11 July 2004

So Damned Predictable

It’s still awfully quiet here. Is this the best you can do, offer me this profound silence?

So something… for something I haven’t touched on before. You know besides the fact that I’ve harvested several Roma tomatoes today, in addition to a small handful of yellow pear tomatoes and this would be the first time ever, in my life, that I’ve harvested my own crop of anything. Last night it was the third bountiful harvest of basil, which was promptly, as expected, turned to pesto and placed in the freezer. This, in the midst of winter, will remind me of summer. As now, in the midst of summer, I’m preparing for winter and imagining a cozy feeling. I’ve been pulling up onions now for weeks, nearly months. I’m not certain when to harvest the garlic. I’ve started snap peas for a late summer season crop.

Yesterday we walked around Lake Lagunitas. A bug flew down my shirt and bit me twice on the back. It left welts and then buzzed away. Now, what’s the likelihood of something like that happening?

10 July 2004

I’m moving away from being there to being here. Here doesn’t talk back so well. I want the repartee. I enjoy the dialog. It’s so quiet here.

Let me tell you something different, something I haven’t touched on before…

When I ride my bicycle I feel free and I know it’s teaching me something about how to approach my world and my days. Mostly I walk. Mostly I move fairly slowly and methodically through the world. I pay attention to what’s near and there’s time to see everything coming for how slowly the world approaches. The bicycle is faster. I find myself looking further ahead and aware of just a tad bit more. When I’m riding my bicycle to the ferry terminal in the morning, I find myself thinking, “Yes, this is good. Look further ahead. Yes, this is good.”