scandanavians

why are they so good at design?

nightmare

everyone I love will live in san francisco.

I will be elsewhere.

gray afternoon

I love gloomy, wet afternoons. People scurrying, scattering, surprised by sudden wetness. The weather turning the streets upside down and shaking them free of people. Dark clouds pregnant with rain. The intensity and desperation of the rain as it crescendos with the thunder, falling in white sheets, layers of a curtain outside the window, stinging a hand put out to feel the water. afterwards, the sky paler, spent from the effort of storming. perhaps the sun plays a cameo role; often, its brightness is only visible behind the clouds. doesn't matter. there is more beauty in gray.

reading the news

I want to withdraw all my money from the bank, and stuff it under my mattress. as the dollar continues to lose value, I can use the paper as kindling.

walking

I like it.

satisfaction

went to clinic in the morning, then lunched with friends to welcome a long-lost sheep back to the fold. walked across the street to the stores. met a friend who is newly becoming close, went to her house to try on new found outfits, pamper skin, exchange worries and happies. eat dinner cooked by her, a glass of new wine afterwards.

when I get home, all new articles in the times!

july evening in seattle

sitting on the patio wearing t-shirt, fleece, winter hat.

my finger are chilly. I wonder where my mittens are?

saturday morning

wake up late. sit at computer: inadequate, disoriented.

go to nytimes.com. warm feeling of familiarity, belonging!

all evenings should end like this

8.30. wake up from nap, make sweet roasted corn. eat corn on the patio while reading a good book.

9.00. tramp into the park, across the arched stone bridge. walk past a wooden bench, and another one, until finding the seat I was thinking of: one built in partly around a circular stone patio tucked in a grove of trees. reading alternated with gazing over the pine trees at darkening sky and the houses built into the hill beyond.

9.30. bugs bit too much, so walk back home, lightly jogging downhill. evening dew wets the hem of my pants as I cross azalea way. bend to roll up my pants, the right and left leg asymmetric - I should be looking for clams on the beach. return over the mossy stone arches, past dogs fetching balls with their masters, and see the traffic lights turn red at the end of our block. the lights through the windows of the house blend into the fading light of the evenings.

not ready to return inside. linger on the patio, reading again and often looking up at the silhouette of the trees. I pull my fleece on. The light lingers in the northwest. move occasionally to keep the flood lights on. try to outstay the the sun, wait until its completely dark. the sun wins.

10.00. descend into the apartment, find fresh pajamas. step in the shower, neem and sandalwood fragrance of the soap. a warm towel to dry off, and chilled chocolate mousse in the fridge. I pick up my book again.

consummate packer

a box of cereal, toiletries, 3 shirts, 5 pants, running shoes, no running shorts. the suitcase is light. the 10 days away are awkward.

damned if you do or don't

putting on makeup:

if you like you're wearing it, you've missed the point.

if you don't look like you're wearing makeup, what's the point?

going to the movies:

if you go with friends, you can't talk to them.

if you go alone, why not just get watch netflix at home?