Monday Blues

It's Labor Day, so I'm not laboring but for reading a few emails (cleaning the bathroom and doing laundry don't count as labor, to me. That's puttering.) But mostly Rex and I are moping around a bit. M claims to be a bad bachelor when I'm away. He does nothing productive and manages to get himself invited over for dinner at friends' most nights. When he's gone, I realize that without him I'd be an utter loner. I'd do things, yes, but almost always I'd do them alone. I keep the radio on. Today it's more music than NPR--the news is still just so depressing.

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Thankfully, M called, not just once but twice today. He reports that the timed runs are slow due to the streamliners, that his duties of bratwurst grilling for the entourage were uneventful, that the salt conditions are excellent, though they change throughout the day. In the morning, he says, it feels like asphalt, firm yet with a give, almost moist. It gets harder as the day progresses, burnouts don't leave a mark it's so perfectly flat and glassy, creating a sort of snow-blindness during the midday runs. It's hard to photograph. Then the salt softens again as the evening comes. He was treated to a salt storm today. They all watched as the thick snowy clouds of salt rose, packing up the camp quickly before they were engulfed like a sandstorm from the movies.

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Last night I futzed around for quite awhile with the ancient (six-years-old) DVD player and finally got the Netflix selection to play: the first two episodes of "Rome." Amusing. How actually historically accurate it is is hard to say, but it could be an addictive bit of entertainment, a more colorful, X-rated version of "I, Claudius." And what's not to like about X-rated TV, really? It's kind of funny to think that 2,000 year-old Roman culture is more advanced in many ways than the 150 year-old culture of the Western US as depicted in "Deadwood."

Staving off alone-ness, I finished up Julie & Julia over coffee this morning, enjoying it immensely as my cousin predicted (is it OK if Mom borrows it next, Kam?), and proceeded to finish all of my magazines, too late wondering what the hell I'll peruse before turning off the light tonight--maybe I can slide a tome off the stack of the book sale finds that have been sucking up real estate on my dresser for a year?

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Summer continues to flee. Walking Rex today and yesterday, we strode the once-tall grasses now prostrate, going from golden to brown to black. We took a hike around the hills yesterday, and thick cracks have split the clay soil on the hills above the housing developments. A couple of the most beautiful, twisted oak trees have a dying-off of their leaves. I ruled out sudden oak death syndrome. Maybe it's just their time? Or maybe they're of a deciduous variety? The days seem to be exhaling their last heated sighs, like the deep breathing before starting from a dream. Autumn is when life begins here, when the rains come again, healing the split soil and raising the green grass. I think I'm looking forward to the rain.