Roses

This year, due to all the mess of remodelling, I never got around to cutting back the rose bush. This week, there are more roses than we have ever had. This particular rose is not at our house, however. But I do love the color.

We had a little rain last night, and today the roses were covered with droplets and gleaming in the sun. It all felt so fine this morning, since I had finished the Wed NY Times crossword puzzle in one sitting.

Stormy weather

Every two years, I have to have a colonoscopy, which honestly is the procedure most in need of a better name. Who wants to say "colon" or "osopy"? Couldn't it get more obsure latin name, or even something pedestrian like, "lower GI scan"? The first time I had one, I had to drink about a million gallons of some nasty tasting stuff. This time, the doctor said that things had improved, and I could just take some pills. I looked at the instructions, and I still had to drink a lot, but it could be any "clear liquid" of my choice. I stocked up on juice and jello. Starting Thursday night, I guzzled and guzzled some apple juice, tangerine juice, water and limeade. I took four big pills every 15 minutes, and I spent a lot of time in the bathroom.

On Thursday night we watched the news and they were predicting a series of storms to hit overnight. We haven't had much rain this year, so we were thinking it was just the hyperbole of the media. GET READY! HERE COMES SOME RAIN! IT IS GOING TO FALL OUT OF THE SKY!! WITH WIND!

By Friday morning, the rain was falling sideways and anything not tied down was flying around the backyard. Nonetheless, I had guzzled more water and taken more pills, so we got in the car to go into SF for the procedure. When we got on the freeway, cars were not moving. The big electronic sign on the side of the road near our exit first said "high winds... no trucks on the bridge" and then as we sat there, it flipped to "bridge closed..." and then "101 south closed". The cars were directed to the next exit, and Barb got on the phone to tell my doctor that I wouldn't be coming in. All that prep for nothing! But I'd rather go through all that again than be sitting on that freeway for four hours, and getting stuck in the city all doped up afterwards.

So we got home, and I had something to eat, and then the power went out. And stayed out til Saturday afternoon. We found out that we are not very well prepared for an emergency. We had to go out for D batteries for the flashlights. All of our new appliances sat beautiful and silent, and we couldn't even take a shower because the tankless water heater requires electricity. Today we escaped to the mall to get coffee and the rain started again, this time with hail.

But soon after coming home, the power came back on and we are once again warm and cozy, with soup on the stove and the laptop humming away at the kitchen table. As we like to say "thank god for the infrastructure!"

Rain, rain

Last night, the sun went through a clear sky, but today it misted up and before we knew it, the mist turned to drops turned to rain. Driving on the freeway was like going through the carwash, with water being tossed towards the car from all directions at once.

I spent the day helping give a vocal workshop, and one of the other faculty said she thought she was coming down with a cold. All I could think of was, why are you here?? Why shower us with your contagion? And on the ride home, I felt my sinuses contracting and a headache starting. Is it psychological? or did she succeed in the transmission? Or is it the sudden moisture in the air, after a long dry spell?

I bought some hot soup and dosed myself with vitamins. I'll put on some Vicks and go to bed early, and perhaps I can talk myself out of this, just the way I may have talked myself into it. After all, there are germs and viruses around us all the time - perhaps it's only when we open the door that they can attach.

What do you think? How strong is the power of suggestion?

As fall as we're gonna get in California

Since I grew up back east, I have lots of sensory memories of the fall. The crunchy sound of fallen leaves, the brilliant colors of the trees. I remember jumping into large piles of leaves on the lawn - for some reason I never got hurt doing this, although sometimes a gross wetness in the leaves quickly dispelled the elation of the leap (is that dog poop??? yuck). After all the leaves were raked (blisters on my thumb), then they were taken to the curb and set fire, and the smoke would linger in the air, low to the ground, under the overcast skies. We'd take a trip to the apple orchard and get some freshly pressed cider, ice cold from being outside, not from any refrigerator. The days were very short, and walking home from school became a little scary. Crossing the park, you could hear footsteps coming towards you, but you couldn't quite see who is was until they were right in front of you.

When we planted this tree in our front yard, ten years ago at least, we chose a deciduous magnolia. The guy at the nursery reminded us that we'd have to rake up the leaves every fall (like it was some kind of odd ritual that no one should choose on purpose). I'd rather rake once a year than have to pick up the fallen leaves here and there, all year long. I appreciate that the crunchy brown fallen leaves allow my senses to travel in time and place.

A wintery morning

Blogger has it out for my resolution to blog more. Ever since they upgraded to a newer version (that to me, looks completely the same, except for the ability to "tag" things - this term makes me feel slighly illegal, like a very untalented graffiti artist or some angry teenager with a can of paint), the publishing part of blogging is unreliable. And really, what's the point of blogging if you can't publish? And what's the point of sitting down to write if, when you click that button, you are faced with a list of error messages that make no sense?

Well, hope springs eternal, and here I am. Speaking of spring, I can't wait. While parts of the country are puzzled by seeing brown grass instead of snow, and all the warm temperatures, we are freezing here in sunny California. I have been wearing my flannel pajamas for too many nights to count. I'm not sure if I'd be quite so grumpy about the temperature if I weren't so old - I guess complaining about the weather is one of those things that kicks in at mid-life, like a compulsion to talk about your doctor and compare medications with people at a party.

OK, that was two paragraphs of complaints - my goal was to write about stuff I like. Birds at the feeder, Rosie O'Donnell's imitation of Donald Trump, a cup of hot coffee, the NY Times, especially on Monday when I can be sure I'll finish the crossword puzzle. On Fridays, I just throw up my hands in disgust and amazement. How could the puzzle makers be so clever as to come up with THREE phrases that run across the complete width of the square, all the same length, that fit together for down words as well? I get so overwhelmed thinking about their brilliance and process, that I can barely look at the clues.

I'm alone with Lola and my coffee this morning, as Barb is in Los Angeles. I'll join her there tonight for a quick weekend visit to celebrate some birthdays (not ours). We are going to be staying at a place called the "Sportsman's Lodge". I guess it is "historical" - for LA, that means it's been around for more than 25 years and there was probably some wood involved in its construction. I hope it's been upgraded. I think they could have upgraded the name to be more gender-inclusive: "The Sportperson's Lodge"; "The Sporty Lodge"; "The Lodge". It could be that just the name is the historical part, and it's been completely re-built.

Well, here goes - let's see if this post gets published!! I'll tag it for good luck.

Good weather for hiking

The weather.. is it good or bad? Why do we look out the window at precipitation and announce, oh it's awful out there?

We hiked in the pouring rain yesterday, and this is what happened:
1. the dogs chased each other with glee, dancing wet-bellied through the brilliantly green grass
2. we saw brand-new wildflowers poking up, including wild iris, snowdrops and some kind of bright red sprouts
3. we got out of breath in a nice cardio-vascular way, climbing the muddy hill
4. we breathed incredibly clean fresh air and smelled the earth
5. the landscape looked like a Chinese watercolor, with purple streaked sky and draping clouds
6. we caught up on news and ideas with friends that we just couldn't face re-scheduling with - it's been so hard to find time when we are all free
7. we saw a trail become a stream, and the manzanita and madrone trees looked glistening in their rainy gowns
8. we all got wet, and so when we got home, we threw our clothes in the dryer and had hot chocolate. Then we were dry, happy, and virtuous for having hiked on such a day.

Give it a try sometime...