Gloom but no doom

Huh? Oh, it was a cruddy day. My mom had one of her strange "spells" during our walk. Had to make her lay down on one of our neighbor's lawns, to get her head lower than her feet. Kept asking her if she could hear me. She sort of blanked out briefly, but responded eventually. Very quickly bounced back, and walked the rest of the way home. Such a surreal experience.
Still not quite better from whatever virus possessed me. To bed early, to continue pursuit of the White Whale. Several pages of what is now identifiable as misinformation about ceteceans, and I know it's going to get worse.
A bientot.

A foggy blog, a bloggy fog

Another uncertain start to a day, but by the end of it, good exercise, contact with friends and family, and good deeds all round.
I am so tired, but I'm well into Ishmael's examination of the pathology of Captain Ahab's obsession with Moby Dick, and must needs sail forth to read more. One bit of information I picked up, maybe in the introduction or possibly in the explanatory notes in the back, was that the tale of Moby Dick may have been partly inspired by stories about an actual whale known as Mocha Dick. Mocha Dick - the biggest, the heartiest coffee-based beverage on the menu! With a pile o' whipped cream on top like a whale's spout, a fountain of spume!
Er, all right, off to heave- ho into bed.

Foggy and clogged

Not many connected hours of sleep last night. Many moments observing the dear spousal unit as he slumbered deeply and peacefully; many concommitent moments of envy and despair, as I did not sleep. Could not breathe, could not sleep.
Ran on fumes today, but I vow to sleep tonight.

Muted

Where did this cold, or whatever kind of energy-sapping sleep-destroying bug this is, come from? Well, out for Mother's walk, despite cold weather and rain.
Off to the climbing gym, for a moderate workout with occasional flurries of difficulty.
In bed early again, with the big book.
Down for the count.

easter shmeaster

No egg hunt at our house, rather a flurry of waffle-making, using our friend and neighbor's pastel-colored eggs from her araucana chickens. Their shells are delicate hues of green, turquoise and pinkish-cream, with the most astoundingly deep yellow yolks. They contributed to tender delicious waffles.
Another blustery day, but about 4:00 we got out for a longish walk down to Lake Union and back. The water was a dull metallic gray, lots of wind gusts and attendant waves. I felt a decided lack of vigor going back up the hill. About halfway up, the sun appeared to mock us, and we warmed up to the point of removing our winter jackets.
Roasted a big free range chicken; I had considered getting a young duckling, but my previous experience with them has shown them to be a very greasy fowl. Our son arrived to join us, and we had a pleasant meal.
Off to bed very early with Moby D. Much sneezing and sniffing, scratchy throat,bad signs for the night.

Drenched

It were a spoutin' sort of day, gusting wind, constant rain, but we set sail for a walk regardless, and were rewarded by the sight of our friends the chickens battening down the hatches in the lee of their mistress's house, as well as many bright blooms nodding in the downpour.
We went to a double birthday party last night, put on by two climbing friends who share the day. It was loud and lively, with plenty of wonderful appetizers and desserts and grog to wash it down. Had many pleasant and interesting conversations with people I don't get a chance to talk to much, as well as some I've never met before. Bits and pieces of several life stories.

Still in progress

Sweet to see the dear spouse home again! He's been traveling a fair amount lately, but now he's within reach. Arm's reach.
Went off early this afternoon to strip old routes and set a new one at the climbing gym. Thought I'd attempt a stemming problem, which proved to be a bit challenging. Outside on real rock, one doesn't need to aim for specifically marked holds, but it's all ya got in a climbing gym. The little route in the corner came out nicely.
Came home to make a big batch home made fettucine noodles, threw in some cannelini beans, garlic, onion and cilantro, and we sat down for a family dinner. The conversation wound around to literature, and my mom contributed her opinion on the collection of Hemingway's earliest fourty nine stories she hs been plugging away on: that not much seems to happen in many of them. Interesting observation - and welcome to one of the threads of Modern Literature!

Weighing anchor into another bright morning!

