Silly Walks

There is a small black back-to-an-appliance in the kitchen but I have no clue to its provenance. The minute I mislay it I'll realise.

Felix's smoothies taste so much better than mine, probably because he omits all the unspeakable life-giving supplements. In microcosm, quality of life versus quantity.

The earlier I walk the better the smells - pine, gorse, mimosa, and I think gardenia with its undertone of fresh horse manure. No kidding - think of the number of florals with a hint of cat pee, or the ammonia of myrtle. i took a picnic up this time as I have meant to for a while, and ate it at the highest point, looking out over the headland to storm clouds near Mount Diablo and wondering if torpid snakes were getting irritated in the rocks I was sitting on. There are some spring flowers out, I think we need to go to Mount Tam to see meadows of them.

My re-found heart monitor gives innocent amusement, though the setting for a lady of fifty-nine is insultingly low. On the way down I indulge in silly walks, helped by the steepness of the slope in places (thinking of the "actresses" on the Via Veneto). Sometimes I just lean backwards to feel the stretch, other times I am a gunslinger, a catwalk model, a queen, John Cleese.

I bought twenty-four microfibre cloths at Costco yesterday to keep some in each car and each room. I have been running out of acceptable rags - old towels make the best ones but my favourites now have areas of paint, shoe polish, crustings of glue and such, and have maybe made theri contribution to society. R.I.P.