The Saga of Juan Of The Rose

Dafney checked his immigration status. Juan had his papers on him and showed them to Dafney. I would think the man was 'legal' since he and his wife bought a house and then lost it in the Great Recession as the downturn is being coined. I prefer the Great Ripoff By The Rich. It would be more precise.

Juan wanted the good life in America and bought a home with very little money, if any, down on the principle. Three thousand plus mortgage payments for a house that is a clapboard from the fifties in Panorama city--cement floor and no attic space at all, The roof is the ceiling.

Once the bottom went out of the housing market, his carpentry work vanished and so did, eventually, the house with all the money that they put into it including the work Juan did to improve the house. That, I think is what you call ripping someone off. Give them a fantastic deal on an overpriced item. Take the money they give you and give them something worthless, a house they can't afford and never could afford outrageously overpriced. Now you have the house to re-sale and thousands and thousands of dollars on top of it. All the banks did were to walk away with the property to sale again, eventually and some cold hard earned cash of a ruined family.

Juan now lives in an apartment in a gang infested hood. When he came to put sealant on the roof he was trying to climb a ladder with one arm. When I looked at why, his other arm was badly swollen, so bad that the skin near the elbow had spilt.

"Juan, what the fuck happened to your arm?" I asked.

"My son got in a fight with some people and they tried to kill him. I went to help my son and someone hit me in the arm with a bat when I tried to protect my son."

Months ago, when he was doing some repairs here he asked to leave early because he was looking for a better place to live. Now I know why he was so desperate.

Juan is a good carpenter but he needs direction. He needs to work for someone else. Not that he doesn't show up and do the work. He is messy. Plain and simple that's who Juan is. A simple man, who likes to smoke and throw his butts to the ground, who doesn't think twice when ridding a bucket of watered down paint on the lawn. Mexican Monkey said he could get him lots of work but for his messy habits.

His work is good and it is fast. On top of that he charges twenty-five an hour or a hundred and ninety a day. I had the roof patched and coated two years ago for three thousand. Juan put on two thick coats of roof coating and the cost for labor and materials, five hundred. That worked, no leaks in the heavy downpour we had last night and the coating is guaranteed for ten years.

And that has been the problem for hundreds of years here in the South Western United States. Land Barons fucking the poor, making themselves richer and the poor--poorer. Nothing has changed and the saga of Juan of the Rose keeps repeating. Migrants fucked over by land barons.

Village Idiot

Sitting in the backyard, drinking with the girls, I noticed Village Idiot managed to back his car out and drive east down the alley. In a few minutes he returned from the other direction and proceeded to park in his garage. It takes him some time to back out or in, I think he forgets in the middle of doing it on which way he is suppose to go.

This time, he seemed to forget that he was going somewhere once he remembered he was backing out of the garage. He came back and then--yep, backed out. Again a short time later he was back. Even the chickens were confused and I looked at the girls if they had any idea what the idiot was doing now. They didn't appear to have one, all went back to scratching the dirt and I left to ponder what in hell Village Idiot was doing, if he was actually doing anything at all.

He could st ill be circling the street. Going in and out of the garage. It could be that he is making wider circles until he gets to his destination. Who knows?

It takes a village to have an idiot and we do.

A Night With Mexican Monkey

It was Mom's fault. She left a message with Mexican Monkey to come over and get drunk with her. Of course he came, he may not come over for a variety of reasons but for an offer to get drunk with Mom, how could he turn it down?

And, Mexican Monkey came alone. Adonis wasn't in the picture, though they texted each other through the night. Well, more like Adonis texting Mexican Monkey because it takes ten minutes for the monkey to type his name. He is clever though and quickly learned the proper responses to all texting, you know, LOL or whatever the fuck texting has brought the written word down to hyroglifics. That's why he loves Adonis to text. That way, Adonis might not catch on to what Mexican Monkey is doing, like getting drunk, or out with another boyfriend, or whatever clever little monkeys do at night. You can't text in a slur except maybe mix up the signals, like LO:( . He is such a clever little monkey.

