest how protected I felt on this trip and though my father was trying to find us a home I never was looking for anything more than I had right there with him. (here's a photo of my brother and me in Texarcana, Arkansas.)
For two and a half years my mother paid Mrs. Galucci to come to our house every week and give me private violin lessons. I hated it and so did Mrs. Galucci. Finally after this long torturous time, Mrs. Galucci took my mother aside and said with her heavy Italian accent, "You should save your money. Your girl cannot play the violin." That was my last lesson. (this photo by the way, is not me.)
When I was a kid my father and I spent a lot of summer and fall evenings at the Hollywood Bowl in Los Angeles. We saw the Bolshoi Ballet and we saw operas but my very favorite times were nights spent just listening to the Philharmonic Orchestra and sitting next to my dad. I listened to the cellos and the strains of violins and the thrill of trumpets tearing open the vast sky. I felt the twitch of my father's tweed and the LA breezes and watched the sunsets bleed over the hills and I couldn't imagine life getting any better.