A Girl After My Own Heart

When I woke up this morning, look what was on the table! Michelle (our new neighbor, and Cosmo's mother) had brought flowers and a big plate of chocolate chip cookies over on her way to work. We were astounded that she'd been able to make the cookies–she barely had been able to walk the day before. We'd been trying to give her a hand, and her boss is ferrying her to and from work, as she still can't drive.

She's 37 and just began a job teaching chemistry at a local high school. She's a girl after my own heart; here's an example why:

Tom (on the phone): Michelle, I made too much salad. Would you be interested in a salad this evening?

Michelle: Well, I had a scrambled egg sandwich right when I got home from work because I hadn't eaten all day and I was starving. But I could eat again in an hour or two!

Tom: Perfect. We're going for a walk, and I'll wait til we get back to put it together.

Michelle: What are you putting in it?

Tom: About 5 different kinds of lettuce, fresh tomatoes, cucumber, a little onion, peppers, some croutons, avocado ... is there anything I should leave out?

Michelle: You can leave the avocado out!

Tom: OK. Is there anything else you need?

Michelle: Do you happen to have any of those cookies left?

On the Beach This Evening

I found a broken heart.

An Ironing Board Occasion

Dorothy had a delicious dinner party last night for the magnificent Jean Tuttle (above), visiting from Denver. She invited me and Janet and Bill and Ray. She even let Steve and Tom and Jim join us. Esther was there, too, curled up on my jacket on the bed. Talk about a special event: Tom broke out the ironing board and ironed my jeans (after I had left them in the dryer for 5 days).

Morning

There's a reason I've never taken a photograph of this flower before. It's because it's a morning glory. This morning we took Cosmo for a walk up at Sutro Park. These flowers were bursting out all over the place! Here we are. At least one of us is bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

A Dog Named Bear

Bear is 4 years old and understands English. He's living in a foster home a few houses up from us and his foster mom needs to find a great home for him. He's easy to walk. He's gentle and sweet. He sounds too good to be true, doesn't he? OK, he slobbers a little, especially before breakfast!

Do you know someone who might like to meet him?

Saturday: You're too late! Bear's foster mom, Michelle, put an ad on Craig's List. The first person who came over to meet Bear loved him immediately and turned in her application. She took him home to his new family an hour ago.

Cam's Car Collection

Larry's Nikon D100













My faithful Canon point n shoot














Tom's old Canon G2














Call me obsessed, but I had no idea photography was so difficult. It's hard to see much at this size and resolution, but I didn't get one good photo all afternoon. Maybe I should stick to the Wacom Tablet (below).

The Pi Song

Aggle performed a minor miracle today having to do with Mom's long-term health insurance. To celebrate, I thought I'd let you hear Aggle's favorite song: The Pi Song.

(Remember, she's an engineer-type as well as wielder of a mean telephone.) But as for the Pi Song, I love it as much as she does.
The photo's taken from the Coastal Trail this evening.

Saturday

Morning





















Afternoon
















Evening

Gallery by the Sea

From Halter Grasshopper to You

Sarah Palin has picked out an All-American set of names for her children: Track, Trig, Bristol, Willow, and Piper. Ever wonder what your name would be if Sarah were your Mom?

Visit the Sarah Palin Baby Name Generator to find out. My name, Linda, would be Halter Grasshopper. My sister Margaret would be Knife Pile. My pal Sal would be Crop Schooner.

thanks for the link, Anne Lamott. (whose name would be Krinkle Bearcat).

Mom Stories

Mom having a laugh at the Big Table while someone probably helps himself to a drink in her apartment

I thought I'd tell some stories about Mom since our trip to Blowing Rock, NC is off. Due to Hurricane Ike, not much gas was available in Atlanta or Chattanooga yesterday. My flight originally made a stop in Houston, which I had already changed to Newark–but in making the change, I wasn't even going to be able to leave until late tonight anyway.

Mom didn't seem too fazed by the change in plans. She was more concerned about a large white sweater that had mysteriously appeared in her apartment. Aggles says that Mom believes someone is sharing her apartment with her on the sly. Last time I was there she talked about people stopping in for drinks when she wasn't in her apartment.

Me: But Mom! Why would somebody stop in your apartment for a drink when you're not here?

Mom: Because they're thirsty, I guess. And they always leave the glass they use unwashed and turned upside down in the dish rack. It gets hard for me to keep up with all their dirty glasses.

We were leaving to go to dinner and to see Mama Mia.

Me: Mom, I have an idea. Let's take a photo of the dish rack before we go, then we'll carefully compare the photo to how the dish rack looks when we get back. Then we'll have proof."

Here's the photo. What's interesting is that this kind of logic doesn't seem to work at all.



















A few weeks later, on the phone:

Mom: I'm not doing too well.

Me: (alarmed) Why not?

Mom: My apartment is a mess. I can't seem to keep up with all the papers. There are stacks and stacks of papers. Some come from underneath the door. Some come from that little machine. And there are two glasses that really need attention. (She sighs.)

Me: Mom, don't worry about the papers. And let the glasses go! Your apartment looked great when I was there.

Mom: But it changes. People come in and rearrange things while I'm gone. And sometimes they'll come in and help themselves to a drink of water. They left these two dirty glasses.

Me: I have an idea, Mom. Get a marker and some Scotch tape. Make a sign that says Please wash your glass after you finish drinking! and tape it to the dish rack.

That gets good a laugh out of her, anyway.

Thursday the phone rings:

Mom: Honey, are you watching television?

Me: (slightly irritated) No, Mom, I'm working! Why? What's on?

Mom: (voice faltering) Those two buildings in New York ...

Suddenly I realize it's September 11. The only date I've had on my mind for weeks is September 12, the day I can buy my iPhone.

Mom doesn't remember that this horrible event happened seven years ago, and she's alone. I get up from my computer and walk into the other room with the phone. We proceed to have a heart-rending conversation. She's great comfort to me and I believe I am to her.

Beach Find of the Day

We thought we had gotten used to the fact that we never know what we'll see on the beach ... until this evening when we came face to face with 100 wooden Indians.

The life-size plywood cutouts lining the beach just below the Cliff House are the work of Western artist Thom Ross, who based the richly colored tableaux on a famous black-and-white photo of Buffalo Bill Cody and his Wild West Show that was taken on the same stretch of Ocean Beach in 1902. –San Francisco Chronicle