Never Did That Before

Dolores Park Unsilent Night. Seems the past 6 or 7 years, or more, a composer named Phil Kline has given out a CD or tape or MP3 (how does he do that in the dark in the park?) to be played on portable boom boxes as the group strolls the Mission for an hour. We did this at 7pm on December 22, a Saturday. Seemed like a crowd of about 500 or so. You bring your own boom box, but it's not required.

Not everyone started at exactly the same time, of course, and that was expected. The gongs, chants, hums and rhythms were chaotic but not clangorous, a rather relaxing ruckus. Some bystanders asked what it was all about and we told them it was the Un-Carolers of San Francisco. They joined in. I got bumped by a lady walking along Guerrero. It was no big deal since we were all bundled up against the chill. Soft landing. She apologized hurriedly but I reassured her that I wasn't harmed. "It's just Brownian Motion," I said. "I knew I liked this crowd," she said to her companion.

We made a loop back and gathered at the top of the park to be dazzled by the nighttime view of glittery downtown, and the nearby Christmas lights and palm trees. Little by little the boom boxes found the last notes and died down. When the very last sound was done, we all broke out in applause. Our host shouted out, "See you next year!" and asked for the return of the disks and tapes. Everyone dispersed smiling.

Veering from ranting

How long since a proper romp? I've been in rant mode, I declare. Not really surprising given the horrendous waste and venality of the Bush years.

Among other pleasures (like watching George Clooney in "Michael Clayton"), I've been devising word games as a break. Here's one:

Write a series of declarative sentences about yourself; alternate truth and lies. Start with the truth or a lie, it doesn't matter. Go on until you run out of steam. For example:

>> I have brown hair
>> My brown eyes are farsighted
>> I have a strong back
>> My feet are flat
>> I'm avid for shellfish
>> Cantalope makes me gag
>> I drive very little
>> High speeds thrill me
>> My desk is usually tidy
>> My bed has satin sheets
>> Dry martinis win me every time
>> I never drink alone
>> When I'm thirsty, I drink
>> They would not take my blood at the Red Cross
>> I like to keep up with the news
>> I used to write for the NY Times
>> My desk is made of oak
>> I have no time to write

Random senses

Dot the terrier goes through life with such a jaunty dignity. She inspires insouciance.

Panhandler at the freeway exit light. No handout from us. "God bless you anyway," he said.

If all you have is ground coffee, black pepper, sugar, cumin, cayenne (in that order of quantities), you can make a delicious meat rub. Oh, you'll also need some pork chops, preferably bone-in.

How to pick up a librarian: Is that the Library of Congress in your pocket, or are you just really smart?

"Is she still living in San Francisco?"
"Yeah, but she's not on Diamond Street any more."
"Where is she?"
"Tiffany Street."

Saw a freighter in the Port of Oakland called the Maruba Zonda. Good name.

I asked for cucumbers at Berkeley Bowl. The young man unpacking squash asked did I want Japanese, English, lemon or pickling cucumbers? We both laughed at that. "Regular," I said. "Oh, those are English," he said, pointing to the back of the store. He turned back to his yellow globe zucchini, putting them in a bin between long, dark green zucchini and lighter green zucchini that looked like flying saucers.

Fun with Architecture

"Great. Now I have kitchen envy," said the young docent.

"Not me," said the old docent. "Seeing all that perfect organization satisfies my need for it. Plus," she added, "Now I know I'll never remodel my kitchen. Not enough years left."

They breezed out of the third kitchen of the morning, finishing the docent training for the bi-annual Rockridge Kitchen Tour. I was with them, keeping quiet, equally full of tile, granite, marble, curly maple, stainless steel, glass, concrete, ipe (not a typo), brass, brand names.

We remodeled our kitchen five years ago and, lovely as it is, I shudder at the thought of ever letting hundreds of people troop through to peer at it. But it was delightful to be the voyeur.

The full tour is this coming Sunday when I'll visit more kitchens. My favorite part today was meeting the owners, some of whom will not be on hand during the tour rush. Whether they are single, gay, nuclear, they all are proud and wouldn't change a thing.

Teddy Bear Hills

Summers in Northern California are brown; winters are green. It doesn't rain between about May and November. There can be fog, mind you. Drippy, blowy, cold fog. But that only tempers the inland heat, back in the hills, mostly out of reach of the marine layer. September can be brutal and October can be dangerous.

