Half awake, the smooth glass cyclinder, with no handle to clearly say 'this end up', confused me. Life is full of the wet awakenings.

Capturing what's special about the ordinary, I like goals like that. I look forward to spending time at Late Night Snacks, where the author promises to do that. We need to find specialness in the ordinary. If we can't find it there, we won't really find it anywhere. The big things will arrive, and we'll be clueless. Will we find them so much 'our due', that they're grasped up and squeezed dry before we know? Gone, and we won't even have gotten to know the fullness of what they were. I don't want to be like that. I want to stack blessings up in my mind like some people stack their vast material collections. High towers of them, neatly organized, so I can go to each section, pull one out for the savoring, then gently put it back, to enjoy another. For what are these high piles of material things, but means to happy memories? For my high towers of CDs, for instance, there's many happy memories of listening to all that music. Music for my every mood. It's what happens in the heart, in the mind, that really matters. Sure, without the material, the physical substance, three-dimensional thing, the mind event couldn't occur. But without the mind event, those before mentioned CDs, for instance, are just round hard plastic disks. Any material substance is that way. This combination of plastic, circuitry, glass that's before me - so much assemblage with out the mind event. So with all that, I want to center in on what's important.

That's what I want to do here. No fun if I'm merely dutifully reporting events of the day. That movie we saw yesterday, was it important to me? Or was it just a couple of hours spent in mild amusement? It had a few chinks in it. The cracks kind of took away from the total. It's not one of those things I want to keep and remember. I'll let it fall to the memory floor, to be swept out with the trash. Pffft! I don't want to write about that.

That Scrabble game Laura, Julia and I played. This was more interesting, however handsome Antonio Banderas was, with his dark eyes and exotic looks, in that movie. We played Scabble with an enhanced letter set, and a few new fun rules. At the end, we had more letters than we had places to put them. Laura took out some of the extras, and we'll try it again. Maybe next time will be the perfect set. But it was an engaging game. I didn't win, but made a few good plays. The contest of me vs. me was good. I rarely win against Laura and Julia. Twelve years ago, I learned something about winning. If you go into every game you play expecting to win, you've lost already, in the bigger game.

It wasn't easy learning that. Laura and I were new together. We played a Monopoly game I'll never forget. Laura and her son Anton have quite the entreprenurial skill at that. They were wheelin' and dealin' and I was losing and losing. Money fell from my fingertips like rain. Laura gave me money under the table to try and keep me in the game. This made it worse for my poor ego. I was almost in tears. I was being 'tested', it seemed. I flunked that test, but learned the lesson anyway. Grab from the experience what you can. I did, and haven't forgotten.

So twelve years hence, a sense of mild amazement when I should chance to win, I don't take games so seriously anymore.

I'm the winner of less stress, good engaging contests, and fun times for all. Not bad, eh?

September 6, 1999

"You Do What You Gotta Do"

Where do I start this morning? It's early, dark still. We've got the front door open, and the under 80 degree (26C fresh air is floating in. A day of possibility awaits me. I've got sewing projects to tackle. My day with Laura got postponed until Tuesday, so today I must sew. I'm halfway through a difficult project, and must begin a simpler one.

I'm not sure yet what music I'll choose. Sometimes it's pleasant there, in the light room, thinking happy thoughts as I finesse the objects to completion. I hope it will be like that today. Not one of those brooding thought days, had too many of those already. But I think that's behind me.

We've had changes around here. Seems there's always changes. Life can't stand still.

Glen and Mother are watching over the dog. He was their dog, originally, anyhow. Max was shedding too much. Yesterdays carpet vacuuming produced over three canisters worth of crud, mostly black dog hairs. All that hair got to Julia's allergies. She's been having a rough time of it, taking crappy medicines which have worse side effects than what little they help. Of course, they'll have him mostly outside. He's not been adjusting easily. He's been howling at the door a few times. Laura, to whom he got the closest, misses him the most. But Julia is breathing better. You do what you gotta do. He will adjust. We're still buying the dog food, so he gets the same chow he's used to. And Laura gets to play with him outside. This morning, he looks happier.

Later this day . . .

As an evening snack, I've just had a piece of hard crust garlic bread dipped in olive oil and two pieces of raisin cinnamon toast with butter - yes, carbo heaven! I could never cut out carbohydrates. I suspect that a very low-carb diet could have ill effects much like the no-fat diet that messes with your brain chemistry. We learned this the hard way. Laura thought she'd do the Dean Ornish lowfat diet one better. She cut out fat all together. We've since come to believe it was the cause of her year of agony. Perhaps someone can learn from our lesson.

September 7, 1999

"Fruit"

While at the archery range with Laura this morning, I took a few photos of the creosote bushes. Their furry little things (pictured below) fascinate me. After a web search, I learned these are the plants fruit.

Fruits of the Creosote Bush The two fuzzy fruits nearest the camera eye are nearly actual size. These, the 1/2 inch long ( 1 cm) leaves and the 3/4 inch (1 1/2 cm) yellow spring time flowers are small for a reason. They are better able to conserve water and dissipate heat. This ability is important in the southwestern deserts, where the creosote bush (Larrea tridentata) is common. The bushes are usually a little taller than a tall man, though they can be lower, or much higher, even as much as ten feet (3 m). The waxy, resinous leaves are responsible for the unique way the desert smells after it rains, for they give off a pungent smell. The name derives from the tarlike odor of that resin. The first time I experienced the desert rains, I asked Laura what that weird smell was. It took me a couple of years to get used to it. Now, after a rain, I breath deep and savor it.

