Twinkle Time.

As far as holiday decorations go, I won't buy it if it doesn't look like it didn't come from the Island of Misfit Toys. A certain duck, for instance, with an identity crisis. It's a real-looking duck that's wearing a teddy-bear suit that's wearing a Santa suit. It's a riot. Well, off we go, into the wildly blinking yonder.

Shiny Happy Band People Now Online.

At long last. Click on the link to the left. Use the zoom feature in the bottom right corner to get a better look at yourselves. Fun to scan the crowd searching for your own funny/foxy face.

The Luckiest Ladies.

Two women I consider extremely fortunate are:
1. Kate Capshaw
2. Patti Scialfa
I am very fond of their husbands. Reasonably certain they feel the same.

One Dream of Mine.

Is to quietly glide in a gondola through the canals of Venice at night under a full September moon. Much like scenes from the film The Wings Of The Dove, but without all that pesky manipulation and backstabbing.

Note to Self:

Remember the alyssums at Davenport.

Pet Project #96.

I've undertaken a fun project that is just about to launch. Stay tuned to this site for vintage photos of the Samuel Ayer High School Trojan Marching Band in Washington DC circa 1976. Gratitude to Mr. and Mrs. Ron Hoffar for loaning these precious slides (just a few of several rolls he took--but a smattering). The bright side of having to wait until I had disposable funds to cover the cost of scanning them was that the price per slide went down by almost half. It'll be a hoot, and just in time for the Class of '78's 25-year reunion. How difficult it is to believe that the funny-faced girl in some of those photos was me.

Ebony and Ivory.

This was an intriguing sight today, and sort of symbolic: New baby calves lying beside one another in the meadow that runs along Piedmont Road between Landess and Calaveras. One was all black, the other all white. No kidding. Like, white-tablecloth white and black-hole black, with no spots on either of them, not that I could see. They could not possibly be any cuter. (Mom, is "cuter" a word?) Hah. Milpitas's own version of late-harvest varietals.

Jumpin' Jack Flash Flood.

I may be tilting at windmills, but I am not twisting in the wind. It is seriously stormy here today, raining like mad actually, and I am abundantly glad I didn't spend 200 of my hard-earned bucks on a ticket for tonight's Stones show at PacBell Park. Getting soaked twice for the same concert = *ouch.*
PS: Is it going to be called SBC Yahoo! PacBell Park now?

Revisiting Saturday Mornings of the '70s.

Cartoons and a bowl of fun cereal was the ultimate way for a kid (in my family at least) to spend Saturday mornings. There was a particular kind of cereal that I grew to love the most, not for the marshmallows, or the funny character on the box. It was nothing like that. I loved what it did to the milk. The cereal in question is no longer manufactured, but I have found a way to replicate the byproduct. "Frankenberry" was the (very dumb, I thought) name of it, and what you were left with when all the pink bits and pieces were gone was strawberry flavored milk, an unobtainable commodity at the time. Now that I have a different type of diet, I can relive the memories with a glass of strawberry soy milk, the kind you buy from Trader Joe's. I adore Trader Joe's for this very reason. Add one pack of Equal to 8 oz. strawberry soy milk and oilà. Just like the old days, at a fraction of the calories. Talk about your creature comforts.

You Too Can Be An Artist!

It's Paint By Numbers with a vengeance.

Beating Life Up.

Hear me out; it's a double entendre. In order to have the world all to one's own self for a few precious moments each day, one must beat the rest of Creation (i.e., "life") up, at 'em and out the door. That's why I love to walk TJ in the very early mornings (5 AM) while the stars are still out, much of the population is fast asleep, and we're all alone with the freshness of a new day. It's a wonderful way to wake up, to think, plan, dream and pray. I'm just trying to "beat Life up" before It beats me up. Call it preventive maintenance.....