cathleen's place

Allison and Carl moved into their new apartment just before Christmas. This is the first place they've had that has a balcony. See the strings of red lights behind the tree? That would be the balcony. It's really wonderful because they have a totally awesome view that you don't have to climb three flights of stairs to see. I have lots of photos taken from the roof of their last place.

So, the other day Carl is enjoying the scenery from his new balcony and you'll never guess what he saw. A peregrine falcon.

The falcon is in there. Somewhere. In there. But isn't that a gorgeous view? Even, or maybe especially, in wintertime.

Okay, we've zoomed in a bit and the falcon is right there -- about the middle of this picture. Do you see him (her)?

There. Now you can see him, yes? He's so beautiful. There are lots of stories about birds of prey making their home in New York City. Fascinating. But that's just me.

I've always loved pen and ink drawings. I tried for years to learn even the rudimentary skills necessary to make a decent drawing. I got pretty good at abstract drawings and I liked them a lot. But the genes for drawing and painting went to my older brother, I got different creative juices.

I was visiting at Flawless Beauty and she introduced me to Kayte Terry, who has the blog love forever and Kayte introduced me to Kristy Hall, who, among other things, has just finished The Diary Project. Okay, did you follow that? In other words, I was blog surfing and I'm so very glad I did and in the direction I did. I enjoy fb for her tips on natural skin/body care. I'd never wandered into any other places from hers and just decided on a whim to go over to lf. love forever is awesome. I'll be going back for lots more of that lady's inspiration.

But I was telling you about my love of pen and ink drawings. And that would be why I mentioned The Diary Project. Kristy describes it this way:

"The Diary Project is a year long art project. Every day in 2007 I am drawing on an envelope, placing something secret inside and posting it to myself before my midnight deadline. When these envelopes return to me they will be kept unopened until they can be exhibited as a whole artwork. Members of the public will then be able to open the letters and investigate the contents. Once the letters have been opened, the contents will be displayed on the Diary Project blog. If you're a gallery owner who would like to exhibit the completed project in 2008, please email me."

Check it out: "Members of the public will then be able to open the letters and investigate the contents." Wow. I'd go to that exhibit. I love that she was willing to draw an envelope every day. I love that she was thinking of a year of envelopes. She used lots of other things (media?) besides ink, like gouache, pencils, watercolor. Here are a few of the envelopes:

In The Diary Project, each envelope is described, the materials used, sometimes the inspiration for the drawing. It truly is fascinating and inspirational. She makes it look so easy. Go visit, you'll like it.

And after that, if you're really inspired and you want more, more, more, you MUST go see her other artworks.

1. How can bloggers be "stumped" for what to write about? WTF. Why would they have a blog in the first place? I’m stunned at the number of sites devoted to “how to think of something to write about on your blog.”

2. Are there some rules of etiquette a newbie needs to know? I've posted comments that were not that disagreeable or argumentative that got deleted. I have to assume the blogger was offended. (See #4)

3. Is it against the bloglaw to do a search by keyword for blogs you want to have a conversation with? I posted a comment that challenged the post and the blogger said I shouldn't be key word searching and to cut it out, kiss-kiss. Another WTF. I actually hadn't done a search, but her response got me thinking. I sometimes do have an agenda but so do most bloggers. Which brings us to the next question.

4. Are bloggers unwilling to enter into debate? Are they only interested in preaching to the choir? I know I would delete a comment if it was spam or an attack on me personally, but it seems stupid to not be willing to have a discussion about something. I don't know, nobody has left any kind of comment that challenged me.

5. Do non-bloggers jump from blog to blog through the various blogrolls? It would make sense, yes? You don’t have to be working on a blog to be interested in what other people are doing on their blogs, right?

6. How do I get people to read the f#%^&ing blog in the first place? Only 2 or 3 of my real-life friends and my daughters read it. I can’t even get my other friends to visit. I thought one of the ways was to visit other blogs, leave comments (only agreeable, cheerleading type comments, of course) and something that links back to my blog. OK, a couple of people have visited because of that. I’ve seen posts that have 75 comments, some have over a hundred. Is it the length of time that that blog has been around? Is it the fame of the blogger from some other activity, i.e., [redacted] is a blog done by a guy who writes for Esquire.

