An old rural cemetery where you can build benches, design gravestones, make art. Some graves are over 100 years old, some as recent as last week. Some are decorated with empty beer bottles, 25 cent coins, jewlery and plastic airplanes. My kind of place.
I gave up eating meat about 17 years ago while sitting in a stuffed chair in a rented cabin near Lake Tahoe in the middle of a July snowstorm. I'd spent the afternoon reading John Robbin's Diet for a New America and declared myself meat free somewhere in the middle of the Animal Agriculture chapter. I don't think I could go back to my rib smacking, chicken crunching days even if my doctor said my life depended on it.
I'm cooking a pot of organic carrots for Annie Bones while.....
I munch on a chocolate truffle I found on top of the refrigerator.
Mrs. Belnap, my kindergarten teacher wrote on my report card: Christy very much enjoys musical activities, especially sing-a-longs. 
.... after a 3 month hiatus the Santa Cruz Flea Market will re-open on March 7th! (at least temporarily) We've got our car keys in our hands.
There was a particularly volatile time during my LA County employment in the 60s when our work was interrupted by a bomb threat about once a month. We'd abandon our desks in a flurry of paper and hike in an orderly fashion 4 flights down the back stairwell to the street below where we mingled with the protest of the day while the sheriffs department scoured the building for the bomb.
During the 60s I worked for Los Angeles County. We worked in a crowded 4 story brick building on Whittier Blvd. in the heart of ELA. Down the road Watts had just burned, people rioted and protested in the streets and we lived our little pompous lives on the 4th floor.
On last night's news I heard there are still 500,000 uncounted absentee ballots in Monterey and Santa Cruz Counties. According to Shawn Bagely, democratic party chair, "It doesn't really matter. These votes won't change the outcomes at all."
When we were kids we knew a very old woman named, Dona Maria. She lived in a little Mexican village where we had a small adobe house. She spent her days, every day, all day, clamoring around inside the rusted hulk of an abandoned threshing machine in the middle of a huge field of sagebrush raiding the chicken nests and sucking the bejeebers out of the just laid eggs.
A week ago Irene and I were out in the middle of the desert exploring an abandoned ranch. We were, as far as we could see, the only people on the planet. Then way off in the distance I saw an old pick-up coming toward us. We watched until this grizzled grubby guy pulled up, peered from his window and asked if we knew where a local town was. I started explaining how he could cross the mountain, 13 miles on a dirt road, etc. etc. He just sat behind thin slitted eyes, silently sizing us up, until he put the truck in gear and headed up the dirt road.
Beware. Somewhere out there is the rare road crew determined to stay on schedule.
My mom made me a lovely yellow net "gown" for my 8th grade graduation dance. The net was so robust within an hour of relative inactivity, ie: standing against the gymnasium wall by the punch bowl hoping no boy would ask me to (gasp) dance, my inner arms were shredded to a pulp. I spent three hours in pain and then the dance ended. All in all a successful evening. I mean I knew I'd never have to wear this dangerous dress again.
The very best thing about being in the desert is the enormity of the air. (here's the road leading away from my son's property).
When we go to the desert my 13 year old grandson, Tyler gives up his bedroom and sleeps on the couch in the "great room". Problem is, he doesn't take his snake with him and all night long I can feel it slithering and watching me with it's glittering eyes.
Nothing quite beats sitting around with girlfriends, pouring over the latest hair-do mags and sharing a coke and milk cocktail. It renews the spirit.
When I was about 12, besides wanting to be Jewish, I wanted more than anything to be a famous actress. Here I am in one of my first roles as a court jester at the San Gabriel Children's Theatre. (as fate would have it, it was also one of my last roles.) (I didn't become Jewish either.)
Yesterday morning Irene and I went to court in support of our neighbors whose granddaughter was killed last May by a drunk driver. Parking at the courthouse on Super Tuesday was practically impossible and we lucked out by squeezing into a one hour slot. Most of the family wasn't as lucky. There were only a few in attendance. Before the proceedings we sat quietly and watched the defendant who sat alone in the holding area in a red jumpsuit and handcuffs. This 50 something year old woman is an alcoholic with many "priors". Her court appointed attorney asked the judge for a plea bargain. The judge said no. We learned later the judge had been influenced by the many letters he received on behalf of the victim. One of them was ours. I sat watching this woman who has nothing going for her and thought this same scene was going on in courthouses all over the US at that very moment. And I thought about the power of words. But it was still hard to come away feeling good about any part of it.
When I was 18 I was involved in the "get-out-the-vote campaign for JFK. It was my first election and I was too young to vote. I went door to door asking people if they needed a ride to the polls or a baby sitter, etc. My route happened to be the appartment complexes near Los Angeles County Hospital that housed the nurses and doctors for the hospital. I woke up many of these night-shifters. Most were not happy. I've always wondered if it influenced their vote.
When I was in the 4th grade I got an A+ in spelling. My entire life I've rested on those laurels. I've just noticed lately either words have gotten harder or I've been living in a dream world.
I just learned this morning that Captain America is returning! Boy are we in trouble...
