A Rant and A Paen to my Parents

What originally began as a realization at 5:30 AM this morning that there was no way that I could teach without a voice has snowballed into a two day long enforced semi-vacation.

19 phone calls later and I am somewhat off the hook for the next two days of work. (I still need someone to cover a half hour of my comic book class) Argh! I have called all the people I have subbed for (quite an army of folks, all but two haven't returned my call) hoping to call in some favors.

I called my mechanic (ahhh! time for a poem!) and not only does my car need a change of oil, but a water pump, a deep tissue tune up, a cervical exam and a new serpentine belt.

The waterpump gasket has blown
and is spewing grease all over
the
Cavity.

I gotta call my parts man.

Yup, its a 2.2 liter engine.

Nope, it ain't got a timing belt.

::

Random Photos! From the last few months of happening

Some of you have heard my stories about breakfast with the Inimitable One. Its true. The tales of the bacon and/or Nieman Ranch hotdogs, parisian tea, gourmet toasted bread and irish butter have not been exaggerated. If one is going to conquer the Mighty Bay Area Thrifting Scene, one must eat like the Diva one is beforehand.



When I got The Call from Currer last month to help him move some books, he took me to the ARCO on Divisadero to get a fill-up. It was during rush hour and every car driving construction worker/CEO in a three county radius had converged on this one station. We witnessed an immaculate Audi squeeze between a newspaper stand and a lightpost on the sidewalk in order to cut in front of us. While Currer was negotiating for gas, I noticed this gentleman getting a fill-up next to us and he was playing his harp. So asked him to come out and play for me. He was very obliging.



Putting the Libro Back in Librarian

The Famous Siegfried (aka Currer's Godfather). The man of many books and the coolest red convertible.



His 64 Ford Falcon is on its fourth engine. He bought it new.



The Pater and His Town

My parents have an amiable marriage. In fact they are quite happy. But one of the things they have never seen eye to eye about is where to erect the Manse. The Pater has always voted for the untamed wilderness. He was happiest when we lived in the High Desert, with the nearest neighbor being on the other side of the horizon. And Mother has always voted for town living. She tells a story about how she asked dad to put a lawn around the Trailer, and when he went out with a shovel, all she heard was a metallic "ting" when shovel made contact with the ground. Our next house, shortly after that, had lush sod installed in the front and the back. (of course, nothing green survived the Plague of Locusts that followed). Finally, after nearly 30 years of marriage (and peregrinations all over this great state), they found a place suitably wild and conveniently situated (18 minutes from The City).

A few blocks from the Manse the wind twists the Indigenous Cypress trees.



The Pater, on the hill behind the Manse.



This image is so powerful to me. The first time I saw him, he was wearing a green flight jacket (not that I remember it, but I can't think of a time when he wasn't wearing one). When he looks at my sisters and me, that is the smile he gives us. Not just any old smile. When I was little, I could actually hear this smile with my eyes shut. It is a good smile. When he gives this smile to the KB, my heart breaks, its so beautiful.