A bad start to the day when I discovered that Andrea, who sells flowers in the square on Saturday mornings, has had the nerve to go off on holiday, leaving me with a flowerless house. And I couldn't bear to go to either of the local flower shops because they're like entering a mausoleum. You really get the impression you're disturbing the dead when you ask them what anything costs and anyway, they're actually not interested in selling you a couple of bunches of freesias. Their forte is arranging flowers into bouquets and wreaths of breathtaking cellophane-wrapped hideosity. I had no choice but to walk to Rialto Market. And as long as I was there I thought I might as well buy vegetables.

So I'm waiting on line and listening to the old lady ahead of me who's buying one of everything, and then I'm aware she's started on her fruit list, one banana, one apple, one peach. And not any old peach. To my cloth ears it sounded like she asked for una pesca sorda. Which would be a deaf peach. All the way back from Rialto I was trying to figure it out. Would a deaf peach be a soft one, with slightly mushy flesh that made you think of muffled sound? Or a hard fruit, tough to get through to? It wasn't until I got home, noted a glut of eggs in the fridge and thought of hard-boiling a few that the daylight dawned. Hard boiled eggs - uova soda. She'd actually asked for una pesca soda - one hard enough to last the weekend. The minefield of a foreign language. Deaf Peaches would be a great name for a band, however.

Posted by Laurie Graham at 04:34 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Nothing. You hear me? Sweet FA.
I had a little previous experience but this past week I've graduated to a new level of doing nothing. Give you an example. For a period of four days I couldn't even locate a pen. The two I always carry in my bag disappeared and I didn't stir myself to buy a replacement. Seeing I hadn't packed a notebook there didn't seem much point.

We were staying in an area of great historical interest, not to mention world-famous gastronomy and scenic beauty. Or so it says in the books. I decided to take their word for it. The guide said 'go see the amphitheatre'. My body said, 'Naaah.'

So here was my day.
Get up, possibly as late as 9am. Unheard of, this. I actually shook my watch the first morning it happened.
After breakfast I might take a walk into town through the vineyards. Or not. My motivation was to buy the best figs I ever tasted in my life. But I wouldn't describe it as an irresistible urge.
But walk or not, always a swim before lunch. Then, when I saw my mate Louise twirling a teatowel of damp salad greens around her head, I knew it was time to get out, drip-dry and amble up to the trough.
After lunch, a siesta. Incredibly, after a 9 hour night I still managed a deeply blissful afternoon zizz. Followed by reading beneath a pine tree, more swimming and making myself available for a glass of chilled wine around 6.30.

I read four novels, talked to my friends and did a lot of thinking. I bought nothing, wrote nothing, regret nothing. Except perhaps the hundredweight of full fat cheese I consumed.

And now it's Monday morning. Time to throw the suitcase into the back of the closet, put on my writer's uniform and sharpen my pencils. Am I up for it? I better be. You should see my desk.

Posted by Laurie Graham at 01:57 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Posted by Carrie, in Laurie's absence.

Dawn points, and another day
Prepares for heat and silence.

It’s summer on the Left Coast and we are burning up with triple digit temperatures (Fahrenheit, of course) and over 300 active fires around the state, making for unusual sunsets and serious air quality problems. We learn new phrases such as Haines Index, Containment Line, Plume Development, Fuel Break and Dozer Lines. We bookmark the Cal Fire notice page and keep in touch with friends who live in the path of a fire.

This is no Venetian summer. It’s dry heat that keeps us burning out here on the Pacific Rim. Keeps us on our toes.

We joke about our dormant volcanoes and yet we camp on their peaks. We know to never turn our back on the ocean but lose several people every year to sleeper waves and rip tides. We go hiking knowing we could encounter rattle snakes and mountain lions. We build houses on hillsides that slide down in the winter rains. We tell family stories in earthquake years.

And yes, we give our fires names.

Posted by Laurie Graham at 07:06 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)