Monday, October 18, 2004

Unrelated Paragraphs
well, I guess they're related to me...

It's fall, a season that always gets me questioning my choices and makes me a bit restless. Seems like most of my life's transitions have happened during fall, but I don't have much churning now. Is that good or bad? Well, M.'s in law school now and has a new job, so that a big change I suppose--but it's not direct action on my part. I've been working hard to arrange my life to maximize my sense of completeness, so maybe I shouldn't be worried about my niggling sense of unrest...

M. and I took Rex for a rainy walk on the hill Saturday morning. The menthol from the eucalyptus was intoxicating, and the formerly brittle grass was supple and slippery under our feet. We felt more than saw a golden blur at our feet. Twenty feet away, Rex was oblivious to the rabbit--Jack got lucky that day. The hills felt different in the rain, quieter, darker. Trudging through the springy leaf layer under the oaks, I thought of David Lynch's movie, "Blue Velvet," specifically the opening scene that follows ants into the earth. I wanted to speed time to see the leaves disintegrating into the ground, seeping into the oak roots, then feeding new leaves. It rained during our walk, made the hot shower feel even better afterward. I'm so grateful for the rain--washed away the ash and smoke from the Rumsey fire (photo).

Maybe it's the fall restlessness that prompted a conversation with M. about our home on Saturday. Specifically, do we fix up and stay, or let it go with the idea of moving after he graduates from law school. He's trying to convince me that we should make our home as beautiful as it can be, because we won't be able to afford anything else unless we move out of the area. An expensive proposition, because our home is pretty damn homely. I think we could make it quite nice however, except for one thing: there's not enough room in the house for more than three people to eat comfortably. We could knock out the back wall and extend the kitchen/dining area 5 or so feet, but the money that would take makes me cringe. And with all the construction going on around us, do we want to continue living here? Our 'hood is the embodiment of high-density IMBY--homes are filling in all the open spaces In My Back Yard, just as the planning commission, well, planned.

Went to the library book sale on Sunday, half-price day. Nothing like a large hall full of books to browse to soothe the soul. For less than a fiver I schelped home six books for M.'s friend in Iraq and two books for me--Emily Post's wedding etiquette and a booklet on stain removal. I walked over to the Fairgrounds where the sale was happening, and got caught in a downpour on the way home, so I did what any rational person would do: made a huge mug of camomile tea, changed into snuggly lounge attire* and parked my butt in front of the tube. I watched the final hour and a half of "The Wonderful, Horrible life of Leni Riefenstahl." Not too uplifting, but she was a pretty amazing woman, no doubt about that. I don't do much TV anymore, though. In fact, I've just reduced my Netflix account to four movies a month. There was a time in my life when I thought so little TV would be impossible, but I truly don't miss it.

*gray fleece pants, sweatshirt, hand-knitted wool socks. Yes, M. and I have matching outfits. But this, thankfully, is the only one.

M. just called. "You won't be happy when you get home," he tells me. And he thinks he has no flair for the dramatic. "What?" I ask. The dog died? The new French drain that turned into a patio and deck isn't working? The roof caved in? The cats scratched up our new expensive chair? "They put up the orange netting 'fence' up on the hill for the synagogue construction. It's only about 35 yards off our back fence." "Are you surprised?" I ask. I've been pessimistic about this all along--we'll be looking at their parking lot this time next year. Another reason not to stay where we are. M.'s been contending that we won't even see it. How I wish he could be right.

Tonight marks the third night in a row that I'm ushering at the Luther Burbank Center (Friday was a Gingrich/Reich debate, Saturday a flamenco performance, tonight a string quartet--nice variety at least). This means three beer-free nights, though I was sorely tempted to join Cathleen in a glass of wine when we luncheoned at Bistro Ralph in Healdsburg on Saturday. My liver is probably ready to crawl out of my body and give me a hug--it's been a while since I've given it this much of a break.

If I blog it, will I do it? I've been after M. and my brother to go on Hollywood Squares and try to earn some extra cash. Why the hell not, right? But for some reason, they haven't seemed too enthusiastic. So I'm going to take my own advice and make an appointment to audition for the show when I'm in San Diego next spring. I do feel at a disadvantage, not having TV to do some research. Maybe I'll try to tune in when I'm up at my mom's next month.


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