Oddly enough, this mornings earlier poetry efforts also were about fruit. It must have been the heavenly peaches, which were fuzzy, thus peaches, and not nectarines, as I'd mistakenly called them at first.

Other Fruit   The rotting fruit on the vine holds no more appeal, last sweetness gone, ignored until too late. The pus-sy remains are all that is left. But in season, the earth will reclaim them and the seeds tucked within. In those seeds other lives, other fruit will be born, will be savored. Patient earth just marks the days by moons. JAL, 9-7-99

September 9, 1999

"Buggy Eyed"

I've been up to my neck in navy satin, but the sewing project is nearing completion. Feeling safe that I will make the deadline, I'm quitting for the day. But I'm fairly buggy-eyed and not very talkative. Maybe that late afternoon - early evening swim will relax me. The sky has been nicely overcast, but no rain. Tomorrow the weather reports promise rain.

September 10, 1999

"At Last"

The big project is done. The young woman was very sweet and happy to get the fifteen satin gathered purses. I can't rest on my laurels for long, though. Another customer is suddenly anxious to get their big bag of things done, however. Because in the past, they had taken so long to pick up their things, I'd let the current bag sit while doing other stuff. So now I've got a start on the big bag. I took another big bag, and fill it with the finished repaired garments. It won't be long before it'll be all done and flying off.

In Kitty News, maybe skinny little Kwan Yin will quit breaking out of the cateau. We thought we'd stapled up all the loose spots where kitties have been escaping. But this thin Siamese, clever little thing, has us stumped.

You might have imagined it would only be a matter of time. We're getting a name in the neighborhood. Somebody brought Shayna a cat they didn't want yesterday. So she put it in the cage, and she and Laura took it to the humane society this morning. Guess some people can't think of these things themselves.

This entry is no spectacular resolution to my rather sparse output these days, but at least I've sent something up a little less mundane - some photos of the new old coins Julia got recently. It's neat holding those old coins and wondering what the people were like who held them ages ago.

September 11, 1999

"Eats in Tucson"

11:30am - mug of 7-up

12:15pm - cup of water

2:15pm - lunch at the 'Casbah' in Tucson - blue corn chips with salsa, salad with lots of bean sprouts, rice, spanakopita stuffed with spinach and feta cheese, big 12 ounce glass of carrot juice, white and dark chocolate cake - all very tasty and MSG free!

5:00pm - cup of cold water

6:30pm - two chocolate covered almonds

7:30pm - three 'mission' figs - they are so soft and not all dried out and hard as they often are

8:30pm - three 'mission' figs

September 12, 1999

"A Peaceful Atmosphere"

There's a picture taken when we we at the Casbah over at ATTWT, along with some new prose and poetry. We had a lovely day in Tucson, exploring shops on Fourth Avenue. The decor at the Casbah is even more exotic than the foods. A tall wooden statue of Ganesh is against one wall, backgrounded by tapestry. In the garden patio, stone statues adorn the walls, lending a peaceful atmosphere.

inviting calm meditation

September 13, 1999

"I Don't Feel So Mopey Anymore"

Candy bar just finished, maybe I'll get a 'chocolate high'. I could use some kind of high. Been mopey today. The day started off with a visit to the dentist. Just a standard cleaning, I'll save the X-rays for next time. Expensive enough at that, it was. Sure do wish this country had a national health plan. But we don't. Thus for a cleaning and a little poke about, it costs seventy five bucks!

So I'm at the sewing machine, gray and black skydive uniforms getting patched and put in the 'done' bag, and contemplating my sour mood. I'm all alone in that little head of mine with myself, and itching for a way to get away. My head is too small for the likes of me. Well, I and I, we got through the day, and none too quickly. We're getting on better now.

Some days are just like that. As I get older, I learn to expect less perfection from myself. When we were in Tucson the other day, we stopped in at Antigone's, the feminist bookstore. I wondered if I'd meet someone from Desert Voices, my old choir, there. I remembered how shy I felt in choir. Shy, awkward, all elbows, just like in high school, until we opened our mouths and began to sing. I wondered if I'd meet someone from choir, and be shy like that again. Then, I thought, well, I'm forty, getting closer and closer to forty-one, and shy is what I am. I don't HAVE to not be shy. So if I blush and stammer, and my mind goes blank, it's OKAY. At peace, I wandered about the shelves, sampling paragraphs here and there, and saw the twentieth anniversary edition of Loving Someone Gay, by Don Clark. It has a blue cover now. I remember the first edition of that book, brown cover with yellow letters. I nearly passed out with fright buying that thing, to be later smuggled into the house. Twenty years! Damn, I've come a long way in twenty years. (Eh, actually, that would be twenty ONE and a half years...) I've MADE it! I've survived.

And if I still have mopey days, and if I'm still shy with people I don't know really really well, it's ALL RIGHT, damn it! I've survived. I can look at the book, and imagine how many people bought it with similar trepidation through out those twenty years. And wonder and hope, they're now looking back on that day with the same feelings I have. We have survived. Knees worse for wears, bellies poochier, maybe hair thinner and grayer, but we've survived. I've found myself stronger than I ever knew I could be. I've had that discovery brought home to mind all sorts of ways. I'm buoyant, I will not sink, I may float about in the seas of life some days not going anywhere, but I'm not sinking!

You know, I don't feel so mopey anymore.