Mustard Mania

My breathing being so labored by last Tuesday, I popped right into the doc, expecting  a referral to the cardiologist or a hospital bed. Well, I got diagnosed with severe asthma caused by my allergies. I suppose it is the tree pollen, which is thick up here as of now. But the  doc gave me a magic inhaler, which he predicted would clear my stopped up bronchial tubes within one hour. Guess what...it did. The side effects make me a bit dingy, but I can live with that.

at.

Right now the mustard is competing with everything  for eye-popping attention in the valley of the moon. Soon it will be waist high and the throngs of tourists visiting wineries will be more intoxicated with mustard than with the juice of the grape. In these pictures taken last Sunday it is knee to thigh high. As soon as it hits waist high it will magically disappear, either by special tractor that goes efficiently down the rows, or by herds of grazing sheep, who do the job with equal proficiency. It seems like it is there one day, and gone poof! the next. I've yet to catch a sheep in the action, but I see lots and lots of tourists exercising their knees and special lenses.

Shelves Of Memories

About five months ago I asked Ralph, my handiman, if he could make me a bookcase similar to the bright  purple art deco type that stands on the left of my fireplace. I was skeptical when he said "sure" and more doubtful as the weeks rolled into months with no product. Twice in the ensuing months he brought his wife over to inspect the decor on the existing one. About six weeks ago I spent an hour at the paint store choosing colors. Well, to my shock and delight Ralph showed up with the finished product last Saturday, and it fit exactly in the space designated. It took me three days to decide what to put where, and a couple of nights I got up at three to rearrange things. So here's the  finished product, though the artifact arrangement is still in transition. Many of the objects have serious sentimental value, special just to me. The clock on the next to bottom shelf was in my Berkeley therapy office for 25 years, reminding clients of the fifty minute hour. Many of the Chinese figurines were Lee's mom's. The china cat and kitten were my aunt Celia's. There is a story about almost everything. Countries of origin include Peru, Egypt, and Norway, and the rocks used as bookends came from all over the world. I love them all. Each month I make efforts to downsize, but will I ever succeed?

All Things Bright and Beautiful

It seems like every time I sit down to write my blog one lonely ant comes crawling out of my tiny keyboard. "How can this be?" I ask myself. I wonder if the ant is trying to tell me something? And where does he or she live when not crawling out of my keyboard?
I feel guilty smashing the little critter, but I do anyway. Curious, because I always catch spiders in a glass jar and move them outside, intact. Why don't I extend the same generosity to ants? Maybe the creature is trying to tell me that my words are trivia. Or worse, offensive. Several readers have contacted me to say they were offended by last week's blog. I am well aware I am a freak for not liking football. But something impels me to be honest in my writing.  So, freak or not, I stand by it.
But I did not mean to offend anyone. Yikes!
This past week I find myself missing Lee more than usual. She has been deceased more than eight years. but our hearts are still joined, and sometimes I just long for her tender smile.
So here's a picture of her in happier times, visiting Harrison Hot Springs on Canada's 4th
of July.
This week my more than soiled Malibu got its body shined. Now I can add it to the category of bright and beautiful as well. I haven't figured out how to do purchase the same makeover in this old bod.

In the catastrophic event  that Trump wins the election, I'm heading for my maternal roots in Canada, though not Moosejaw.  I think they will take me, though there may be a long waiting line.

Super Bowl Fever

My sweet Oakmont friend, Bonnie Shelley, (left) grew up in SF. Her passion for football came from her father, whom she reports was avid about it. He was also professional law enforcement.The corelation does not surprise me.
While most of San Francisco and a majority of the nation are glued to their nachos and tv's today, I.m sitting in the quiet and contemplating a short drive to the art supply store and then painting this afternoon.
My personal belief is that football is not good for the bodies of young people, and that the aggressive energy that it fosters is not good for the soul of the nation.
Before flicking off the tv this morning I watched Trump brag repeatedly that
he would bring back water-boarding and worse forms of torture. It was all I could do not to vomit.
Do I believe in getting kids in the out of doors? Absolutely, otherwise I would not have been a professional Girl Scout for nine years. Do I believe we should teach kids teamwork? By all means, that is what will help them survive in our complex society.
But in my opinion football will not solve climate change, will not alleviate poverty, or inequality, or
discourage war. Instead it promotes all the things I detest. This is the day statistically when the most incidences of wife abuse occur, usually accompanied by inebriation.
So yes, I have super bowl fever, but it is not the kind shared by my colleagues or friends. I can't wait for tomorrow to come.