World whizzing by...

So I know there's still a world out there with war-peace-weather-pain-joy but my newly retired state is curled around me like a feathery comforter on a cold night. And it's delightfully summer - my favorite - I'm happy.

Early morning dog walks, sorting/discarding excess household stuff, biking to swim workouts, reading newspaper thoroughly. What a concept. Thank goodness I have time to do this while there still ARE newspapers. A respected Bay Area reporter called me to ask about my former job. Fine writing isn't protection for him as ax threatens to fall on his livelihood.

I even follow links that people send me in emails. Next project is trying out new recording device. Oh yes, I have plans.

In the meantime, when sleep is down the road, I sit on my giant exercise ball in front of the computer and write. Just realized my hand isn't tingling tonight. Could I be healing?

For July 14: Brownies learn La Marseillaise

My mother wasn't your average Brownie troop instructor. When I was in third grade, she volunteered to help my troop do something musical--singing.

I remember we met at Paula Kalustian's house on 23rd and Idaho streets; their garage was converted into a 'rec room,' which I thought was very cool. My 8-year-old sensibility didn't think it was cool at all that my mother the pianist was teaching us to sing. She wore a form-fitting white summer dress with a red pattern (triangles? polka dots?) and wood open-toed high heeled pumps.

And she didn't teach us campfire songs. We learned French songs, for heaven's sake, including this one about a bridge in Avignon - "Sur le pont d'Avignon." She pursed her lips as the French do to make those kissable sounds, and must have urged us to do the same because I remember our exaggerated lips trying to mimic hers.

I remembered most of the first verse to this day (the rest I found on the Internet).

Sur le pont d'Avignon

Sur le pont d'Avignon

L'on y danse, l'on y danse

Sur le pont d'Avignon

L'on y danse tous en rond

Les beaux messieurs font comm' ça

Et puis encore comm' ça

As I describe this, I keep thinking it sounds like something David Sedaris wrote. My childhood, my mother.

I still remember much of the French National Anthem, La Marseillaise, because I think she taught the Brownies that song, too. In honor of the French Revolution and Bastille Day July 14, here is the first verse:

Allons enfants de la Patrie,
Le jour de gloire est arrivé !
Contre nous de la tyrannie,
L'étendard sanglant est levé, (bis)
Entendez-vous dans les campagnes
Mugir ces féroces soldats ?
Ils viennent jusque dans vos bras
Égorger vos fils, vos compagnes !

Buy a baguette or make French toast July 14.

Whip lash

Alan's got a pattern. He's almost home and calls to tell me he's at Longs Drug Store picking up a prescription that isn't ready yet.

Asks if I need anything.

When I say 'no' and get ready to sign-off he begins.

"I was waiting on the off-ramp at Russell..."

"Oy, did someone rear-end you?"

"Yes."

"Are you OK?"

"I was kinda rattled when it happened, but I think I'm OK. I'll call it in while I'm waiting for the prescription."

"Oh, honey. Is your neck sore? You need some massage treatments. How about that terrific woman who's also a physical therapist?"

"Yeah, that sounds good. We have to go through the insurance stuff...May as well call it in."


We'll need some of that peaceful Davis summer heat to soothe and calm. And a good dinner...

Sunday eve...

I used to dread Sunday evenings -- school or work the next day. As an adult, I began to relax about Sunday nights during the summer, especially. The rich, thick quiet and heat of Davis summer nights gently drew away the fear. Knowing that fewer people are in town during the summers took away whatever 'stage fright' a new week seemed to bring. And 2 weeks into my next incarnation (retired from University), especially since it's July, makes it all the more sweet - no fears, soft heat, quiet, opportunity.

As a child, my mother soothed Sunday evenings by bringing our dinner into her bed where we'd all watch the 5:30 p.m. Sunday movie - the classics starring Dorothy Lamour, Spencer Tracy, Kathryn Hepburn, Clark Gable, Victor Mature and other stars from her youth in the '30s and '40s. My sister, Mom and I got lost in the stories and elegance and were able to go to bed ready for the week. Dad was often working on the farm in Yuba City, while we watched the movies in Santa Monica, part of the 'company town' scope of Hollywood.

My son still gets 'the Sunday feeling,' and finds comfort in the fact that I know exactly what he means. He's a Los Angeles-area high school teacher, and his life revolves around the academic calendar. That rhythm affects us here, too, in Davis, because it's a university town.

But -- those feelings are from my past, and now I treasure each evening. Off to bed for Part 1 of the night for me;>)

3 a.m. & all's well

The best thing for a woman awakened by sore calves (or anything else) is the Internet. It's as helpful to me as any sleeping potion, hot milk concoction or Sleepytime Tea. I've been posting to Twitter, reading a blog by friends bicycling across country on a tandem, and looking at amazing photo sites I found on Twitter (look closely @ these images - wild! RT: Hehkuva | Lehtikuva | a Sanoma company | hehkuva.com http://bit.ly/1Sx9UN ).

I fear sleeplessness less and slip into my coma-like focus easily.

I just noticed legs aren't hurting and it's time to hit the sack again. Blogging, here's my try!