7. Is it unusual to obsess about the number of comments you receive? Can someone tell me how to stop worrying about it? It has occurred to me that there are visitors who do not comment, therefore there are more people reading than I am aware of. Like Cyndi. She must have been reading for a while, but didn’t leave a comment until something really bit. And how did she find it in the first place?

8. Here’s a good one, not exactly a question, but certainly food for thought. A soldier dies in Iraq and the next day a new post appears on his blog. He had sent the post to a friend with the instruction that if something happened to him, she was to post it. It’s a little odd, but when you read the message it makes perfect sense.

9. And then there's the question of whether or not to respond to comments in the comment section. I've seen blogs where the author will reply to every comment, even when they're getting 70, 80 comments. Are you kidding? And the responses to the comments take on a conversational tone, which is cool, but again, no disagreeing allowed. Are the people leaving the comments personal friends of the author? Are they just other bloggers who drop in so regularly that it seems like a bunch of friends? Do the commenters come back and read the reply to their comment? It's way too complicated. I need to know how this works.

I don’t think that’s all of my questions, not by a long shot. But now that I’m participating in this cultural phenomenon, I’d like to understand more parts of it. I realize I’m a little behind the curve, everybody else has been doing it for years; they’ve learned some of the tricks. I even registered at a site called Blog Ninjas where a blogger can get “help.” Hmmm, we’ll see about that. In the meantime, if you’re reading this and you don’t leave a comment, could you at least send another person to my blog? Hell, even if you DO leave a comment, send a couple more people here. Thanks.

It's been such a very long time since I've thought about, looked at, or experienced in any way, the joys of dance. I'm particularly fond of modern dance -- sure, I've seen some really stupid stuff and have even taken a few really stupid classes. But for the most part, the modern dance that I've seen or been taught has been exciting, inventive, fresh and liberating.

I took a lot of dance classes at Arizona State, some modern, some ballet, a little jazz. And I met some incredible people, very dedicated to their art. That kind of dedication is not something I have or know too much about (except where Kim is concerned). I was married to a dancer/choreographer/teacher and his inability to function outside of the dance world eventually eroded our marriage. For him, a wife was sort of like a light bulb or groceries, it blows out, you get another one. Weird, but I can see how a person would have to do that to succeed. Many of the dancers I knew were like that. People, both dancers and not, were either useful or not.

I miss dancing. I miss it a lot. I'm hoping that I'll get back into it when we move, that somehow I'll be in good enough shape that I can take a class or two. Since the new me wants to exercise, then, what the hell, let's dance!

I have tons of great images of dance -- I was the photographer for the dance program at San Diego State University for a couple years. But they're all packed, waiting to go to Oregon. I'll show them to you when we get to the other side.

I found this today while I was looking for something (I have no idea what) and really really really love it. I hope you enjoy it too. The choreographer is Nadia Oussenko, and she's just a whole lot of fun and energy.

I'm sure you've figured out that Kim is a gadget geek, a lover of all things techno. Which is good. It means he keeps up on stuff that, if it were up to me, we'd be in the way back. He reads Popular Science and Wired and he gets feeds (what the %#$^??) of things moderne. So. He's owned a great Pentax 35mm camera for years and he's bought great lenses for it at no small cost. But who in the world is shooting film these days? It's just not right. I bought a Nikon Coolpix some years back and was mostly liking it. Recently we bought a little nothing digital camera, the kind you see people pull out of a pocket while sightseeing. It works -- it's good for the web, email, etc. You take pics with this camera, not images (see Photography sidebar).

Ta-da! We got a new digital Pentax that will accept the lenses from the old Pentax!! Yay! What a great idea. But this sucker is complicated, at least for me it is, Kim is patient and studies manuals. Well, naturally we needed to go try it out, right? Naturally. But where? We decided, after a brief foray on the web, to go to the West Tampa Historical District. That sounds good, doesn't it?

