What the tourists never see. (A dance of sunlight and ships)

Quite nice, thank you.

Today I took a walk with my daughter. We took the long way to the playground, along the river which was swollen by rain and brown and foamy as root beer. Everything was almost cartoonishly brightly colored in the strong sun after weeks of rainy days; the trees and grass exhiliaratingly green, the sky exultantly blue. Real blue, not that washed-out baby blue stuff that passes for clear. Deep cobalt blue when you looked straight up.

On the way home, my daughter ran up the "mountain" -- a sledding hill in the winter -- and down, and up again, running straight into my arms full-tilt. A young couple trudged up the mountain slowly as she zoomed past -- up, down, up, down -- and when they reached the top and sat down, absorbed in each other, she ran up to them to talk. Far away, waiting for her at the bottom, I saw their shoulders stiff, oriented away from her; then she said something funny, and they laughed; then they became more and more oriented towards her, talking to her, asking questions; then she waved at them cheerfully and came barrelling down the mountain again, as they waved back and smiled at each other.

a bit less fulfilled when Im not near the water.I Like your descriptions of a working harbor. We can sit for hours doing the same thing, and right now Im envious .

It's getting towards summer now which is the best time of year when you live at the beach. At the end of the day, I can walk along the side of the sea and let sand seep through my toes. There are cliffs here where water and air shove up against to create a summer shower.

If I don't want to stay near the sand, I can walk up the street and into the busiest part of town. There are side-street sandwich joints where I get a chicken and cheese and a chair. I could sit for hours watching the people poke past me but ice cream is much more tempting.

So I walk farther up the street to my favorite frosty hangout. I can get a giant, freezing cone for less than a dollar. Then I walk down the street and stop at my favorite clothing store--goodwill. I'll buy dress pants (which I wear as regular) for under six dollars. As the beautiful day beats itself closed, I'll walk with a full stomach, a fulfilled sweet craving, and a new pair of pants all the way home.

And that's how I like to spend my days.

I am tied to going to work, going to work, going to work, with nights and weekends my own. But work is my own too This is all complicated. I want to be away, I love, love, love to travel, and yet here I am, getting ready for work.

Yet I love it all, hearing the cars start up, about six a.m. on the street, a few at a time, hearing the refrigerator rumble again, and sleeping some more.

Hearing the cars more clearly, thinking about the word, TIME. Turn to look at clock. 7:20. Ohhh, how sweet.
(I don't need to show up until eleven.)

After I am up with fed and watered and pee'd dog, and showered and bagelled me, I look onto a2k. Swirl of posts to think about.

Where are my keys? Where is his dog collar? Shall I take the leftover shrimp with scallions in sherry to work? (yes). That's today, doesn't happen often, it's more a question of thai noodle packages.
what bill is due now? where are my keys?

Out the door, I stand in place at a right angle to the ocean and bay, though a bit back from both. I work two blocks from the bay and the street going there has a neat view of the harbor at the end. But ne'er mind, I am driving into the parking lot, which presents another part of the day's space.

It turns out that the old wooden staircase from floor 3 down to the ground, to the left of our back door, has slumped a day ago, when my business partner and I were a hundred miles south of here. Not entirely fallen, but it's listing.

Listing, seriously listing. This is pointed out to me, who lives in her own world, by one of the other tenants. And he's f'n right. It is. And here I was letting Pacco pee there, with the top of the building about to fall down. (snarl).

Bus/partner and I talk with enhanced hand waving. I call the City building department. We need a bit of attention here.
Among other things, the homeless who sometimes camp overnight could get a bad surprise if they are below when it falls.

Well, it has been two days now. The post holding the beams on the staircase on the third floor is resting on AIR.

There is a little side matter. This place has a new owner, poor fella, my landlord. The previous owner, who I also like, she just happened to be a sister in a family with bucks, and was the worlds' most understanding landlordess, couldn't replace this staircase because the local preservation society intervened.

This is even more complicated, in that the places next door to us, to the east, about half a block of old wood buildings from the 1890's or so, burned a while ago, from arson. But arson by whom? There were various transients, well, not so various, but I won't be particular here, and potential others.

Some point to the developer owner, but he has been generally a good guy who wouldn't have needed to do that, and besides, the fire nearly took the town. Too risky at that level. The fire caught the top of our place, but was put out but this amazing multifiredeparment effort. I am thankful it happened in the middle of the night and we weren't called, or we would have rushed down to save stuff, not least the paintings, but also all of our design drawings. In the end, we had a smokey building, which the insurance company helped us clean out, and the decimated place next door, which has since been reinvigorated as a few sort of Victorian shops and a parking lot.