Mom--she now has two boyfriends, one already jealous over the other and she hasn't met him in person as yet. It's an E-harmony thing. The new guy is nice, very nice in fact. Perhaps too nice for Mom's tastes. Mom likes it a little dirty, a little edgy and I can't blame her. Hell, a double burger with cheese and chili over a rice cake? There's a whole lot more burger joints around than rice cake eateries that I know of.

Mexican Monkey put his phone to my ear, so that I could hear for myself that Mom asked him over to get drunk with her. Why? Well, she's got all these moths flying around her flame and she is itchin' to burn. So does Mexican Monkey. He hasn't bed with Adonis. And until the relationship dissolves to the point where Mexican Monkey begs for just a pair of tighty-whities, sealed in a plastic bag for the monkey to remember him by, he'll be needin' to get drunk whenever the fuck he can. But that only happens after there's been actual sex and Mexican Monkey decides there are other banana trees to visit in the forest, perhaps even tastier bananas.

Poor, poor Mexican Monkey.

The two got drunk and of course I helped them out, plied them with alcohol and listened to their conversations of desire and the men in their lives. Oh, yes, nasty things too. It was a good night and once the two were laid out in different areas of the house, I cleaned up the mess and went to bed. Mom went home at three in the morning after waking Mexican Monkey that she was going. He climbed into her crib and I fed him in the morning before he went off to play at the factory.

He was so happy after a good drunk and Adonis still texting the happy monkey as he readied his face to face his workers as the Patron. Now if Mexican Monkey can dick Adonis, If he can have his wish for Adonis to grace his condo where the roses bloom and the sun always shines, than how so much more happy Mexican Monkey will be and when he is that happy--he drinks.

Poor, poor Mexican Monkey.

Shake that Booty

Drag Queen was out with her trash. She had on neon green capris and a black top. She's got no tits but she does have ass-a-plenty. There was a cigarette stuck in the side of her mouth since both hands were full of trash.

Her containers are all neat in a row. several blue ones for the waste produced by making Ecstasy. A number of black barrels for the same thing and one small green barrel for whatever they have that can decompose, which ain't much. It could be for the looks, why even bother with a green barrel when you have nothing green to put in it unless you don't want to draw attention to the squadron of blue and black containers filled with empty plastic chemical bottles.

She was quite the site, jiggling trash in her hands, the cigarette butt wafting smoke in her face causing the cheeks of her ass to squeeze tight and balance the weight in her hands and gravity of her big ass. Good thing she doesn't have tits cause that would certainly have thrown her over one way or the other.

Then the strangest thing happened. With a flick of her stiletto nails, the lid flew open and in went the trash. Drag Queen knows her trash.

Mexican Monkey Fights Back

He came before Adonis and went directly to the backyard after ordering a martini. I finished up the dinner preparation and joined Mexican Monkey with our cocktails. His little brown eyes, set deep inside wrinkled sockets, sparkled once more. The first round slid down rather well and just as I began making another batch, Adonis walked in. Really lovely to watch his walk and his smile would melt any one's heart.

Now the four of us are back with the chickens with martinis and a joint being passed around. Mexican Monkey has to be so very careful, too much grass and he'll won't be able to control his drinking, too little and he'll come off has un-hip to Adonis. Poor, poor Mexican Monkey, he wanted to chatter, to screech, he wanted to swing and play and order us all about but instead, he had to sit there like a gentleman and slowly drink his cocktail while having polite conversation. Adonis loved every minute of it. It felt natural to Adonis, to sip at his drink, have a hit on the joint and go on.

Not for Mexican Monkey, the second drink went down so fast I thought he might have spilled it. I filled his glass with straight from the freezer vodka and stuck some more olives on his stick. Mexican Monkey was loosing the battle. Another joint went around and this time he looked away, found interest in the lesbian chicken that was so obvious in her demure that she stuck out like a truck driver at a French boutique. He sipped as best he could, he touched the rim with his finger and then dipped it in the icy vodka, wetting his lips before taking an olive from his stick. It didn't work to well, while in coversation with Adonis, Mexican Monkey's eyes grew dark, his glass empty. The third glass of booze was taking effect on him while Adonis sipped at his first drink.