Here it is. I'm not kidding. And we were lucky to find this. We debated buying a Tampa map and NOT buying one won. Oh well. We drove around, trying to remember the streets that bordered the Historical District. What we didn't know is that West Tampa is primarily a very old, rundown area and the Historical District designation is an attempt to clean it up. Oh well again. We figured there were probably lots of old, getting-ready-to-be-renovated buildings like this one, if we could just find them.

But there was a small problem -- we hadn't eaten in hours and we were both starving. Plus, we didn't have a map. Plus, what passed for restaurants in this area were not places we could actually eat. We got back on the only freeway we recognized and headed back toward Clearwater, thinking we'd go to one of the places we were familiar with. Nope, you can't get there from here. Not without a map.
This is where we ended up -- a resort hotel restaurant on Tampa Bay. Works for me. I was so hungry and really needed a restroom. I do love a fancy, full-of-itself eatery with a chef. And this chef makes his own potato chips! Oh. My. God. They were marvelous. So was the rest of the food. It was lovely lounging on the deck, nice umbrella, being waited on. Maybe you think I'm going to say that something happened to wreck the idyllic scene, but no, nothing like that. It just stayed wonderful.

The first thing that came to the table was the usual bread and butter, but this time it included a special dish of salt. Salt. I don't know. Of course, the people waiting on us think we're completely bonkers, we're snapping pictures of the bread, the dishes, the chips. We probably did look sort of silly, but do you think I care?

Not me, I've got this little bit of paradise -- gorgeous day in January, nobody else on the patio (I hate perfume, even when I'm outside), tasty food, happy husband with his new toy. Oh yeah, that's what I'm talking about. I could sit here all day, sip my iced tea, watch the birds and the clouds. Mmmmm.

This was the best desert I've had in ages and ages. It was just this tiny glass of key lime pie with some graham cracker crust bits scattered around in it, topped with really sugary meringue. Yummy, yummy, yummy. Kim liked it too, darn it. It's probably better that we shared it. I would have moaned and groaned and whined about it if I'd eaten all of it myself. Isn't it so cute, with the little berries and the sauce kind of raked like that? Yes, this place thinks a lot of itself.
We admired this wall decor -- a fabulous sculpture of different kinds of birds, made just from different thicknesses of wire. I could do that. Just as soon as I get my new shop up and running. Heh, heh.

So, instead of the West Tampa Hysterical District photography day-trip, we took the let's-eat-at-the-
most-pretentious-restaurant-on-Tampa-Bay photography day-trip. And it was lovely. Just lovely.

We had a good time, a delicious, if overpriced, lunch and learned lots of cool stuff about the new camera. Next time, we'll take you along with us, okay? Don't worry, we'll go dutch.

Ok, just sit back and watch. Maybe Kim and I will build one of these in Oregon.

Kim is the serious geek in our family and I learned about these two things from him. I want to pass them along because they are very useful in this digital-email-linkedup (or is it linkedin, or maybe it's linkedto, whatever)-bloggy-yahoogroup kind of world.

The first thing is a place where you can type in an acronym and find out what the hell other people are talking about when they talk in abbreviations. This is very annoying to me, this talking in initials. Like IMVHO or LMAO or LGBQ or any of the thousands of other irritating shorthands. Butsoanyway, it's called acronym finder and I use it about 200 times a day. Maybe that's a slight exaggeration.

The other is a site where you can paste in a ridiculously long url and get back a little bitty url. This is very handy. I have seriously cursed people who throw gigantic urls into a post without realizing that it gets broken into pieces and then, if you want to actually go look at it, you have to fumble around with copying it and pasting it. Too much work. So. In the interest of making your links in your posts really easy to use, check out tinyurl.

You can thank me later.

Cyndi writes:
"I was crouched next to you when you first met Kim. We were on a mattress in a corner of Terry's living room at Contempo. There were suddenly lots of strange people there that night in May.

Then Kim came over and talked to us for a long time, and made you laugh a lot.

I didn't ever know you felt that way. I never felt that way. I wish you had told me.

One of the things I remember Kim saying to me was about how he thought a good couple would be one where you would read together, different books, and then sit and tell each other what you read.

Kim was filled with significance of thought and interesting ideas. All the traits you ascribe to him here are true from my memory of him. Seen through your eyes, I see how very special he is, and that you are able to appreciate each other for who you each are.

