Saturday, August 30, 2014



Saturday morning, not comfortable out here waiting for the newspaper, tolerable but temperature 79F, humidity 90%, wind 0 mph, not really comfortable. Back porch thermometer doesn’t say 79 its red line stands at 84, but I guarantee the humidity is at least 90, maybe higher right here on the Bay, and not a breath of air. 

Here on the downstairs front porch the greenery shields them from this exact sitting spot, but on the south channel, other side of the Bay, are two green navigation lights that flash alternately. From here they appear to be twins, right next to each other, I’m wondering if they are. My chart isn’t on the computer desktop where I keep it, maybe I didn’t transfer it to this computer, I only look at it now and then, it must be on the white MacBook. Wondering about those twin lights, maybe I’ll check it out later and solve that fact. It’s a fact that's only a mystery from here, depends on how you look at things, doesn’t it. Like two stars that are almost touching each other but when you get there are lightyears apart.  

Living right here on the Bay the navigation lights can become obsessive, and do, and have, and sometimes are, and even appear in dreams, including last night waking me hyperventilating, WTH was that all about. Wondering if I should relocate inland: that condo in Scottsdale that Linda’s parents owned in the late 1960s, we never should have sold that place. Winters in the desert were a heaven of color in bloom, summers breathtakingly hot and so dry that when you climbed out of the swimming pool, even at night, you were dry before you could get to your towel. Sometimes Linda, Malinda and Jody (he tolerated that name until we arrived in Columbus, when he informed us it’s Joe not Jody) would fly to Phoenix to visit a week or so, then I would drive over from San Diego to get them. Car radio, Thunderbird sedan with center-opening doors 
and oh man was that Ford V8 a fast, smooth highway machine, would be blaring country music. One of my favorites was Ernest Tubb and the Texas Troubadors. When I was a boy we called it hillbilly music.

Anymore I don’t like country music or listen, it drags me down! Whap, there’s the paper.

Aw, Billy Byrd now.

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