Each day for the next seven is predicted to be the same. Slightly cooler one day; slightly warmer the next. Every day, cloudy. Or is it smoke?
Air Quality: Unhealthy. Chance of rain: 10% Wind: wsw 13 mph.
I keep singing along with James Taylor:
I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain,
I’ve seen lightning strikes I thought would never end,
I’ve known lonely times when I could not find my phone
but I always thought I’d see the fog again.
Been trapped inside by bad air,
checking out the weather app.
Lord knows when the hot wind blows,
it’ll turn your breath to ash.
Now there’s hours and hours on the internet,
talking of blogs to come, sour dreams and flying machines
grind wishes into dust.
Okay … ending on a positive note. Although we’ve been trapped inside all day…
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Thursday, August 20: As I write this we are surrounded by fire. Last night one came dangerously close to a friend’s house. The last email we got from him was:
“I’m relaxed and confident up till when the sheriff knocks on the door.”
To which another friend wrote: Just remember to say to the sheriff “I’d like to get some sleep before I travel. But if you got a warrant, I guess you’re gonna come in.” They really love that.
At least we haven’t lost the most important thing: a sense of humor.
Unfazed my mysterious plant continues to grow. The spores I noted the other day:
Have started to blossom:
Friday, August 21, 2020: The fires continue to drive people from their homes primarily north of here in the wine country and south in the beautiful Santa Cruz mountains. There are so many fires in the state, that those…
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My husband’s father was a traveling salesman back in the 1940s. He sold forms to small businesses: receipts, inventory logs, invoices, etc. He was movie star handsome, along the lines of Tyrone Powers and used his charms to make enough in a few months on the road to stay home the rest of the year and drink.
And from what I’ve heard, that’s about all he did. When she’d had enough, my mother-in-law took her three sons and moved a thousand miles away. The only time I heard her mention his name was when we drove through Wells Nevada where, as a young couple, they’d hopped off the north south line and waited for the transcontinental. “Frank and I stopped here once,” she said wistfully. They must have really been in love.
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Y’all will be happy to hear that I’ve given up attempting to analyze the greatest American short stories of the last century (according to John Updike). Apparently Americans were screwed up then and guess what? 2020 has proven that the first twenty years into a new century, we ain’t getting any better. What would Updike say? Do I care anymore? Nah.
And … with uncommonly good weather forecast for the remainder of the week, I’m off to the teahouse.
I am a mediocre artist who’s been awfully lucky. My husband, son, and father built this teahouse so that I would have a place to paint far from the house, the television, the telephone and the internet. It wasn’t a hurried project. I think it took them four years of working primarily on…
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