How good to know now, knowing you each from the start, and what happened to each of us that first decade or so, that you and Kim found each other finally, in a way and at a time when you could finally become a couple.

As soon as I saw, a few months ago, you had got back with Kim, I realized, yes, that is who she should have been with all along. And now, reading this, I wanted to tell you so.

I was there at the beginning, but I have gone a very different way, which can't be very surprising to either of you.

Looks like none of us live in the southwest anymore, but we left very strong impressions behind us there. Endings can be the best part of a positive experience."

This is mind blowing to me. I've tried numerous times over the years to find this person and here she is, reading something I put on my blog and then writing this astonishing response to it. It's hard for me to describe how weird this is.

Cyndi was my only friend in high school. I would pick her up in the morning, we'd go for coffee and a few smokes, then maybe we'd make it to school. We'd eat lunch together and then, when school was over, we went to her house and drank Coca-cola and ate SaraLee marble cake. We listened to Joan Baez, Bob Dylan and occasionally Broadway show tunes -- go figure, right? I think there was a girl named Sherry who hung around with us once in a while, but we weren't super good friends with her like we were with each other.

Cyndi and I were in a couple of the plays our senior year. I think we were both in Cyrano de Bergerac and maybe we worked backstage on The Sound of Music. The two of us were oddballs. We didn't really fit in too well -- we weren't jocks or nerds or cheerleader-types or even very sociable, for that matter. We stuck together and were pretty much ignored. On Friday and Saturday nights we'd go to Terry's apartment in Tempe, where I'd get blasted as quickly as I could and spend the rest of the evening trying to get sober enough to drive us home. Understand, this was 1966: "don't drink and drive" had not been beaten into us, we'd probably never heard anyone say it, hell, my car didn't even have seat belts!

I hounded Cyndi into going to Arizona State with me. It was great fun moving into our own apartment a few blocks from campus. Can I just interject here how strange this is, remembering all this stuff? I haven't thought about any of this for years and years. Strange, but fun too. Anyway, we got a one bedroom apartment for $66.00, close enough to walk or ride a bike to class.

It was at the end of that school year that Kim and I went to San Francisco in my old 1949 Mercury with the pillows in the back instead of a back seat. Cyndi went to New York to do summer stock. That was the summer I stumbled into $cientology, which, in my drug stupor seemed like an answer to something. When the new school year started, Kim and Cyndi were both back in Tempe. I was heavy into $cn and made it my mission to convert as many people as I could. So I did. It was because of my involvement that Kim, Cyndi and another friend of ours, Irv, got into the cult. Cyndi even married a $cnist a few years later. I know that she got out and divorced the $cnist and raised her son.

I lost track of Cyndi for quite a few years and then we hooked up somehow, not too long after Allison was born. We drifted into and out of each other's lives for years, until about 1990, when we had a falling out. I haven't talked to her since then. From the tone of this message she left in the comments section of Kim, she has changed quite a bit. I really want to talk to her, but I don't have any way to do that other than write to her here and hope she reads it.

Hi Cyndi.

I finished reading this book today. I stuck it in an envelope and mailed it to Lauri. She's lived in Alaska for the past 30 years and will love reading it. She'll love it for its wistful heroine Marty as much as for its setting: Homer, Alaska. (I just this minute found out that Lauri has run out of reading material. . .how serendipitous.) I rummaged around and found a few reviews of it. One reviewer said, "Melissa Lion approaches her second book, Upstream (she debuted in Swollen), with tender-loving-care." Another did an interview with Melissa as a companion piece to her review. I liked this interview because Melissa talked a lot about her writing and how it works for her. You can Google Melissa Lion and find all kinds of interesting stuff.

I'm not a book reviewer, but if I was I'd say that teenage girls will love this book. I don't think this book is just for teenagers, though. It's a really good read. I like Melissa's style, it's tart and sassy and the teenage narrator feels very real, if just a touch mature. I don't always believe everything in the story, but I loved reading it and I definitely cared about Marty and Dottie and Gwen and their mom. Oh, and Katherine too.

