It's raining a little right now

See that picture?  That's how our feet looked a lot of the time that we were tramping across the U.K.  During those long hours of slogging I would fantasize about sitting in the heat on my front porch.

If you had told me then that I'd be sitting here in my office two weeks later with the windows wide open so I can hear and smell a small smattering of rain, I wouldn't have believed you.  But I am.  Because of course I sat on my porch in the blazing heat and went damn!  It sure is hot!

I know.  I'm SO high maintenance.

Playing the "What if" Game

Just now when I was at Smith's Marketplace, I saw a guy sitting in front of the store who looked a LOT like my brother Jimmy.  In fact, I had to do a double-take, because the last time I checked, Jimmy was eating Cuban food at that place next door to the Precious Slut Tattoo Parlor (and no--I am not making up that name) in Las Vegas.

Anyhoo.  I started playing the "What If" game.  What if that really WERE my brother Jimmy?   And what if this was the first time I'd seen him since we were teenagers?  Because what if he'd been kidnapped when we were kids?  What if he'd been kidnapped when I was supposed to be watching him but instead I was talking to my friend Gigi Ballif on the telephone?  CAN YOU IMAGINE THE GUILT?  How would I feel seeing him sitting there in front of Smith's Marketplace?

That could be the start of a novel, right?  A novel written by Dean Koontz, probably.  Or maybe me.  Or maybe you.

Playing the "What If" game every day may pay off eventually.  And even if it doesn't, at least it makes going to Smith's Marketplace more interesting than usual.

Becky

One of my walking companions was the lovely Doni Perkins, a good friend dating back to the Dreaded Jr. High Days.  We met each other through our mutual friend Becky Brown Thomas all those eons ago, and we both miss her still.

On the first day when we were wending our way through Newcastle-Upon-Tyne, Doni suddenly said to me, "You remind me a lot of Becky."  And then she said that taking the walk with me felt a little like taking the walk with Becky as well.

I was a little surprised by this.  I guess I'd like to know how I remind Doni of Becky, although I didn't ask.  But I was also touched, too.  It was sweet to think--for a moment at least--that three old friends were together again.

I'm back

And I'm still sort of crawling on my hands and knees from room to room because I'm too tired to get up on my hind legs.  I can't ever remember being this jet-lagged.  I think I'm just . . . getting older.

I'll start posting again tomorrow.

Joyce Nelson

Carolyn See recommends that writers draw up a list of the ten most influential people in their lives because . . . I forget why.  Maybe writers can use them as characters?

Anyway.  I did this exercise a few years ago, and one of the people on my list is Joyce Nelson, my AP English teacher.  This is what I wrote about her:  "A great teacher.  A great conversationalist.  When we were reading THE GREAT GATSBY she made the surprising announcement in class that 'men like women who smolder.'  I've never forgotten that."

And I've never forgotten Joyce, who passed away the evening of July 3, 2012.  She was a great broad in every single way.  RIP Joyce.

What I would have missed this morning if I hadn't gone running

Two Cooper's hawk fledglings, just chilling in a spread of pine boughs.

I didn't feel like running today, but I forced myself to go to the park.  Toward the end of the first lap, I saw a cluster of people looking up into a tree.  I almost didn't stop because there's that suspicious part of my brain that always says, "It's like a snipe hunt.  They're just standing there so you'll stop and stand there, too, and the joke is THAT THERE'S REALLY NOTHING THERE TO LOOK AT."

But I stopped and asked and it wasn't a joke . . . just a pair of amazing birds, right in the heart of the city.

Re-entry

Dear Day-After-Summer-Vacay,

Why do you gotta be so harsh?  I don't want to feel depressed that there's no ocean outside my back door.  I don't want to miss fish tacos from Pedros.  I don't want to be sad that when I turn around to tell my brother Jimmy a joke that he's not there now.  But I do.

Ugh.  You pretty much suck, Day-After-Summer-Vacay.

Sincerely,

Ann Cannon