...and what should I espy, after getting out of the shower and checking on the two cats, who'd rushed out onto the deck off our bedroom? Murder afoot! Or murderous catjinks. Rico was at the southwest corner of the deck, poking through the railing...at his brother, Simba, who was crouched at the very edge of the roof! Resounding scoldings and chasing off of Rico by me, a desperate dash by Simba back into the house. Of course he might just having been playing, it's hard to ascribe much ability to premeditate anything to cats. But they are opportunists...
The rains have held off, at least down here near sea level; there are piles of dark heavy-looking clouds over the Cascade Mountains. Mother got in two good walks, and I managed to have a good run and weight workout.
And now, in Moby Dick, Melville's described the Whaleman's Chapel, we're treated to Father Mapple's scene-chomping sermon, and there's a chapter entitled "A Bosom Friend," which details the growing friendship between Ishmael and Queequeg, as well as yet another whole chapter about them lying companionably in bed, passing Queequeg's tomahawk-shaped pipe back and forth. Hmmm. Smoking in bed. Well, I'm sure some kind of double-entendred stuff could be confabulated over this, but it strikes me as kind of sweet. It's beyond quaint to have what might be an innocently intended depiction of two men becoing buddies. I'll take it.

Off we go

.. to where I'm not sure. A day of beautification for some of us, and chores for others. And at the end of the afternoon, satisfying recreation with friends.
I've begun re-reading "Moby Dick," for the third time. It's a recent Penguin edition, with some features I don't recall from the one I read years ago, incluidng a glossary of seafaring terms and diagrams of ships and whale cutting techniques that resemble poseters of meat cuts in butcher's shops. Regardless, it's a pleasure to dive deep into Melville's language. Plumb the depths of the Leviathan.
I'll be heaving to shortly, into my berth, to read more. Turning flukes, I revisit Ishmael's search for shelter after he's too late for the packet to Nantucket, and gets assigned to share Queequeg's bed. Much amusing material follows, revolving around Ishmael's initial perceptions of the harpooner's physical appearance in the middle of the night, culminating in Ishmael's increased astonishment at the aforementioned as revealed in bright morning light. There's a scene where all the mariners staying in the Spouter-Inn assemble for breakfast, and Ishmael is struck by their silence and seeming shyness. He had thought they'd be a rowdy, talkative bunch, spinning sea yarns and telling lies, but they are quiet. Methought they needed generous grog rations to loosen their tongues...

What happens next?

Surf was up on little old Green Lake this afternoon. Two foot waves, white caps, spray flying up when they crashed upon the walls along the shore. Not a great deal of fun running into the gusts, but not so bad going home. A chilly clear day, with the wind out of the north, hard.
Schiavo - "ski-AH-vo -" Italian for "slave."
Read a kind of interest-provoking review by J.M. Coetzee of Jay Parini's Life of Faulkner. I'm not sure it made me want to run out and get it, but it did provide some new information, at least to me, regarding a writer whom I've always appreciated. Didn't know, for example, that Faulkner fabricated parts of his life to enhance his appeal, or that he wound up as a written-out, alcoholic afficianado of foxhunting. There were a couple of memorable quotes from WF, one concerning the large amount of attention he received while abroad, from France and Italy: " If they believed in my world in America the way they do abroad, I could probably run one of my characters for President...maybe Flem Snopes." Damn you, Mr. Faulkner, we've got him now!!George W. certainly fills the bill of Flem, "the beady-eyed, coldhearted social climber of the trilogy", as Coetzee described the Snopes character in "The Hamlet", "The Town" and "The Mansion." The other notable quote comes from one of the characters in Faulkner's "Mosquitoes": "A book is the writer's secret life, the dark twin of a man: you can't reconcile them."
That's the kind of unparsable mystery I like to find in writing.

Starting up the week

The Terri Schiavo case has been loading up my moral outrage circuitry lately, which has been fritzing badly for months, oh, say, since early November of last year. I've been thinking I would avoid social commentary on this blog, since it would come from an inchoate vortex of hate and anger within my outwardly delicate and genteel form, and so many others delineate so well the ills we face. Consequently I won't observe, until the aforementioned circuitry is dangerously close to conflagration.
However, when I go to my climbing gym, there's a group of us who hash it all out. It's also a good place for directing one's anger into physical output; quite a bit more effective than the sublimative activities we were informed about in 9th grade health class.
Would that I could focus and materialize my outrage and anger into a piercing, invisible weapon.
So tired I doubt I'll get much farther in Portugal...