Today...today was perfect for cycling. Not too hot, not too cold, just right. The hills looked like animal hides. I almost wanted to scratch their giant, tawny contours.

The grass smells toasted at this time of year. It smells sharp and warm. So do the oaks, the madrones. But that lick of fog kept us on the moderate side of fire, of burn.

I rode the clockwise loop above and around Briones Reservoir. The Three Bears, as they're known to cyclists here, Mama, Papa and Baby, are all good climbs. If you're in good shape, they're not too slow, not too fast. They're just right.

Gin time in the waning summer

This week, when I saw this pop-up camper in Mammoth Lakes, I wanted to play cards and sleep in it. So what if it was after Labor Day and the signs of fall were all over the Sierra Nevada. No matter that the temp's were going down to the 40s at night, the aspens were turning yellow at 10,000 feet and Tioga Pass had already been closed once due to snow. The days were still mild, I was still on vacation and no one was in town yet for ski season.

With a couple of gin and tonics in hand, I approached the owner. Not only was he game for a guest, but he remembered how to play gin rummy and offered to teach me at the little camper table by the light of a lantern. Soon we were having a hilarious time.

I think the hardest part of gin rummy is keeping score. It's sort of like bowling that way. But my host knew his way around a tab, and we really didn't care all that much about who won anyway. The point was extending summer another day.

Even though my new best friend lives in a real house nearby, he agreed to keep me company for some late-season outdoor snoozing. This Palomino camper has lots of space once it's popped up. I slept soundly and waked to the howl of a coyote at dawn.

Shake Yo Hula Hips

Hula hoops are totally girly, aren't they? That's why I love them.

I walked out of my house the other day and there was a BMW sedan parked in front with about 8 hula hoops balanced across the back of the passenger seat. The pink stripes, sparkly blue and white plastic roundness of them clashed with the sleek sophistication of the car. In a happy way.

They were so cute and cheerful peeking near the tinted windows, I should've taken a photo. But then two nicely dressed women came to the car and beeped it open. I knew they were from the hospital but I couldn't see if they had on their ID tags.

Alta Bates employees use the streets around here. Or maybe they were visiting someone. Anyway, I called out to the two of them "I have to say..." They looked a little alarmed, like here's a homeowner trying to give us shit about parking in front of the house. Instead I complimented them on the hoops. They started to laugh and one said, "Y'know, we bought these for a big picnic up in Tilden and not one adult could do the hula hoops thing. Not one."

I see this as a challenge and now must find a hula hoop. Oooh-and thanks to the inspiring Philo Hagen, I now know to go to this cool site all about grownups playing with hoops.

Gotta Laugh

In the same short span of recent time, my car broke down, my internet connection went out and my digital camera died. Really, health is our only wealth, as Dr. Bronner counsels on those bottles of peppermint soap. So I got on my bike and counted my blessings. At least the car broke down close to home and the tow truck driver delivered it to the mechanic's in very short order.

When I returned, the AT&T guy was at my door. Not only did he fix my phone line, but he didn't charge me anything. What a fine fellow. He did a great job of re-wiring so the spaghetti that had been hanging off my walls was gone.

Now to decide what to do with the old digital camera. Not fixable, alas.

Lighthearted Foraging

I was about a mile from home on my bike when I realized I'd forgotten my water bottle. Not a matter of life or death in the east bay hills, however. (Not like the high desert of the eastern Sierra where I'd have shriveled up and blown away in the heat, wind and exposure.) In the Oakland hills, happily, there are water fountains in all the regional parks and even one on Skyline, by the side of the road, that appears to be simply a public service.

The blackberries are in season all over the hills, too. I followed the lead of another cyclist and stopped in the Redwood Regional Park to plunder a patch. Nearby was an apple tree, loaded with fruit. It's not yet ripe, but I'll keep an eye on it.

Runamuck Runs Amok

Take 30 women friends, put them in the Alice Eastwood Campground on Mt. Talampais in Northern California, add silly costumes and heart-shaped waffle irons, stir it all up for four days...et volia! High jinks galore. This summer's festivities were the 16th year in a row. This year's theme was The Order of the Muck, with inappropriate references to Camelot.

In Praise of the Ridiculous

I can't be serious about playing, can I? That's a little like the court jester telling the king he's outta line. It's all in the delivery. Laugh and then...think. Or not.

My brain's working even when I don't think it is. Especially then.

A horse walks into a bar. "Why the long face?" asks the bartender.