Poor, Mexican Monkey, as much as he tried to remain sober, he couldn't and Adonis went home alone--I think. And Mexican Monkey back to Culver City by himself not quite drunk enough and, I'm sure, ready to get there as soon as he walked in the door.

The Sad Saga of Mexican Monkey and Adonis

For someone short and with genes waiting to explode fat cells, Mexican Monkey looks pretty damn good. He has eight and half size feet. Great if you're a girl, but as long as he keeps himself starved, the eight and half size works. If he gained weight it wouldn't take long for his feet to disappear.  Mexican Monkey has a lot of Spanish in his blood. A square jaw, light complexion, sparkling teeth. He is quite handsome, and I'm sure more so when he was younger. However, he is handsome in a daddy sort of way even when he dyes his hair raven black. It is now a kind of henna black so when he steps into sunlight, there is a henna glow coming off the black.

The boyfriend is to die for. Seriously, the dude looks like a fucking Greek statue that came to life. Little locks of hair frame his forehead and each has a tint of blond gold mixed in the brown. He has big brown eyes, perfect skin that looks like it will be another ten years before he shaves. He is slight of built. That athletic slight of built where the muscles are perfectly proportioned, like a runner.

And what the guy has, outside of looking about fifteen and being in his twenties, as if that wasn't enough--he is nice. Really, really nice. No fucking cell phone on his ear while your being introduced, quick with a comeback and comfortable in who he is. How Mexican Monkey found him is a total mystery. Some Colombian hoedown they met at.

Now, Mexican Monkey, is trying to stay sober. The dude, the Adonis, can curtail his drinking, but poor Mexican Monkey wants a thrill a minute. He crashed here this morning while the rest of us went for a bike ride. Oh, how I wanted to yell in his ear, to make greasy bacon. But I didn't, he crashed, sobered up enough to haul his drunk ass home and crash again.

They are coming over for dinner Sunday and Mexican Monkey has to stay sober enough not to make himself look like a falling down drunk.

I will have eggs for Adonis to take home. The last time he was here he said how much he loved the eggs from his father's chickens back in Columbia. Mexican Monkey wanted eggs but fuck him. I gave Adonis the eggs telling him "You can have all the eggs you want. If the chickens don't lay enough for you--I will".

Gadzooks

Wally and I went to dinner with friends in Hollywood. A place called, Off Vine. It wasn't the only thing off Vine, there is the Spotlight, that's off Vine in another direction. And of course, both Off Vine and the Spotlight are a bit off.

For those that don't know about the Spotlight, it is the oldest gay bar that actually is in Hollywood. Not only has it been there for quite a while it is a hustler bar. The clientele of the Spotlight like 'Fresh Out of Prison' whereas Off Vine's clientele like their dishes, 'Fresh from the Farm".

One of our dinner companions that night likes both.

We took the underground, parking in North Hollywood and taking the subway from there into Hollywood, it looked like rain and its easier parking at the Red Line than trying to find a parking place any way near Vine and Sunset in Hollywood.

That is, at least Bob's excuse. He parked over by the Spotlight. Funny how that worked out. But he always parks over by the Spotlight whenever he asks us to join him for dinner. The other guest was late because he parked somewhere near Vine.

Off Vine is a nice enough place. An old, two story, yellow house from the thirties or forties. You can eat in the front yard on pleasant days. The inside was gutted to fit the kitchen and dinner tables, leaving only the stairs and support walls. The atmosphere is pleasant and so is the variety of clientele. The food is a sort of American Blend. Wild Mushroom Ravioli, Pecan Crusted Breast of Chicken. I had fried calamari, an appetizer dish with a salad. The calamari wasn't quite crisp enough and I suspect frozen before throwing it in the hot oil(a pet peeve of mine). Wally had the mushroom ravioli. I forgot what the others had, I was busy trying to get nonchalantly drunk. Our table was in a very warm section of the building, but Bob likes to see everybody coming and going, he places himself in the, 'Power Chair' as he calls it. That's the chair where you can see everybody and they can see you. I saw two walls, unless I wanted to twist my neck like a bird of prey.  And we all came with jackets and hats with no place to put them but on our chairs, still keeping us warm. I was sweating in the middle of the meal.

