Ah, RAIN

Tomorrow they say, and it it can't be too soon. At Ikebana class this morning Ronn said most of the flowers in the flower markets are now coming in from Ecuador and other countries, California suffering severe drought. Even my  few iris, which generally love dry feet, are looking confused. For Ikebana this morning I picked  arbutalon, which looked stunning in the front garden, only to learn it was a poor choice. By 10:30 it was on its knees. So much to learn....
Painter buddy Beth from Alameda is coming up this weekend so we can practice using the tombow pen . I have a lot to learn there as well. for except for politics I tend to see everything in the vibrancy of color. On the right is the best I have done so far: some small red roses from my schizophrenic back yard. (Tomorrow it will be smiling.)
So what a poor memory I have. Or is it denial? About a month ago my left shoulder started hurting under the shoulder blade. The hurting got bigger and bigger. "How peculiar" I thought. "I've never had trouble with this shoulder before..."
After taking out stock in Alleve, making excuses for my  poor disposition and watching an increasing number of inane tv shows to distract myself, I woke in the night Wednesday screaming out loud. It hurt so bad. I spent the rest of the night flat on the living room floor with ice under my shoulder. I couldn't decide if it was heart, lung, orthopedic or hysteria. So I dragged myself to the family doc Thursday morning. In five seconds he announced that it was a classic case of nerve inflammation, probably caused by my poor posture due to protecting the bulging pacemaker in front which causes me continual discomfort. Three painless shot and fifteen minutes later I was soothing myself with three flavors of frozen yogurt. Since then I've been scratching my grey matter. Its coming back to me with some embarrassment how many times I've seen doctors in my life for that same shoulder, beginning with my freshman year at the University of Washington, hiking all over that huge campus in the cold and rain with stacks of books under my left arm. More and more memories are coming back. And if I looked through my stack on old MRI's in the closet I'll bet I'd find at least two of that shoulder. So I started today

trying to train myself to carry stuff with my right arm. How hard it is to break old habits!

Reflections of the Past

Way back in the fifties when Lee and I and I hung our weekend hats at Dr. Jane's cabin (my blog of two months ago) the rolling hills were all pasture, but last Wednesday when friend Joyce and I set out to see if we could find the old cabin, a little over an hour's drive from here, all we saw were vineyards. Today's Press Democrat says Sonoma County had 59,974 acres of vineyards last year. Imagine! The vines are bursting with new growth right now and look pristine. But how much wine can a population consume? I hardly recognized the landscape, but we eventually found the cabin, now hidden in deep willow and alder. From the west side of Highway 128 where we parked I could just make out the new stovepipe on the cabin, so someone must be using it. One can't see it in the photograph, but somewhat fuzzy is the big black volcanic rock we climbed on hot afternoons to plunge, nude, into the deep pool below. Ah, such delightful memories of sunbathing along the Mayacama creek, dinners over a campfire, and slumbering under a million stars (trying to avoid the poision oak). Leaving the cabin we motored north west through more vineyards to lunch in Jimtown, first built in 1895, now a restored fancy country store and restaurant. Full tummies we skirted back Healdsburg way, marveling at yet more miles of vineyards. I couldn't help but wonder what this land would look like seventy-five years from now. Perhaps they will find some way of growing water!

The poppies above are to attract tasters into a winery. At right, the old truck in front of the now modernized Jimtown restaurant.

Connections?

Besides the recent lunar eclipse (I actually saw it) the pink dogwood in others' yards (I could never get mine  to bloom in Oakland)  is strutting itself in profusion around Oakmont. My three Japanese
maples are coming in a close second in this writers opinion. Yesterday apple came out with a vastly different version of iPhoto, and today the apple watch went on sale for the first time. Meanwhile Hillary is announcing her candidacy for president tomorrow. I can't help but wonder if any of these things are connected? Maybe the honey bee can tell us?
This weekend I do a two day workshop on travel sketching with David Lobenbrg. And best of all, Catherine will be sitting beside me. We can talk politics in between stokes of the tomboy pen.

