Like Riding a Bicycle

I have just ridden around the marina on Felix's bike and didn't fall off, though it felt close a couple of times. A kind man adjusted my gears for me so the funny noise stopped; I felt like a novice of course. It was as exhilarating as I had hoped, in bright sun and cold wind, and I think next time I'll head for McNear's Beach (when I am more ambitious I'll go to McFar's).

We did a frustrating shoot in San Francisco this morning, doctors are terrified of the Medical Board no matter what their results are, it is an eye-opener, they become more outspoken as they near the end of their careers, have less to lose and want to speak out.

New Orleans has been postponed so this weekend will be domesticated, prob ably setting up wardrobe fittings with William. I have had satisfying family doings this week, getting the bike with Felix, carting bookcases back from Ikea with Jessica, Christmas tree disposal with Cissy. I told her my theory that Christmas trees are the sad little tarts of trees: uprooted, tricked out for our pleasure then ruthlessly discarded when they lose their bloom. Rape and pillage.

I had a hunger for ribs so they are marinating after a long simmer, then will barbeque as long as I don't have to stand there and freeze. One of the many fascinations with Jim Harrison's writings is his relationship with the cold - this beyond the sheer pleasure of following his convoluted stream-of-consciousness, just the way we think. Or maybe some of us. He is every bit as twitchy and narky as most of my family, so it feels familiar, though I would love a hefty dose of their woodmanship as well. I am such a townie by nurture, I don't know if a predilection for pioneer skills is enough. Steep learning curve.