Stormy Sunday

So much wind and rain around 4:30 this morning that our bedroom sounded like a carwash. By early afternoon it had abated enough for us to go walking and running, according to our various needs. Unsure of how exactly the rest of the day dissipated. In laundry, I think.
We roasted a small turkey breast, after rubbing it with oil and herbs. I'm going to try making "pulled turkey" from leftovers, a la kalua pork, and using it on a pizza with caramelized onions, tomato sauce and some kind of soft cheese. Maybe a handful of garlic cloves would be good. We were watching pizza episodes on a Food Channel show which illustrated some unusual but not terrible outrageous forms of the pie. One topping in particular looked great - crispy prosciuto - but it's expensive. A little goes a long way, though....we just won't put the egg over easy on top that was shown. Egg on a pizza. I'm not buying it...

Comp day

Got up at what has become for me an unusually early hour, before 7 A.M., to accompany a friend to a climbing competition. Just as she arrived to pick me up, our son returned from his climbing road trip, having driven all night from Bishop, CA with a couple of friends.
I helped with registration at the comp, then warmed up and climbed in my own little category. There was one another Adult Female, but she was in a different category, and a lot younger. It was quite enjoyable until the last half hour, where it became clear to me that I was out of energy; after three hours of pretty much continuous effort, not surprising. I did primarily lead routes, no bouldering, and started falling only at about the 10d-11a level, which is about right. My son arrived to see some friends who were working on the comp, then gave me a ride home. He subsequently crashed, and slept 16 hours. Dang, I'm envious!

The clan's amassing!

Our son may be back today, although it wasn't guaranteed. I went to the Bottlewerks beer shop, next to City Cellars wine shop, to find an appropriate six pack for him as a welcome home.
I asked the young feller behind the counter about the taste of one of the breweries' offerings, something called Flying Dog Brewery, from Ft. Collins, CO, which frankly had caught my eye owing to its packaging, colorfully illustrated by Ralph Steadman. ( I wonder if Dr. Gonzo ever diluted his booze with this beer.) The shopkeeper informed me that their beers were fairly light, and very "sessionable." I didn't quite catch that descriptor the first time; I thought he'd said "very sexual," which didn't make sense on any level, so I asked him to repeat it. "Sessionable," said he with a grin on his gob, "As in they're easily drunk. You can down them easily."
"Oh!" said I. "Yes, well, that's a new term for me." I purchased an IPA from Dick's Brewery in Centralia, WA, passing over Dick's Danger Beer as being too much of an unknown. Surely the young shopkeep would have enlightened me, but if lighter beer is sessionable, St. Paddy only knows what Danger Beer might prove...
Last night was a night of several consecutive hours of good sleeping, and I feel so good I could probably frisk right up a mountain. Let's hope this happens again tonight, as I am thinking of participating in a climbing competition tomorrow. It's good for all that ails ya.
Almost 8 bells, and no sign of the boy. I shall commit this entry to posterity, or what passes for it on the internet.

Dragging ass...

My sister just left to return to her home in Idaho. It was fun to have her here, and our mother was thrilled to just sit around and listen to us talk. They went to the big University Village QFC yesterday so my sister could stock up on kosher items she can't get in Moscow, Idaho.
Had a pretty good workout in the late afternoon at the climbing gym, and got home to share a pizza with family.
Tired today, and we're off to the International District, AKA Chinatown, to see the dentist again. Yet another broken tooth in my mother's old mouth. We got in the ID early, so Mother and I walked around and window-gazed into dusty herb shops, windows full of brick-a-brack from the Far East, or at least Taiwan: garishly gilded ceramic chickens laying golden eggs - it's always been a goose in the Grimms' fairy tales ; ornate dirt-catching dragons and jolly Buddhas covered with what look like Chinese kewpee dolls; that crazy monkey god whose name escapes me, hooting it up on a miniature mountaintop, looking much like George W. Bush at a lecturn; and a live, fruiting kumquat tree in a tiny flower shop. We went into this shop to look at their "lucky bamboo" selection. Having already gotten my mom a Maneki, a Japanese lucky cat, I figured she could use a Chinese lucky bamboo shoot to accompany Maneki. Mother Earth knows we need a more luck for her teeth, at least. We chose a twisty little number in a tiny vase, and it started working its charms immediately: our dentist didn't charge for rebuilding Mother's tooth, improving the feng shui in her mouth, and we only had two red lights all the seven miles or so home.
I crashed at 8:30 while reading Saramago's Portuguese journey.