When Melissa was in high school, she wrote short stories. They were remarkable. I remember one, it had greenbeans in the title and another one about a girl who becomes the 12th wife in a Mormon family. Such good stories. I remember thinking how extraordinary it was that this 16 year old had so much insight into other people. Melissa does have insight, plenty, and I still don't know where it comes from.

I recommend both her books -- Swollen and Upstream. And I recommend reading her other writing, which you will find by going to Melissa's website. Enjoy!

I'm excited to tell you about my trainers (that's right, plural). But first, there's a little back story you need to have: Kim and I moved to Clearwater in May 2005. We had purchased two houses in April. Both houses needed work; the one we were going to use as income property wasn't too bad and the one we intended to live in was majorly awful. I can't even begin to describe how awful it was. Think Florida, and then 100x that. Anyway, it didn't take very long to get the rental ready and then our complete attention was on our house. It was difficult living in it, but we had no choice. So for two solid years, my only job was the renovation of this house. I did all the demolition and 99% of the finish work. I don't do electrical, plumbing, major construction. The house was finished and we put it on the market last July. And I was in very, very, very bad shape. I had not taken care of myself at all. I had worked my body hard and had done virtually nothing to repair all the damage I was doing: long hours, heavy lifting, repetitive movements, etc. At the end of those two years, my right shoulder, elbow, wrist, my back, my hips, my knees, you name it, it hurt. With the house done, I decided to spend my new free time doing things that would be good for me. My first decision was to get acupuncture for the pain, which was a good thing to do. It really helped. The next thing I did was hire a personal trainer. That was the weirdest thing -- the equivalent of deciding to live on Mars. I mean, who hires a personal trainer? Brad Pitt maybe, but ordinary, regular folks? I don't think so. But I did. I did a little bit of research, looked at what kinds of things to be careful about and then, the next I knew, I was going to this gym twice a week. It's not a gym like Gold's is a gym, where you can get a membership and do whatever you want. This place, AMA Fitness (not connected with the American Medical Association, thank god), is like a private club. You go there only to work with a trainer. I knew that I was never going to exercise at home, by myself -- simply not going to happen. So, I work with Jeff. He's a very, very good trainer. That statement is based solely on the changes in my body and attitude over the last 5 months. Jeff is a cyclist and a sports fan -- he knows all about football teams and players. He goes on really long bike rides almost every weekend and his legs are definitely a bicyclist's legs. I like working with him because he gives clear instructions, he's patient, has a wry sense of humor, and is sooo encouraging. He only lets me cheat the tiniest bit, like on walking lunges, but mostly he makes me go further than I think I can. And I feel so good when I do.

My other trainer is Stephanie. She owns Poise Pilates and also works with clients at AMA, which is a good thing for me, otherwise I probably never would have found her. And the difference she has made in my posture, balance, alignment and breathing are priceless. This is one amazing woman. When she set out to learn about Pilates, she didn't just learn Joseph Pilates' method and his exercises. She read medical books so she'd know which muscles were doing what -- not something taught to Pilates instructors. She also prepares future instructors for their certification, and they pass. Like Jeff, she practices what she preaches. A big part of Pilates is breathing and learning to expand the ribcage. Today Stephanie demonstrated for me what breathing is really about. She put my hands on her ribs and stomach so I could feel what happens when a person takes a really deep breath. She inhaled for 35 seconds. You try it -- see how long you breathe in before you run out of room. Stephanie can show me the exact exercise to do for practically any muscle/joint discomfort I'm having. I whine about something and boom! she's got instructions for where my arm should be and how long my neck needs to be and which part of my foot to put my weight on. Amazing. I love how I feel afterwards. I love how my life has changed because I'm so much stronger and taller and more able to see my future.

Thank you Jeff. Thank you Stephanie. I'm more grateful than I can say.