"Oh, there's so-and-so." Bob would comment from the Power Chair. The rest of us would careen our necks around to see whoever it was that entered or was being seated. Bob knows quite a lot of people because he never-ever cooks. Seriously, he doesn't boil water, make coffee or butter toast. It is all done at cafes and diners. His stove at home has plates stacked high from swap meets and thrift stores. Name brand junk that he collects and pack-rats away. Except for his bedroom, which I only saw once. That room was filled with stacks of DVD porno and a very large Sony television, the old tube version. The bed was unmade and the house was too, in that everywhere, were stacks of something.

Bob has a taste for rough edges in men. He likes porn houses in the late of night, one in particular, near a fire station that caters to married guys that like a good blow-job in the early morning hours before work and apparently, there a few at the fire station that enjoy the nearby porn house. I asked Bob if he would look to see if they carry, Sarge and the Sailor Boy, and if they did to buy one and announce in a loud, freshly fucked throat, how much he enjoyed this particular author's work, saying my name outloud with clear diction. Of course he didn't, what straight construction guy or firemen would want to read the latest in erotica?

After our dinner, we all divvied upped cash for the bill, paying our share. But when we got up to leave, Bob went back in for a moment. He didn't forget his hat, he took the money and paid the bill with his credit card. It's a good credit card, but now he has money for the Spotlight to buy a hustler. A hundred bucks will get you what you want at the Spotlight. "How much is that on the menu?" will vary at Off Vine but at the Spotlight, dick fresh from Central Jail is always a hundred bucks.

If you wait, like Bob does, until near closing it is like a Stock Market exchange, and that is where Bob made his money early in life, and he is still very good at it, getting the best meat at the lowest price.

Yes, dinner with friends. What could be more entertaining?

The Hood at Fall

When we got back from Cayucos everything was topsy-turvy, the weather, the house, our lives and the hood. There were neighbors to visit with fresh eggs in hand to sooth the parking disaster and the electrical emergency David Bonehead had caused. The Palace was its usual shabby self, overgrown lawn, weeds as high as the shrubs and the screamers of, Middle Eastern spit-gibberish, hoarse and muted in their speech. And no spit was spat by them in their hellos.

I think Drag Queen had a hell of hangover because the alley looked a bit untidy. Drag Queen loves her trash and usually, it's quite orderly in her stacks high above the trashcan lids. Village Idiot, I think, was lost for sometime, but that's not uncommon for him and usually found in a closet trying to repeatably open the same wall he mistakes for a door once it shuts him in. Lady of the Forest has been laying low for some time and so has Hag, probably both have done so because of the ruckus, while we were gone, caused by the Jihad Party Boys and the Palace battles between Mean Queen and Daddy.

But now a hush has fallen with the clouds and damp weather. The garden doesn't struggle for want of water. The chickens are alert and looking for bugs. The company has left and we now enjoy the quiet solitude that wet gray clouds give that lull you for the season of death that is soon to come.

The Girls

I don't know what to make of them. I guess they were glad to see us, there was no pooping in the nests the first three days after we  returned and I cleaned a pile of chicken shit out of one nest and put in fresh straw. But after three days the girls went back to their ways. Nothing like a warm cozy nest box to sleep and shit in all night. And I thought they would be happy to see us, after one laid an egg about an inch long. It looked like a pigeon egg. I'm not blaming Pete the Meat. Hell, at least he didn't fuck them, so they went without water a few days, they're still virgins--I think.

They are all laying now, and had some time out in the yard today with a little close supervision. I gave them an ear of corn, one caught a moth by jumping about three feet up, so I guess the girls are no worse for wear and they're pumping out eggs now.

The garden, with the cool weather is happy. I'll plant the lettuce seedlings I started and do some other work on the south-forty. Once the bamboo forest is removed and a redwood fence up, I'll be able to extend the vegetable garden quite a bit. The potatoes are leafing out, meaning potatoes for winter soups. Here's a recipe for potato soup that is outstanding.