Living semi-consciously

Somehow yesterday flew away without a place-holding entry here. Small wonder - it was a blur, due again to lack of sleep. I have long held to the theory of trying to remain motionless, even though one is not asleep, under the delusion rest is still being garnered. Maybe I should just get up and read, or dust; that's a quiet pursuit...
A piece by Bill Moyers in the most recent New York Review of Books regarding the ominous rise of insane evangelicals keeps flooding my mind in the wee insomniac hours. See it at www.nybooks.com - the March 17 issue. The ridiculous embracing of this whole Rapture bit. It's just another iteration of Doomsday - "The end is nigh!"- and the authors of the Left Behind book series are making a fucking mint. Wonder if they'll get to take all their ill-gotten loot with them when they go up to sit at God's right hand. Hmm, it'd be fun to write a counter-series which depicted how the so-called saved ones were wrong, and how we left- behinders will be having a blast without them...

Heard from our kid today!

My sister went off to Reno to do her math ed thing. Mother and I carried on as we always do, walking and stretching and re-hashing things...
Got to the climbing gym this afternoon and had a good workout. Shortly after I got home, the phone rang. I didn't recognize the man's voice, and our amused son informed me that it was he, calling from Bishop, California. He and his two traveling companions were going to head back up here about mid-week, making their ETA late on Friday. They had decided against a trip to Indian Creek, Utah, land of gorgeous crack climbing, due to time and financial limitations. it will be good to see him again, and find out what he's been thinking about.

Weekend's end

Had a lovely afternoon, spent with my husband. My sister took our mother off to visit sis's ex-mother-in-law, with whom she is still friends. Spouse and and I went off on a long walk which combined some errands with enjoyment of a perfect day. We frequently wind up down in Fremont, a neighborhood near the canal from Lake Union out through the locks and into Puget Sound. As we walked down the hill, we scouted out possible plants to use to spruce up the denuded strips along the top and and bottom of our rebuilt retaining wall. Whatever plants we decide upon must be shade tolerant and drought resistant, as well as evergreen and gorgeous. I'm thinking some types of hebes would do well, but I'm not sure about their water requirements.
Fremont was thronged with people, out for the sun, out for the weekly Sunday Fremont Market, just out. We stopped by the Co-op branch down there to pick up ingredients for dinner, and worked our way back up the long hill towards home. On our way through the Upper Woodland Park hills, we passed Bunny Rocks, which was hopping with rabbits, squirrels, crows and the folks who like to feed them; a veritable Peaceable Kingdom.

Family in town

My dear sister is in town, on her way to Reno to help a fellow math education professional with a work shop. We've been having a pleasant time catching up on things, as it's been several months since her last visit. Went out on our mom's two walks, and took one by ourselves down to the restaurant we'd chosen for a little family dinner.
Off to bed. Not enough sleep the night before, and it makes me feel as if I'm down a quart.

Spring fever

The day began in a lovely fashion, calm and warm; we had that feeling of wanting to find a warm rock to lay down upon. By late afternoon the weather shifted, with a cooler wind whipping up from the north and high scudding clouds sending some kind of message.
Got my weekly routes stripped and set, and did some chores revolving around cleaning and sorting loose holds. After warming up on several easy boulder problems, it was nearly 3:30 and none of my usual buddies had appeared, so I came home earlier than usual. Got my mom out for another walk, and now I want to hole up with my David Mitchell novel. I'm nearing the end, and don't want to put it down.
Not much else to say.

Can't waste this gorgeous drought-ridden day...

Another dreamy day. What bliss to run in shorts and a sleeveless top, through a blooming landscape; the air down by Green Lake wasn't foul yet from the festering quality the water takes on late in summer, and the air was slightly cool. I could picture the pitiful shreds of snow melting in the Cascades, and its chilly spirit wafting down here on a northerly breeze. I'll give it a home for as long as I can remember how it felt.
Portugal is forsaken, I can't help but continue with the Mitchell novel. Here's a wrtier who's caught my imagination.

Middle of the week

It was Hairdo Day again for my mom. She enjoys getting her hair washed, trimmed and styled, then going to the supermarket to watch the scene while I shop. Sometimes we hit part of the nearby high school's lunch hour, which she thinks is wonderful to observe. I'd prefer to avoid them altogether, since they're often rude and thoughtless and obnoxious, with a handful of thoughtful exceptions. Mother seems to be fascinated with their sartorial bizarrities in particular.
Another enjoyable climbing workout, with yet more new problems to ascend. I made a small effort to get two male acquaintances a little older than I am to get together for a workout, but they were weirdly prickly to each other. Of course the same kind of thing can happen between women, but I'm far more familiar with women's behavorial oddities than men's. These two guys seemed to instantly try to one up each other, and at one point, I walked off and left them alone to see what would happen. They seemed to start communicating.
Started a new novel, "Ghostwritten" by David Mitchell, author also of "Number 9 Dream" and "Cloud Atlas." I'm still journeying through Portugal with Senor Saramago, but I can't go for too long without fiction.

