Torrential rain. It lasts all night and till early morning. Cassady gets a short trip around the block for her morning abulations during a lull in the cats and dogs from the heavens. Oh, the cats from a previous day. When was that? Anyway, we are walking down Orchard Street. There are four cats sitting on porches and front yards of four houses. Two on porches and two in front yards. Both sets of houses are across from each other. Two of the cats are snow white. They are on opposite sides of the street. One of the white cats has a plastic collar/funnel like device around its neck. Probably to keep it from scratching/licking a sore or wound.
We have a sort of open house and dinner party for some friends and colleagues from work and a woman visitor from Indonesia. Miss E gives me the friendliest of hugs coming and going. Phew. Heart rate and breathing rate rise suddenly!
On the bike path I saw an older gentleman hacking and digging around the base of a tree right near the entrance. Today I see that he was digging spaces for bricks. Some sort of personal neighborhood improvement effort. This was about 4:45am this morning. He was very tanned, probably retired, wearing blue shorts and a red shirt.
There have been some beautiful morning skies. Some have made the see-er behind those eyes glad to be.
The bus driver has disappeared. Every morning since March 18, of this year, when we moved to Regent Street, a bus driver pulls up opposite the end of our street on Massachusetts Avenue. He sits and reads a newspaper until, I assume, its time to begin his route. He's not there on weekends, but every weekday. I've come to expect him. Sometimes the chubby older man who walks his neutered but insanely friendly golden lab will stop and talk with him. Cassady and I compensate for no running yesterday by doing 11 laps.
We are at the home of some rich friends of L where we will be watching a film for the evening and talking with a woman from Indonesia who works to improve the working and other conditions of her fellow citizens. She is Muslim and dressed appropriately. Her discussion of the labor conditions there remind me of the beginning of this century and a book, The Jungle, by Sinclair Lewis. I've suggested she read it to learn about both the history of labor in this country but to see how her current struggle is universal. I tell her about this book. A couple sitting next to her, in the moment of the book's title and author mentioning, turn towards each other, look at each other for a very bried moment, and turn to her to say they must go. Republicans, I said to myself.
The silky Miss E has hugged me in that oh-so-nice way that she does that and made me think about running off with her--even if I am and old and foolish fart. She has done that a number of times in the last days. Or is she that way with everybody and I'm not so special afterall? Oh, the naughty things a desirous old mind can think with the least bit of stimulation!
We leave the event, turn a corner and end up on Kirkland Street going towards Harvard Square. The first house past the corner is equipped with a foraging front yard skunk who gets several pictures taken by me. My companion keeps urging me to move along.
Earlier in the evening, just as we prepared to leave, one of our kitchen windows suddenly swung down from its upright position, hit a ceramic vase and shattered all over the kitchen. We picked up the tiny pieces of glass and some random pieces that were lying about. Who do you call to get one of these things fixed?
Our country's birthday. Sunday paper. Cassay and I go for a walk towards the bike path. Up Hancock Street. I take a picture of a car painted to look like an American flag. There's a two-family for sale across the street. We look around, continue on. We've stopped for a minute. A young woman is walking up the street, other side, in the same direction. Suddenly she crosses the street and walks directly towards us. Tall, blond, svelte. Very attractive. Is that Cassady, she asks. Yes. She's a veterinary student who worked at the clinic where Cassady got her first exam and shots. We chat. I'm in shock. I'm thrilled that such an attractive young woman would cross the street to talk to me. She remembers the hummingbird I found on the street and brought to the center. She's in the neighborhood to visit friends for a 4th picnic. Give me your email address and I'll send you some pictures of Cassady, I offer. She does so without any hesitation except to look for pen and paper. Tell me the address, I'll remember it, I assure her. Indeed it has been unforgettable.
A man is going through our garbage. Monday morning is our normal garbage time. The holiday moved it forward one day. He's looking for bottles. He notices me sitting on the front porch putting on my sox and running shoes. He looks about my age, maybe a bit older. Definitely more overweight than me. He finishes and moves on to the next source of bottles.