Russets are good, any potato is good, and if you don't want the skins on when finished, peel the skins and use them to help make a broth. Once the potatoes are done, remove the skins or leave them on the potato. It's a big difference in flavor.

You can use leek or onion. The onion will give more crunch, the leek, a wonderful subtle flavor more like scallion. I myself, like onion. Cook the onion or leek in butter with some grape seed oil or just grape seed oil if you don't want to use butter, just until the edges begin to get transparent, leaving the inner part still white. Leek is different, you don't want to overcook leeks so add them with the potatoes and toss for a minute or two in butter and/or grape seed oil, which has a very buttery flavor.

Add your potatoes. How many? Well that's the beauty of soup isn't it. You always make more than you think and it seems to bring people over to enjoy every last bit of it anyway. Let's say a potato a person and one for the pot, large, or what ever would correspond to one large potato per person and one for the pot. Onions? one or two big ones, more if you're making a very large amount and leeks, you can be free with leeks even to having an almost equal amount of leek and potato. You do want more potato in both cases because the potato's flavor is subtle.

Slice the potato in soup spoon sizes, an inch chunk or bigger. Too small and they will break up, which if you want a creamier soup is good. But to have chunks of potatoes and slices of onion simmered in hot cream and butter is wonderfully good. After you seared the potato in the oil with the onions or leeks, which doesn't take long, and will prevent it from breaking up later on, add enough water to cover all the ingredients. You want to cover with good water, not from the tap water, get the chlorine out of water and you'll be amazed at the difference in taste in all your foods. Add some salt, more to taste but save the pepper for last or, I think better, a dash of cayenne when you add the butter near the end.

Cover and simmer just until a fork inserted in the potato can pull out. Much like for potato salad. Al dente' as the Italians say. Now add a pint(or more if you're making a large amount) of cream or heavy cream or whatever rich cream type of thing you want and a splat of butter, if you like butter, and fresh chopped parsley.

Do not let the soup boil, let it get to a small simmer, to a melting of the butter making a pool of warm yellow and the parsley still green and floating on top of the cream. It's important not to let the cream come to a boil, just a simmer, a slight bubbling here and there at most, it's done.

Serve in big bowls or cups with fresh, warm Buttermilk Bread.

I have had folks that I haven't seen in years come and ask if I would make them Potato Soup with fresh, warm, Buttermilk  Bread. The meal is like sitting by a fire with good company on a cold rainy night.

Lazarus Rising

We came home from our trip at the beach where the mayor of Cayucos had cleaned our toilet and changed the sheets and then later, got drunk with us. She was wonderful and must have Wally sitting next to her for the next Fourth of July parade. Wally, of course, is very accepting of being the star of any parade, even the ones to visit the chickens in the late afternoon. I think I might rent him out, his permanent smile and award winning ways of listening intently with an occasional nod of approval has opened the doors to royalty. The royalty being in the Hollywood crowd but still a Queen is queen wherever you are in the world.

In Freedom, by Franzen. There is a scene discussing Walter's life and the motel his parents bought where he was raised. One Fourth of July when they could count on the motel being full,  the NO VACANCY sign had been left on and they didn't figure  out  why they had vacancies until after the fourth. That's not the case on the central coast. A NO VACANCY sign apparently means you hunt down the innkeeper and ask if there is any vacancy. The mayor was always polite, an admiration I admit after hearing that she was woke at five in the morning with a couple wanting a room because they seen the sign that said, NO VACANCY right at the entrance to the motel. I would have directed them onto the beach. "That's right, go down the hill and turn left. You will see a dirt road in front of you that will put you on the sand. Do not worry, go directly forward then follow the beach until you see a house of your liking. Inspect it and if there is no one there, feel free  to use it."