As many of you know, I get very excited about "issues" and like to rant and wave my arms around. Well, here's another one (after the too much perfume one, which was such a big deal to me I started a blog about the evils of perfume/fragrance). This one is plastic. Do you have any idea how much plastic you use and throw away? I was completely appalled when I honestly assessed the amount of plastic waste in our household. And don't tell me it's okay because you put it in the recycle bin. THAT'S EVEN WORSE THAN USING IT IN THE FIRST PLACE!! Check out this video about what happens to plastic set out in your recycle bin. (Don't bore me with details about how this news report concerns British plastic -- you can be SURE that the US of A sends tons and tons and tons of recylcing to China.) My friend Lauri sent me the name of a very interesting site: FakePlasticFish. That's where the video is. It's worth spending some time there and educating yourself.
Recycling is a thing of the past. Recycling is part of the problem now. Using shit that gets thrown away is not okay. It's time to examine our trash!! Do you want to help or do you want to continue thinking that you're a good doobee because you gather up all your plastic bags and take them back to the grocery store??? Arghh. In the '60's we shouted "If you're not part of the solution, YOU ARE PART OF THE PROBLEM!" It was true then and it's true now. Here's an excellent first step: sign the Think Outside the Bottle pledge, that will help. It's important to remember that changes can be tiny, you don't have to solve the entire problem by yourself today. Here are three suggestions: take canvas bags with you everywhere, never let anyone send you home with plastic bags; get a glass bottle with a lid that you can refill with water, never buy bottled water; and pay attention to the things you're buying: how much plastic are you going to have to throw away because of your purchases.
Okay. We can do this. I feel another self-righteous blog coming on.

I've loved Kim all my life. I loved him before I even met him. And I knew the moment I saw him that he was the one I had dreamed of. He's been in my heart forever and will always be there.

photo by Donna Padowitz

I love him because he's kind and patient. I think I can be pretty obnoxious but Kim doesn't seem to be bothered -- he likes me the way I am, he loves me with all my warts. We've been married 13 years and he's lost his temper twice. That doesn't mean he isn't passionate, he just isn't an angry person. And he's never petty.

I love that he's so incredibly smart. Sometimes he shows me stuff about computers or math or astronomy and I'm just in awe. He understands a lot about the world and the universe and how things work. He loves to teach me new things; I know I can ask him anything and he'll know the answer or know where to find it.

Kim is creative and playful and intuitive. He has wonderful ideas about making a new life in Portland, what sort of house we'll build or make, the new skills we'll learn, like welding. He's constantly learning new things -- new programs, new tools, he just keeps growing smarter.
And he has much better taste than I do. I think he sees better than I do and I love looking through his eyes.

I love him because he's generous. He would do anything for me, give me anything I asked for. And he wants me to be happy. He gives me happy all the time. It just falls off of him, or beams out of his eyes. We don't argue (anymore). It's so fun to talk about something we feel differently about because we don't get upset when the other person disagrees. And once in a while, one of us is the proud owner of a new point of view, almost always a good thing.

Kim and I got married October 3, 1993. We had written out our vows, purchased rings, cut a boatload of roses from the neighborhood gardens (with permission) and we had some candles. It was just the two of us and after we'd said our vows, given the rings and lit the candles, we opened a couple of beers and giggled. A few years later, we went to a county courthouse and made it legal. A little while after that, we put together a small party for family and friends. It was very fun, very light, with good food, yummy champagne and a dark chocolate cake that said For Always on it.

And later that night, we danced.

I know that there are terrible drivers all over the country, but we live in Florida -- no, worse than that, we live in Clearwater -- so my stories about bad drivers are about Florida. Just like there are ugly houses in every state, but my ugly houses are in Florida. Kim and I decided the best way to convey the idiocy of the drivers here, is to write the driving manual to match the way people drive. Ready?