A Good Friday

Besides our thriving Art Association here at Oakmont (hear the pride and prejudice in my voice) there are several others around Santa Rosa. In January I bit the bullet and joined one called Artists Roundtable. Its an active group of people who seem to do many shows. I've attended a couple of meetings and suffered facial cramps from stifling yawns. They have competition every month, not judged, except by popular vote. I entered my first painting of an iris this week (the theme was "spring") and came out as #1 winner. I do love painting iris! This is one I did from my garden in Oakland. So far, of the few bulbs I brought up here, only one has graced me with a blossom. Its a pale, pale blue with a yellow beard, smiling at me just now.

 Not exactly exciting to paint. Anyway, the bonus at Artists' Roundtable was there is an iris gardener in the group who every year opens her garden to photographers. I can't wait.
For several weeks now I've missed Friday afternoon current events meeting here, my favorite group. But I'm making a special effort to attend today. There is so much juice in the news, I'll be dancing a jig. And it won't be in Indiana. The group is composed of about 47 democrats and 3 republicans, the latter who are very vocal, but usually get royally trounced. Its great fun. Then there is the governor's edict to cut water usage by 25%. Needed. but ouch. We hardly ever get through one third of the topics nominated. I'll be so stimulated I may be awake for the lunar eclipse Saturday morning.

Pet Love

Its not that I don't love pets, just that I don't have one right now, highly unusual for me. Frankly, I don't know if I could manage it. I've just started back at the gym, encumbered by portable oxygen. To relieve my boredom on the treadmill, I call up in memory all my beloved pets, starting with Black Mike Crockett Crosse, the pit bull of my childhood. Mike was my bud for many years, his back fitting snugly into the curve of my knees each night. Next were my mother's dogs when I lived with her the last two years of high school: Duke, Prince, Lady Jeanne, the latter once having sixteen puppies. From her second litter I adopted a blue Merle collie, Skye Blue, my companion the last year of college and early years of teaching. A Siamese kitten, Kitty Roo, completed the pack. Then came Hallo, a stray calico, who appeared on the window ledge of my classroom on Halloween. At the right, me with Sky Blue at 21.

Moving with Lee to California in the wee bungalow in Berkeley three kitties came with the package: Junior, Mister, and Cindy. Later they shared the address at our first Oakland home with our first canine, a miniature schnauzer named Christopher Robin LeBon. Chrissie lived to sixteen, and surely was surrounded by love. A dozen more pets followed, but you get the idea. Calling up in my mind the memories of these pets gets me through fifteen minutes on the treadmill.
Nowdays I entertain myself with my Oakmont friend's pets. Probably two dozen dogs are walked by my front door daily, and all love to be greeted. Recently my friend Karen adopted two teen-age kittens, Shasta and Pixel. They are great characters, as you can see of this photo.

Wearing of the Green

So the story goes, my maternal great grandfather was pure irish, six feet tall, with flaming red hair. This may have been another figment of my mother's imagination, for all I know. Still I celebrate that little part of me that is supposed to be irish, and though I no longer chugalug irish coffee, I proudly wear as much green as I can muster on St. Patrick's day. Here I am with my book group Tuesday night at Cafe Europa, where we all gulped corned beef and cabbage. It was pretty good, too.

CLIVIA and Marianne

Even when she takes a big breath, Marianne, also 84, only comes to my chin, but like this clivia in her garden, her presence makes a big statement. She's been my friend for a couple of decades now and was one of the reasons I moved to Oakmont. She has been a true friend, and often the one sitting in the hospital waiting room while waiting for me. We've gone on several photo shoots together since I moved here. Tomorrow the "Open House" sign goes on her front lawn. Barb's health is going down hill, and they have decided to move to Lincoln Hills to be closer to family. Its a wise move for them, but a loss for all of us at Oakmont. Good luck, sweet ones. I know you will bloom wherever you are.