It was a lot of fun on our annual Holiday. We enjoyed it, I got some writing done but when we came home it was over ninety degrees in the valley, in fact it was ninety-eight, cooling to ninety-six at the house. And when I opened the door to a home I left in really good shape: lawns mowed, chicken coop cleaned, fresh linen on the bed, clean counters, inviting-well maintained and watered garden, I saw dead and ready to die vegetation (the Maiden Hair fern that people had said to me, "How do you keep it so healthy?" was very-very dead. Marigolds dead, vegetables shriveled and the plant wilted, it took my breath away.

Pete the Meat was busy with his new found love, Fetish Photography, while here he met up with other fetish people and went to a fetish party in the heart of Fetishland, the San Fernando Valley where we live. Well, it seems, after infecting my desktop computer with twenty-two virus/spy ware programs and after I had to boot and reboot until the Norton system kicked in and spent the rest of day cleaning up the shit he waded in looking at Fetish sites, I got my computer back, finally running the other day.

It was like someone punched me in the chest. I couldn't breath walking around in a daze in the hot sun, trying to make room to put the shit away from our trip. Trying to rescue plants, picking the Maiden Hair up from where it lay on its side in the bright sunshine with every frond frozen brown at the time of its death. I walked around like Steve Martin in a daze with my pants down around my ankles clutching at things I wanted to rescue.

I've spent the last three days getting our cottage in the Val back together. And yet like Lazarus, I'll rise to do it again I suppose next year.

Fire and Brimstone

David, another David, not Dafney, is a certified klutz. When he was born, the doc slapped him on the ass and broke his wrist. When his mom changed his diaper he peed in her face, she was blinded, dropped the diaper, slipped in the shit and broke her leg. Life that surrounds David is fraught with peril. Doesn't matter if it's a goldfish or an alligator, if it is near David, it is in danger.

And knowing this, knowing David's long and illustrious history as a certified jinx, I still invited him up and what's worse, asked if he could watch the house for three days while Pete was here. He has only been here a day but the wreckage he left at the house is incredible. First, it was a cold day and David, being a sedentary being, was cold. So he turned on all the lights, not wanting to use the gas heater, he used the electric fireplace. Not wanting to wait for it to heat up slowly, he turned it to its highest setting. Now that the lights were on and the electric fireplace was cooking he turned his attention to food so he put a burrito in the microwave, setting it on high and turned on the computer and the television. The heat from everything turned on the air-conditioner but David was in the bathroom at the time laying a turd so big it stuffed the toilet. Now the toilet was plugged with shit when the main circuit breaker blew.

No lights, no phone, no heat, no air-conditioner no toilet and he had only been there a few hours. I get a call that went on and on with what was wrong. I called the handyman and asked him if he could come out and stay with David the three days he would be there to repair after him, he would have too but was on another job at the time. I called an electrician, a plumber and Father Leary for help. The good father was to exorcise the house before the workers arrived so that they would have some semblance of safety. In the meantime, David was still hungry and so took the burrito out of the nuker and put it in the oven  turning that on.

Of course the oven didn't work, it has electric ignition and David, once he figured that out tried to use some leftover birthday candles to light the oven. It didn't work but it did leave a pool of wax on the bottom of the oven. The next morning he is on the train and heading our way. I warned Rebbecca that a world renown jinx was coming to stay. She thanked me, cursed and added a charge to the bill. I can't blame her really and glad that his room was a somewhat safe distance from ours.

I get a call later in the day after I picked up David at the train depot. Mom was there, the lights were still out because the electrician couldn't work in the rain outside to replace the breaker. He was coming back that afternoon when the rain was suppose to stop. The plumber snaked the toilet and complained of a nasty fight with the toilet lobster that David left simmering in the can. I asked her if Father Leary had left any holy water behind for a touch up and if he did to use it before anything else went wrong.

Later she called again and said the electrician came and replaced the breaker, the toilet lobster finally died and was flushed out to sea but there was this strange smell in the kitchen. She went to look and found the oven on  and a fire flaming up inside from the pool of wax that caught on fire.
David is here and being watched closely but from a safe distance. He just got a call that the plumbers he hired would like it better if he sent a check with his signature on it rather than without, like the one they had in their hands.  Pray, pray with all your might that we return alive.