Florida Driver's Manual

Obeying traffic lights is optional. If you want to stop on red, that's okay. If you want to stay put when it turns green, that's okay too. And when you decide to go, you don't want to rush it. Take a moment to remember where you're going and why you're in your car.
Likewise, stop signs are negotiable. Don't worry that there is traffic coming, just ease out very slowly and carefully -- you'll be fine, they'll slow down to let you in.
Whenever you're on a two-lane road, be sure to match the speed of the car beside you. This is a traffic flow control method popular in the South. We call it the "rolling roadblock" and it's excellent for keeping speeders in check.
Multi-tasking is an important skill for all Floridians to have. Feel free, while you're driving, to apply your make-up, make and answer any calls, fix your coffee, yell at your kids, whatever.
Come to a complete stop before making a right turn.
When approaching a red light (that you're going to stop for) begin your stop at least a block before the light. That will give you ample room for creeping. You will be able to move a little at a time up to the place you actually want to stop. (See #8)
(These are the ones Kim reminded me about) If any little thing upsets you, or you get confused for any reason, or you think you might nod off, just slam on the brakes. Pay no attention to the traffic, the lights, the other drivers.
Drive very slowly -- slower than the speed limit would be good. Things can happen that are unexpected. So, be safe, go slowly.
Parking information: allow at least 4 ft. between your vehicle and the curb. Also, the yard is an excellent place to park, frees up the driveway for the plumber or UPS.

I was just rummaging through an old folder stuck in the back of yet another folder and lo! Look what I found.

A rose in New Orleans, May 2005.

Bamboo shoots, San Diego Zoo. I didn't use a tripod -- it was dark and I liked the blur.

Water and beer glasses, Quigs Restaurant in San Diego, the weekend Bruce and Celia visited.

Very old door, New Orleans, May 2005.

Ever write a letter and never ever hear anything back? Or send an email and wait and wait and wait and wait . . .? How about leave a message on someone's machine but it seems to have gotten lost in the ether? Maybe you didn't really write, send, speak. Maybe you only imagined that you did.

This is my worst nightmare: unanswered communication. I believe that lots of people share my feelings about it. I believe that waiting for replies, responses, return calls, rejoinders, ripostes, retorts, reactions accounts for all mental illness. This is the reason people talk to themselves, why they replay what they wrote or said, over and over again in their minds, trying helplessly and hopelessly to figure out what they said that caused the other person to ignore them. Some people, a very few, can live with unanswered letters, emails, phone calls. Some people can just go on about their business, knowing in their hearts, that an answer will come or not, and they are fine either way. I'M NOT ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE.

I know some extraordinary women. Some I met when they were teenagers and are now grown women having amazing lives. Two are daughters. A few have passed into another realm, less physical than this one. There are friends, close to me in age and precious to me in their ability to love.

I'm grateful that I know them all. I appreciate their uniquenesses, I'm honored that any one of them would consider me a friend.
(Most of the photos get bigger when you click on them.)

Purple hair. Teenagers do that. And lots of piercings and maybe a few tattoos. Here is Liora. As of June '07, she was living in Hokkaido, Japan, teaching English and hiphop to the locals. But I know that she was planning on going for a Masters in Psychology sometime soon -- not in Japan, here in the U.S.

This is Melissa. She was a handful. But a very fun and fabulously intelligent handful. I wonder if she knew that her teachers tore their hair out because of her. A few years ago, I read her first published novel, Swollen. I'll be reading her second, Upstream, soon.

I stole this picture of Donna from her website. She was my first photography student. She loved it so much, she was willing to come to school at 7:30 a.m. and get NO credit for it. That's extremely unusual. She also passed up a pretty certain career in math (she was very gifted) in order to study commercial photography.

You've met Lorelei if you're a constant reader. If you're just meeting her now, go back and get acquainted with her.
What fun this teenager was!! A delight, a joy, a trip. And now she lives in Dublin, Ireland and is in love with lovable Roland.

This is Slayde. She is Kim's daughter and mine, not by marriage, but by choice. I don't know of any other stepmother who had it so good. Slayde (and her brother Abe) treated me with the utmost kindness and respect. Here she is with Ben, her very cool and very smart boyfriend. Slayde is a law student at Georgetown University Law School. I'm hoping she'll put polluters in jail.

Allison is my first daughter. She's sassy and funny and smart. She should write about traveling since she goes all over the place -- and at the drop of a hat.

My mom. I thought I would die of grief when she passed away. That was such a long time ago. My mother was truly extraordinary. She was a WASP, Women Airforce Service Pilot in WWII, the first women in history to fly US military aircraft. And after her husband (my father) died, she drove 4 kids and a german shepherd from Virginia to Arizona in a pink and black Nash Rambler. She was tough.