Will birds eat vegan doughnuts?

The contents of a box of day old doughnuts from the vegan bakery lay strewn about in the middle of Meridian Avenue. Crows and pigeons appeared to be massing for exploration, but the car traffic - or was it the doughnuts' composition? - must have been discouraging the birds from swooping down to investigate. We watched for a time, but even when there were no cars,
the birds kept their distance. Maybe it was the garish color of the frosting and jimmies. After a while, a construction worker hauling debris from a remodeling project nearby came out and picked up the derelict doughnuts, leaving a few for the birds. Later in the day, nothing remained but the flattened forms of demised doughnuts, like chalked outlines at a murder scene.
I got back from an exercise outing and my 87 year old mother reported that a strange man had knocked on the door, and she opened it to talk to him. This of course filled me with horror, which I conveyed to her, but she said, "He told me my chickens were out in the front yard." We don't keep chickens, but our friend and neighbor across the street does, so this meant her chickens had crossed the road - and why, you may ask? Well, to dig around in the layer of composting leaves I have out front to improve the soil, flinging it all over the sidewalk. Chickens are amazing little cultivating machines, digging vigorously with beaks and both legs to get whatever the hell they're eating underneath. My mother's response to the strange man's news was to leave the house, walk down the steps by herself - gad, another frisson of horror for me - and drive the chickens back across the street to their own yard. Again I winced, thinking about the possibility that she'd lock herself out. A hat trick of defying danger for my mom! We had a little chat about NOT OPENING THE DOOR TO STRANGERS, which she's already forgotten. Time for another attractively calligraphed remeinder sign...

Once again, into the week

Untimely and extended sunny weather has forced early spring cleaning. Truth to tell, I haven't done anything like that for ages, but in June my mother-in-law will be here, and I couldn't stand to see her cringing and being afraid to sit down. My mom is sworn to extoll my efforts when my dear husband returns from a business trip; otherwise, he might not notice it, or believe it possible.
Ye old climbing gym was fun - I was energetic and there were new routes to be had. Talked a bit with two veteran routesetters, to see if they had any secret formulas for creating good problems. There was a spot of hilarity and irritation over one of the people who uses the gym. This person is well known for having a lousy temper. Seems this bloke - whom I might add has gained quite a bit of weight over the past couple of years - has experienced a few spinning holds lately, and has gotten extremely irate over it, to the point of storming behind the front desk to get tools to tighten the miscreant holds. He even went so far as to tighten every hold on one route, and to gripe about the setter, who has probably put up thousands of gym routes over the years. A further astounding note is that his girlfriend e-mailed the owner of the gym and complained at length over her darling's misadventure. Granted, a spinning hold could cause a fall off a lead climb, or a popping off on a toprope, but one is supposedly prepared to deal with a possible fall at all times, particularly on outdoor routes, where holds can actually break off. I wonder how far this guy will go...there are lots of reasons for loose holds, one of them being huge guys cranking on them. I have even seen holds fracture when people put weight and force on them. Even the playpen of an indoor gym has its dangers.

End of the week

Last night I joined a friend and one of her friends to share a bottle of wine. We had a bottle of a blend from Washington State: cab, merlot, syrah, something else, cabernet franc...from a place called Helix Winery. Very tasty wine, handsome label depicting a styilized French snail shell; also the married couple who founded the winery met at Helix High School, years ago. We shared a cheese and meat plate, with fresh baguettes, and a good deal of talk and laughter.

