Monthly Archives: January 2014

Missing Pomeranian

As you may remember, I had my share of dog stories from my old Oakland neighborhood, which I wrote about in my last book. To continue on the same theme, this morning on my way to the Post Office, a car with three teenagers passed me, windows open, and one of them called out to me: “Have you seen two small black dogs running around?” The subjects in question were a black Pomeranian, and another species that slips my mind. I had to say no to their inquiry, and wish them luck in their endeavor retrieving the runaways. A novel way to search for a missing dog, or dogs as the case may be.

Arriving at the Post Office, there was only one person in front of me, and three clerks at their respective windows — it took less than ten minutes to be invited to step up to the counter, where I was finally able to mail an envelope. This was my second trip here this week. A few days ago, I arrived at noon with the same envelope. There is a sign above the Post Office counters that unequivocally states: “It is our goal to serve you within 5 minutes.” Well, that may be the case, but the usual queue of customers was in front of me and all — yes ALL — counters were unoccupied, leading to speculations on my part with the customer waiting in front of me. Seriously doubting the promise of the sign above the counter now, my envelope and I sadly departed. Back at home, out of sheer curiosity, I looked at other customers thoughts and opinions on a popular online ratings system, as to this particular branch of the Post Office — I will leave the responses I read up to your imagination, but I must say — it was not on the favorable side. Having had success at finally sending off my little envelope today, I admired the large multitude of puffy white clouds above me, and the early white blooming fruit trees, as I stepped out the door.

Almost back at my apartment, I noticed a sign that read: “Keep gate closed – large dog” (Are they left open for small ones? — my prior encounter with the dog searchers may lend credence to this assumption). An ominous warning at the gate — but the supposed large canine must have been napping inside the house.

Have a peaceful, blessed, quiet Sunday

Head in the Clouds

As mentioned in my prior blog entry, I do tend to lose track of days, as I have no regular schedule in my life. Having written all day today in front of a computer, I decide it really is time to get some fresh air, and to take a walk. I discover that my cat has hidden in my bed all day, as I head for outside — I see a lump in the cover on the bed — and am amused that he thinks, that I can’t see him. Despite the fact that I always leave the front door open, Mr. lazy has remained indoors. In his defense, he did stop by earlier this morning, to bring me his toy mouse, trying to distract me from my writing. So — time for Mr. C to go play outside a bit too. I almost missed the beauty of the day. The sun is low enough on the horizon, that I have to close my eyes. What a treat in late January, this warm weather. I saw the first open magnolia blossoms at Church yesterday too. Bumbling along the sidewalk, I decide on a visit to the library, as it is on my path. I’m surprised to see a group of five or six girls hanging around the front door. As I go to enter, one of the girls giggles at me: “library is closed.” Really? I thought it is Monday. “It’s Martin Luther Kind Day,” she exclaims! Sheepishly, I say “Oh I see,” and continue my late afternoon walk. A quiet day — celebrating a great man in American history.

Have a blessed rest of the short week — if you are keeping track.

The Big Blue Monster

It must be Thursday today (I lose track of days once in a while), or rather garbage pick-up day to be more precise. My cat Calvin never ceases to amuse me — he is more than well aware of what day it is, much more so, than his caretaker. This morning, coming out of the shower, I saw him duck under the couch, as the big blue garbage truck could be heard on the street. Now mind you — there are garbage trucks, and then there are garbage trucks. This particular one, doesn’t pick up the regular home garbage cans, but the large metal ones that businesses tend to use, which it lifts over its head, and then empties into its innards, before returning it to the sidewalk. The racket is pronounced to say the least. For cat ears, I guess it must be a 9 on the Richter scale. The big blue monster has passed now, and Calvin re-emerges. After some breakfast, I walk into my little office and sit down at the computer. Calvin hops onto the window sill and looks out, something he loves to do, as many interesting things can be seen here, people, bicycles, dogs, squirrels, kids, and the occasional cat (the latter two are not among his preferences — but interesting nonetheless). What do we have here? The big blue monster is coming back, this time on another route through the alley. Calvin sees it right away of course, and I get up and pet him, and tell him it’s OK — it’s just a garbage truck. Then I actually hear him give a small growl — the enemy is sighted and acknowledged. It rumbles down the alley getting closer and closer. This is too close for comfort, and Calvin jumps off the window sill, and under the couch is once again his destination until the enemy has passed.

Have a peaceful, garbage-free Friday




This is a Twingo, from my new book “Sea Shells, C’est Gratuit”. I just love this car. It is a fat, cute, bug-like automobile with big eyes. They built millions of them in France. Surprisingly, although they look like a small egg, they are very spacious inside. My friend “Big Patrick” who is about 6’5 tall, had no problem fitting inside one on the passenger side. Probably my favorite thing I did in a Twingo, was to drive around and around the Arc de Triomphe in circles, just for the fun of it, feeling kind of like a gumball in a gumball machine, before it rolls out. You may notice the Twingo here (which was named Regenwolke) is sporting a “Jack in the Box” antenna ball, which I had brought with me on my trip, for decorating my sister-in-law Anne’s Twingo in Germany. I wonder if that may be considered a cultural exchange or contribution?