Thursday, November 18, 2010
This gal was my favorite. She is not very elegant, rather petite and dainty, striking a very imperious pose.
Oh, the indulgence of book clubs! Sitting for an hour and a half with eleven elderly women, ripping a perfectly charming novel to shreds: decadence. This poor book, whose only fault was not being properly deep enough for common and ordinary ladies, was left with nothing but the binding once we were through with it. What a day. I can sleep in peace tonight.
Here are some pictures of our lovely temporary neighbors: the Sheep of Sea Ranch! They are the town's lawn mowers, moving slowly along the coast line, keeping our grass neat and trim. Jaime, the kindly herdsman, let me watch the sheep transitioning from one pen to another, and I regret to say that I did not hold a camera at this moment! It was fascinating: one big yell from the shepherd, and three hundred sheep and a handful of goats came running full-speed, baa-ing and maa-ing like throaty people, aiming for the bit of green grass at the end of the enclosure. I love sheep! Needless to say, I ran back home and got my camera.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Sunday, November 7, 2010
This time, I will remember to write about the starfish!
Unlike one of the last posts, this time I will not forget to connect the title with the content! I have been reading lots of L. M. Montgomery recently and feeling very much like a twirling-petaled bloom on my walks to the beach. Today, I rode my bike to the bluffs and read A Tangled Web in the tall, yellow grass. I then went to Pacific Road and watched the harbor seals. One night of rain has made the small plateau across the sand bright green with new baby grass! I climbed up this rocky island and watched the fat seals bask in the late afternoon sun. The tide was so low, and, for the first time in months, I was wearing my hair down, making me feel extra special. I left my perch and headed toward the fat seals. On my way, I was perfectly distracted by the many pools between the rocks and their inhabitants. I counted thirty-two starfish, including a possible dead one, and two brilliant reds. Most of the starfish were purple or yellow, clinging with strength I did not expect to their side of the rock. Bravo, starfish. I couldn't budge a single one (except the one I think might have been dead). I also discovered a million hermit crabs, and these very nasty algae-like cushions who squirted water up your legs when you walked on them (I think they are alive! This was a really horrible thing when I found myself completely surrounded by them, realizing that many were about to die by the heel of my boot).
My husband and I are going to San Francisco next week! Two heavenly days. Eating, yes, gourmet ("She really is a gourmeeeet") and dressing in my most beautiful clothes for the occasion. We shall be accompanied by my husband's family, hurray! Here are some outfits I am considering. I will let you be the judge as to whether or not I succeed in creating them.
My favorite? The first! The most sinking truth? It will be very very cold next week in San Fran. My one comfort is that I shall at least be beautiful while in my agony of chills.
A moment for this authoress:
All my literature-infused life (i.e. "As long as I have been reading..."), I have been looking out for that one author, that single writer I could adore and follow with loyalty and love. Books and styles would be loved by me, and I would seem well on my way to falling into perfect harmony with a certain dead man or woman; it was always at the last moment when I would discover some awful little fact about his or her life, and my admiration would cease - aren't I a snob? As a little girl, L. M. Montgomery was fascinating to me. In fact, I would lie in bed for hours, waiting for the house to fall asleep before I took out my flashlight to finish Anne's House of Dreams while eating leftover Easter chocolate. I might have done this with Nancy Drew when I was eleven, but twas only Montgomery that could bring me back out of bed as I got older. When I was twelve, I bought her treasury, devotedly making every recipe and vowing to sew the potpourri cushion whenever I found out what potpourri was. All of Anne was devoured and quickly followed by Kilmeny, Pat and Valancy. I know every bit of history available on Montgomery's life: why on earth had it never occurred to me to claim her as my favorite? When I read her stories - the few I can really read over and over - I am filled with springy light thrills; when I am not reading her stories, I have secret hankerings to be a blind violin player or a recently-jilted tawny beauty with limpid eyes. Yes, my L.M. is far superior to the Austens, James' and Trollopes, and, hurray, she is the One.
While I write at the table, sweet Kestrel Cake and Zaphod swim nervously around in their pitcher. I thought they were going to die on the long way home, and the next day Kestrel had very low spirits. But they are chipper now, and when they are not blowing bubbles at the surface, they are zooming around in circles. The closer we get, the warier they become, but I love them and am so thankful for their scaly presence. Hurray! Thank you, Lord.