Evie was Kim's mother. Here's just one of her amazing and unbelievable stories: she taught at the American School in Tehran while the revolution was going on in 1979 -- the Shah was fleeing while the Ayatollah Khomeini was coming to power. Her friends said they hated Americans, but she was okay. Evie also taught in Paris and in Moshi, Tanzania. Remarkable. She taught ESL in Santa Barbara right up to the day her heart stopped. She was tough, too.

Yup, that's Lauri, queen of the north country. That's a baby halibut she's got there and she says "it's no big thrill." Whew, it would be for me. Lauri is steel wrapped in the softest lambskin.

Here's me and Lois and Elijah, her first grandson. Lois has the best sense of humor of anyone I've ever known. She can make me laugh anytime, anyplace. That is worth everything because without laughter, you're finished.

Belinda is the best high school drama teacher in the country. And the best friend. A therapist told me once that I should check into a mental hospital because I was in such bad shape. I went to Belinda's house instead, where I could get some real care. Whenever I woke up, she was there beside me, asking me what I needed, bringing me delicious muffins and coffee.

These women sustain me. They energize, inspire, comfort, entertain, amuse, and enlighten me. I would like to take this opportunity to say: thanks.

I can't believe I quit smoking. I didn't want to quit. I wanted to want to quit. I wished I wanted to quit. One day I just couldn't keep doing it any more. It's the weirdest thing: I can't bring myself to smoke even though I really really want to. Sometimes I get this strong urge to have a cigarette. STRONG. Know what I mean? Ever been addicted? That book (Easy Way to Stop Smoking) is spooky. I didn't even finish it. I knew there was something strange because I was only about a third of the way through it and I wasn't wanting to smoke very much. We took a trip to Portland and stayed in a hotel that didn't have any smoking rooms left and we had a non-smoking rental car. When I made the arrangements I was pissed -- I couldn't figure out how I was going to enjoy the trip. Once we got there (and I had read more of the book), it was no problem. It's just too weird. I don't understand it. I want to know what happened, how it works. How could I be a smoker one day, with no intention of quitting, and then wake up the next day and say "I'm not smoking ever again?" What is that?

Last November 10th the second annual Ironman 70.3 was held in Clearwater. What a hoot! Amazing athletes from all over the world came here to compete in this half Ironman. I think a full Ironman is nuts. Are you kidding me? It's a 2.4 mile swim, then a 112 mile bike ride and THEN A FULL MARATHON. A full marathon after swimming and biking. Jeez. These events are also called triathlons -- three things, get it?

Anyway, I found out in October that the Clearwater hosts were signing up volunteers to help with the event. Volunteers are always appreciated. Of course, free help, what's not to like? So I called the coordinator and said I had some free time, what did they need? Actually, I got to do something very fun -- sign in the athletes as they arrived for the event. It was awesome. I met some really fit, really buff men and women. A few of the athletes I signed in didn't speak English -- we did it all with sign language.

The other job I had was to time cyclists who got a penalty and had to stop in the penalty tent. If they got a general penalty, they only had to sign in at the tent, but if they were cited for drafting (catching a ride behind somebody else), they had to stay for 4 minutes. Ouch. We didn't get many people. I'm glad...they were unhappy to be there. It was more fun signing them in.

It helps me stay in the moment, instead of worrying about the past or the future.
It helps me see my life and what's important to it and in it.
I like writing -- this provides a non-threatening way to indulge myself.
I love the idea of chronicling, not only my life, but others' as well.
Telling about my life in a blog is the most transparent I've ever been. But I will admit that it almost doesn't count because I don't know if anyone is actually reading it. It's not like I've been listed in the Blogs of Note column and scores of people are flocking to my blog. So the thing is, if people are reading it and not leaving comments, then I have the same response I would have if no one was reading it. If they read it and leave a comment, then I have a completely different feeling about it. I know that someone has seen me and I experience being seen. This is getting way too philosophical and metaphysical. I will likely have to pick this part up later.
It provides a creative outlet -- arranging posts, photos, links, choosing colors, fonts, etc.
I feel connected to something cultural. I haven't had that since the '60s and I was too stoned to realize it then.