I always see wonderful sights as I travel the well-worn path to Dillon Beach to meet up with friends for an overnight of laughter, wine, dogs, and good food. This journey was no exception.
The weather was spectacular and the grassy hills were a brilliant green as my little CRV, laden with bright-eyed pugs and sleeping bag, crossed over the county line from Sonoma into Marin. For the first time ever, I was surprised to see llamas grazing in the fields along with the usual sheep and cows. I am wondering if I missed them on past trips or they are new additions to the countryside. Whichever...they were a sight to see, long necks and all.
The mustard has pretty much gone to seed, though here and there I could spot a patch of yellow. In its place was one of my favorite wild flowers, Queen Anne's lace, regally swaying in the wind. I was tempted to pull over and pick a few lacy stems for a centerpiece for the dinner table but didn't, preferring to leave them in place for other weekend travelers to enjoy.
The final visual delight to behold was the red winged blackbirds, often spotted out in open spaces but foreigners to the city. That splash of brilliant color on their wings, so vividly in contrast to their blackness, has always caught my eye. Marvelous.
What a breath taking ride, almost like an escape into a different world.
Oh, that supposedly unwelcome sign of aging: wrinkles. What to do? Nothing! Let them just BE. I have many these days, and I do my best to look at them as a symbol of my existence. I am not saying that I like them, but I do accept them as part of the natural process of living, the sign of a survivor. And I am that. Surgery, radiation, chemo. Yes, I am that.
Friends go the plastic surgery/ botox route; and, while we lunch, I mentally compare their skin surfaces to mine and I am not so sure they look better. Different, yes. Better, hmmm.
There's that quasi Madame Tussaud's Museum look about them. Where are the forehead wrinkles? Smile lines? Fake. Nothing moves facially. Weird.
My thinking on this topic, all things considered, is not really so simple and philosophically high-roadish; there is another true-confessions part to the story. 1) I hate surgery, needles, hospital stays, and going under anesthesia unless it is truly necessary in order to live. Bottom line: I would rather have wrinkles than go through those ordeals. 2) I choose to not spend my limited $$$ that way.
So, I accept these wrinkles of time. They are asign of life and living, and I am fearful and unwilling to pay the big bucks to go under the needle or knife in order to diminish them. My wrinkles are well earned, and the best part is that I am still here to see them multiply and deepen. So bring 'em on...and, well, it would be OK if you could dim the lights just a little bit. ;-)
The new couch arrived a few months ago, and I was determined to keep all of the animals off of it so that it wouldn't turn into a threadbare, piece-of-shit heap refused curbside by the Salvation Army, the sad plight of the previous couch. Notice how well this is going. Score one for the cats.
Stage three of the tax process has finally arrived; I will no longer avoid it. Stage one, which happened a week ago, involved getting the necessary files and forms on my desk top.
Several days later I entered stage two and took all the little bothersome papers in those files and organized them into catagory piles finished off with a paper clip. Now comes the hard part, the dreaded stage three: filling out the bloody forms. That will be accomplished today.
Every year I battle with myself at tax time just to get this ugly mission accomplished. Going to an accountant and Turbo Tax are things of the past. I dislike that even more than the old-fashioned tax method which I currently employ. It's just a foul time of year. I will put it behind me today and move on, most likely chiding myself afterward for making such a big deal of the process.
One of my favorite San Francisco experiences is a trip to North Beach's Club Fugazi for a performance of Beach Blanket Babylon, a musical revue featuring extravagant costumes and outrageous hats.
This well-known club attracts tourists and locals alike, many (like me) who have seen the show several times and left the theater wearing a mile wide smile. The continually evolving plot consists of Snow White searching for her forever lost prince and showcases a talented wig and hat wearing cast who brilliantly spoof pop and political culture.
Really, these hats are not to be believed! For the show's silver anniversary, the lead actress wore a 22 ft. long, 250 lb. hat depicting the San Francisco skyline. It was amaaaazzzing!
I think I may be due for another BBB fix; it has been too many years.
As I continue on my quest to learn, I am putting knitting in cable briefly to the side while I battle the formidible iPhone. So far I am winning. I have spent hours learning how to take photos and videos, download applications, use the GPS, load music, sync with my computer and...oh, yeah...make a phone call. It is all too amazing. I wonder if I can teach it to do laundry?
Having a restaurant dinner almost always calls for a special treat: a vodka martini. And, of course, like the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, there is the pimento stuffed GREEN olive temptingly waiting for my lips. Mmmmm..so worth the slow, delicate sips to reach that tasty prize. Cheers!