Blow Wind Crack Your Cheeks

On the walk after breakfast we thought it might rain. The clouds were a deep wet-grey and seem to be growing wetter. Pete went back for an umbrella, just in case but it didn't rain. In fact it cleared up due to this gale force wind. And the wind became stronger by the minute.

Oh sure, going out with the wind against our back and Morro Rock calling us ahead was a cinch. Then when we decided it was so much fun being blown away, we would make our way back. Talk about leaning into the wind. One hand on the hat and other trying to blade the wind in front. It was a fight to the finish and poor Wally, stalwart guy that he is, did his best to fight the gale.

We huffed and we puffed and we leaned into the wind. We fought, we battled the gusts like a fifty-percent off sale on Rodeo Dr. Finally, our weary bones were safe and dry as beached whales back at the Seaside Motel. After a hot shower, joint and a couple of glasses of wine, we felt in the groove,stood up and shouted at Zephyr...."Fuck You." Then the joint went out and couldn't be re-lit. Oh well.

Zam and Zap

What a show we had last night, a real rocker of a thunderstorm. The lightening was incredible. More like a an East Coast show, at least Chicago since it was there that I saw my first lightening as a kid. In Los Angeles, if there is lightening it usually is from a burnt out transformer.

It was the angry clouds over the mountains in back of us that made it look ominous at first. Then came the sound of distant thunder. No streaks of sheer bright white, just the rumble of the gods' merriment and lots of it. But is didn't take long for the show to begin and what a show. I never seen a bolt of lightening with six or more forks going out like the ribs of an umbrella. But wait there's more, the show hardly had a pause in it with all the strikes and then they began out at sea. That was a trip and a half to see lightening strikes out on the ocean before they landed here and joined the ones on land.

What a downpour, and it not only washed the dust of summer off but soaked the ground for Fall's colors. There is something about the air after a thunderstorm, you can't seem to breathe it in fast enough or let it linger long enough in your nostrils before wanting more. Exciting, exhilarating and today in the kitchen is albondigas soup simmering in the kettle. We'll be taking a walk with Pete our new guest. Pete is a piece of beefcake with a brain. Photography is his game along with sex, fetish and a whole lot more. God do I love having conversations with someone that can think ahead. How refreshing after Dafney (David) told the waitress at Friday's meal that he was going to leave a really good tip so she better serves us right. What can I say, he's from Staten Island and I've never seen water sold anywhere with a label that it came from Staten Island--for a reason.

Sunshine and Waves

A beautiful day showed up this morning. We had french toast, sausage and melon in the garden. It had rained lightly early in the morning before we woke and cleaned off the leaves and flowers making them sparkle in the morning light. The sun started to poke through grey clouds warming the patio where we sat. Others at the motel stirred and emerged from their rooms with smiles and shorts on.

After breakfast the three of us walked along the beach for miles toward Morro Rock. The behemoth stood near the estuary that cradled fishing boats and wildlife. Circling the top of the rock was a misty cloud making the huge rock look like a magical island in the distance. Our stroll along the water's edge was pleasant and fun. Families came out to enjoy the beach and young men dashed with surfboards into the sea giddy as girls.

David couldn't keep his eyes from them. He has x-ray eyes that bore under the surf trunks and strip each surfer bare for the world to see. Once, overtaken by the beauty of a particular hot guy, he walked right into him as he stared like a deer caught in headlights. The guy confused why this old sod was intent on walking over him.

I threatened to leash David if he didn't behave. I've threatened that before when he ran the car into the sidewalk once staring into the headlights of hot guy walking on the sidewalk. David had to sign a pledge with his car insurance agent that he would not drive on Santa Monica Blvd  again. Now we have to take turns taking David to the blvd. as long as he kept the window up. If it is not up, David will lean out the window like a golden retriever until he is at the pinnacle of falling out of the car.

Right now he went for a walk on his own to the pier after I told him about the surfers jumping off the pier into the water. I should have kept my mouth shut, David could jump over with them and then, after being rescued by the surfer and brought to shore only to have the surfer rescued by someone with a crowbar to break David free.

Ah, a day at the beach. Nothing like it.