Saturday snapshots

As we passed Mighty O, the vegan doughnut bakery this morning - ah yes, classic Seattle option! - there sat a young guy on one of their benches, chowing down mightily upon a cheeseburger, with a bulging bag from Dick's Hamburgers sitting next to him, waiting to be plundered. I'm surprised some kind of alarm wasn't sounding in the bakery. He was probably going to have vegan doughnuts for dessert...
Later in the day on a brisk walk up into the hills below the zoo, I passed a homeless man sitting under a tree; all his worldy belongings neatly stowed in a rolling suitcase, watching a couple of pony league baseball teams playing on the newly restored field, complete with electronic scoreboard. Appealing smells wafted up from a barbeque down next to a dugout. Farther on, in the little corner park next to the zoo's south parking area, dozens of ctrows walked around, sat in trees or zipped by in the air, occasionally cawing but mostly making the strange marble-rolling sounds I've frequently heard them emitting. The sun was fully out, clouds cleared away by the wind, and the crows shone in obsidian splendor on the grass.
Returning home and going downhill, the baseball fields were full of girls' fastpitch softball games. In one dugout, players weren't sitting on the bench, they were performing loud, enthusiastic and complicatedly choreographed cheers; now there's an advantage to being a female player, your team doesn't need any extras for cheerleading, you can provide your own squad.
I thought about this last night: yesterday was March 4th, which was Jim Badik's birthday. He was a dear friend from our old hometown who died in a freak accident at age 28. Every year on "March Forth" I endeavor to honor him silently.

Fun Friday

Back to the climbing gym, where I put up another 5.9 lead. Niggling little delays made the process a bit longer than I'd hoped it would be, but it wasn't an ordeal. Several of the people I work out with arrived, and we had a good moderate session, with one exception for me, a problem rated 11b at which I've had a couple of tries. Some upwelling of energy miraculously appeared, and I finally got it, all in one attempt.
One of the founders of Climbers for Kerry was there yesterday, and she said they were getting ready to roll out another one. She recommended reading Jim McDermott's writing cited on Daily Kos, but I haven't gone on it to check it out. Mr. McDermott has been a disappointment, although he's about the most liberal member of the US government right now. Lots of "bloviating," as they say, and not much accomplished. Maybe he'll take a risk, and help to get some movement going to counterbalance the Bush League.
VERY early to bed with the Journey to Portugal; he has moved to another region, this one running north and south along the northern coast. More lamenting of poorly conserved artworks, especially stonework. I wonder if they saved anything of value. Saramago decries his country as being one that tears down beautiful old things and replaces tehm with tasteless junk.
A universal human failing, I'd say. Sounds so American.

Holding pattern

Kind of a shaky day, one of those during which my mother's short-term memory seems to be evaporating before my eyes. My theory is to get her out for as much walking as she can do, since that helps to get blood circulating through her system. She talked with her friend Dorothy who is living in the A.L.O.I.S. Center near Cincinnati, Ohio. As always, they had a good laugh, re-hashing pretty much the same topics they always discuss, with an occasional surprising new item thrown in. This time it was Dorothy advising my mom on exercises she should try to keep herself standing more upright. Fortunately I was nearby and picked up on this part of the conversation so I can remind Mother of it later; otherwise she would forget it.
At night, I'm in Portugal again, picking up images of ancient churches and buildings, and granite mountains streaming with water. An excerpt from "A Journey to Portugal," by Jose Saramago:
"When the traveler is far away, back in that great city he calls home, and has had a hard day, he chooses to remember the lake with its watery arms penetrating the rocky valleys, sometimes even the fertile lands and human dwellings; he'll see in his mind's eye the flanks of pine trees all reflected on that superlative surface and then, within himself, a sea of silence will form, out of which comes the murmur, as if responding in the only way possible: 'I am.'"
As good a statement for getting out on stone as any I have heard.

Hairdo Day

It's just about the best part of my mother's week: getting her hair done at Hair with Flair. We used to walk the seven blocks there and seven back, usually on a Friday, but since last winter and spring's terrible medical woes, i.e., the fainting, and the falling and the accompanying horrors, I've been driving her there. The woman who does her hair is originally from Vietnam, and has an extremely heavy accent; she doesn't talk much, but is very kind ot my mother and very efficient. She also does pedicures, which is a fabulous treat to my mom. Coupled with a trip to the supermarket, then home for a walk, it's a great day for mom.
Got to the gym early, to warm up a bit more than usual. Unsettling news of health problems from both my sister and her husband left me feeling jittery by late afternoon, so I needed to take it out on some climbing routes. Would that I could offer spiritual comfort to her, but I'll have to settle for entreating Mother Earth to send this plague to the White House. There are people in high places who deserve cancer, not my sister.

In like a lamb...

Horrible night's sleep. Deliciously balmy weather, which tempted me out for exercise. My mother was energetic, took a couple of nice walks, and visited her poultry pals as well.
Onward into Portugal, via Saramago. Onward into dreams, one hopes of astounding landscapes.