So that bulding next door that caught on fire ... looked like a tinder pile all of this time. As has this staircase. But neither was allowed to be taken down because of its historical value.

I am very sensitive to historic value, I think, and have friends in architectural historical societies (trust me, they wouldn't have saved the staircase) and see that the building structures around me that have been in midst arguments - have threatened me. Now, with this impending thing from the third floor, and the other, from the fire next door.. I renew my previous understanding of my precarious place.

My point? Have criteria for value, make decisions, save or change. (I am mostly for save, but do it or get off pot.)
In my few years with a business flailing in this spot, I've had a flare from a boat hit the building next door and be put out at 1 am by the fire department, a fire start on the west side for some other reason, again saved by the fire department, a fire started by arson on the east side, not clear by whom, and now a crumbly staircase outside our backdoor, ready to fall on the unwary.

Yes, I did call the city. It is part of the thing I signed when I took a state licence, to look out for public welfare, but that is all a song for the fact that I would have called anyway. Having a state license only means that I know better who to call, I think.

but no change. No roping off happening. I am getting aggravated.

Ok, tourists don't see this, right? Unless they park here, but
mostly there isn't room for them.

What wonderous lives we lead.

J

There are few things I like better than climbing to the top of a mountain with my best girl, my backpack and a few supplies and watching the sun set then rise the next morning. And I don't have to be a rich, pretentious, arrogant pinhead to do it. Not that you're a rich, arrogant, pretentious pimhead of course!

Been hacking at my garden today Joe. I'm on a break now, but I'm getting ready to go back out and plant my corn.

Somehow I'd rather be hangin out sipping beers with you and Frank ;-)

Joe, I can't find that damn no-name bar! I guess if I knew of any kayak clubs I'd have found it by now . . .

Anyway, my dominion today will be Yankee Stadium, rooting for the home team, eating a couple hot dogs, ketchup, no mustard, and probably getting rained on. Tonight, it's down to the Angelika, for "My Mother Likes Women", a spanish film that an Argentinian buddy of mine (who loves taking me to places where spanish, which I don't speak, is the language of choice) has recommended. Should be interesting.

Anyway, I'll be back with a brilliant and awe-inspiring narrative of my adventures later.

I am too a pimhead. My head is completely pimmed most of the time and mostly pimmed all of the time. Okay, so back me up on this, Nick.....

Arrgh... those g.. ..d..da.. .mned Yankees! Last night I was enjoying seeing them get whipped until they started hitting home runs..... like every third guy up would crack one into outer space..... Enjoy! (oh yeah, the bar's at the west end of 23rd Street. Com'on. We're up the ladder getting pimmed.)


Soz// I'm stealing your story about your kiddo and the strangers on the hill. Isn't it one of the great joys of life to see the heart melting effect children have on other humans??


Osso: Okay, we are coming over with a sledge, a wedge and sawsall.
Please avert your eyes. Oh, and do you want it cut up firewood size or extra chunky? (We have official looking fake ID's that say City Department of Preservation, Devastation and Pimming. When they ask what we are doing we say 'pimming'.}

Mo, I forget. How many days do we wait till we come over to eat the corn?(said Henny Penny.)

mmmm frozen stuff by the seaside.... Individual..... you live at the beach....(trying not to sound envious) I'm so envious.

Joe

Hey Joe! I suppose I could have used the "edit" feature of A2K to correct the offending word then I could have just said, "What on Earth are you talking about Joe?" However, some of the best and most wonderful people I have ever met are pimheads. I must use the "pimming" excuse next time any kind of official stops me and asks me what I'm doing.

It just goes to show you, inspiration is everywhere.


J

Okay, here's my incredibly brilliant and touching summary of tonight.

Did NOT get laid.

Is there anything more to say? Naaah.

Did you get close?

Close is sometimes worse than not at all, but not always.

Extreme sorrow for Kicky, but then again, are there exigent, or if not exigent, extenuating circumstances, will this lead to attraction?

I need to go back and edit my incomprehensible writing about our adjacent impending staircase. This may take a few efforts, please ignore, I'll mention it if I ever make sense of it.

You better not edit it. I thought it was great, even if you did write it at two in the morning......

J

At two in the morning I have usually had a bit too much of rum and chocolate milk, plus personal flatitude. Ok, I'll reread it. It was certainly off the cuff.

Flatitude - I don't mean flatulence, I mean flatness... a kind of zoning out at night in space.

I reread it and will leave it. God help anyone who wants to figure out which fire happened when.











I am not religious and don't use these words that way, precisely.

Gonna be awhile for the corn Joe, but I'll whip up a batch of spaghetti sauce for ya while you're waiting. I don't share my corn with just anyone, you know ;-)