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Posts Tagged ‘bus stop’

Every fall the apples are more beautiful than the last. The Ida Reds. The Macs. The ever-popular and only-available-for-a-little-while, not-very-good-keepers Macouns. All of the ones I never try. The glaze, the sheen, the burnished surface covered in beads of moisture. In all my life, I have never eaten apples as delicious and crisp and prettily dewy as the ones we get in the Valley. Pleasure is not an adequate word.

Yesterday morning, in the front yard, no mushroom. Yesterday afternoon, this:

School has begun. She never rode a bus to school before. Strange, hunh?


Did we experience our last beach day of 2012? I’m hoping not. I know it’s not a very beachy photo, but it’s my favorite-ever-in-the-world bracelet or at least one of them and I love the way it washes and shines after being in the ocean. How about those age spots? It doesn’t get much hotter than that. Can’t we think of a better name than age spots? Do you think the home remedy that I found on the web that involves lemon juice and vinegar would really work?

I remember the first age spot I ever got. Hawaii, 1995. Yup. I can still identify it. It’s the biggish weird-shaped one to the far left just above the bracelet.

I’m not sure any more of the names of the 8 wrist bones. They are small, cute, important, intricately formed, and a wonder of evolutionary advantage. I know I could look them up, but I’d never remember the names anyway. Here’s a mnemonic for them in case you want to try. But you kinda hafta know which bone you’re starting with. Good luck!

Some Lovers Try Positions That They Can’t Handle

I’d like to hear this speech at one of the Conventions.

I am thinking of changing the photo at the top of my blog, as bored as I am right now. Possibilities include photos of other rocks.

Here are some of the mini-cairns I’ve been making in my garden. It’s not so easy to balance a stone with a rounded surface, but by gum, I’ve done it. Even in the heavy, heavy rain of 2 night’s ago, the 2 top stones didn’t tumble off and no stones have dislodged (I just wanted to use the word dislodge cause it makes me feel smart).

Here are some more of my garden rocks. I love the long, oddly-shaped one that looks like a tool, but it’s just a natural ocean rock as far as I know. Not like the arrowhead I have on my desk that was shaped by human hands.

See the little rock of Ohio? It doesn’t get much better than that. It’s greyish-clear. You cannot believe it. I wish you could hold it, it’s really quite lovely.

Okay, another [final?] beach photo, because I am so vain

FIN

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The big excitement in my life this morning was that Violet missed the bus. I wonder if I ever missed the bus. She didn’t see it coming down the block. In the spring, once the leaves are all filled in, it’s harder to see it out the window. When I grew up, we stood out at the bus stop like idiots, the whole time, like 10 minutes, in all weather, no waiting indoors with our iPods jammed into our ears. Those were good times, actually, my friend Todd Richard who lived a house away, my next-door neighbor Connie.

I heard a horrible statistic 2 days ago—that children spend 75% less time outdoors than in the past. I know it would help if I could remember facts and numbers (math is hard, especially for blond girls), but I’m going to use it, unsupported. This is Fuck it Friday after all.

On the way to school, Vi asked me if I knew a song called Long Black Veil. Sometimes, you know you’ve done something right, like raised your kid to listen for interesting music. I even had “Live at Folsom Prison” in the car so we could play it.

Here’s a lovely version. I never thought Kris Kristofferson was so smart, but he is you know. And he’s got sky-high legs and purty teeth (I am getting so old. Are those dentures?):

I peeked in on yesterday’s post and I was thinking that that photo is really unattractive, why not talk about it? The little barbell under the tongue is supposed to be good for blowjobs I’m guessing. I don’t need to hear a report or statistics or anything, but I am curious.

Maybe it is because men were dissatisfied with blowjobs sans accoutrement. I am getting to be so last-generation, such a fuddy-duddy.

I’m with Woody Allen, pretty much, on this one, though I am never sure if boys and girls are the same when it comes to orgasms. I think so, I think not, I think so, I think not.

the following portion of this post has been amended to correct a previous error in citation (see comment thread):

From Woody Allen’s Manhattan

Female party guest: I finally had an orgasm and my doctor told me it was the wrong kind.

Isaac Davis: Did you have the wrong kind? I’ve never had the wrong kind. Ever. My worst one was right on the money.

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