If you are reading this a few days, weeks, months, years, even centuries from now, please note that it has been VERY hot here the last few days. And there have been even earlier heat waves with temperatures in the high 90's. It was close to making me think of getting an airconditioner.
A long chat with a young lady about her love life. So it goes like this: there's a man in love with her, but he can't have sex with her. His best friend is the man she's in love with now--but he doesn't want her anymore. They've had a secret affair which she thinks may have resulted in her contracting an STD, and she hasn't told the man who is in love with her that she's had an affair with his best friend--who is now leaving town and moving back home. Stop me if you've heard this story before. Haven't we all. This young woman is probably the most open, straightforward person I've ever known of this age.
The tree out front has been engaged in some sort of sexual activity overnight. The results are all over the sidewalk. Seeds that suddenly dropped and covered the sidewalk. Just the night before I'd swept and washed all the previous weeks remnants of sex from other trees.
Thunderstorms all evening. Cassady cowers in the bathroom and tries to get into the basement to escape. Only a little rain. Temperatures much lower than days before. What else happened? Oh, a young woman was feeding pigeons in the park across from the Rosebud Diner.
The screamer is sitting in the small park across from the Rosebud Diner. He shouted one word this morning. I can't remember what it was. He whistles other mornings.
How did you get that tan here in the post office, I ask the clerk who is selling me some stamps. Did you get it sitting under the scanner? He smiles. A one week vacation on the Cape last week. He is one of those people who can get a perfect, deep tan in just that short a time. As he's waiting on me a young woman (girl?) comes over and asks him how to spell fantasies. F-A-N-T-A-S... he pauses... I finish it: I-E-S. She turns and goes back to whatever she was writing. The man next to me wonders what she was writing. I tell him I'll be thinking about it for the rest of the day. He smiles at that.
A beautiful morning. But my left hip is stiff and sore. Is this a running or a walking day for me? A few minutes will tell. Approaching the corner of Willow and Highland Avenue, the maniac passes by. Maniac because of what appears to be his 60-100 mile per hour speed. A bright red sporty car. At this same intersection, coming towards me, on a few mornings, a car capable of more speed, a Ferrari, also red, purrs and rumbles along well within the limit. The driver waits for the light. No flashy speedy takeoff. But clearly capable. Taking a left onto Highland and going in the same direction as the maniac, towards Davis Squre.
The blackbirds/crows are waiting at the bike path again. They sit in a group on the telephone/electricity cables and caw at each other and warn about the creatures passing by below. That includes us two, man and dog, both dangerous beasts--for a crow.
Starting slow, the hip joint warms to the task and another nine laps, 22 minutes of running. But not like in my youth. Like the post middle-aged man that I've somehow become. And then there's the usual beautiful morning sky that turns lighter and lighter, with pink to fiery red clouds. I've not seen my recycler pal that last couple mornings. Is he on a different schedule, or has he died? Either is possible. Perhaps tomorrow will answer that question.
HOT! And it stayed hot all day. Good for running though. There is a bit of stiffness in my hip and the hit keeps it from getting worse. And, while hot, I'm not having trouble running in spite of the heat and high humidity. As to the running as exercise, I've read that it helps reduce the risk of colon cancer. Since starting running every day 7 months ago, I've been shitting twice a day. That means that toxic substances don't stay in the colon as long as when one shits once a day--which was a life-long normal trend for me. So the reduction in risk could all be attributed to the number of bowel movements a day. Of course, the same might not apply to anyone else, and the reduction may be due to something else.
We've gone shoe shopping and I'm now in possession of a new pair of Teva sandals. I saw an ad for this brand something like 3 years ago. Just once. A runner in a combination of desert country, mountains, and a stream. The sandals were said to be modelled after an ancient Anasazi design that was comfortable, rugged, and with special channels on the bottom to remove water--like modern day tires that channel water so that a maximum of rubber is in contact with the road. Then, last summer I saw someone wearing a pair.
Approaching the intersection of Willow and Highland a tall young woman approaches from the other direction and on the opposite side of the street. She is drinking something from a bottle and is slightly wobbly on her feet. When just opposite of us she suddenly completely reverses direction and is walking parallel to us towards the intersection. Moments before arriving the maniac drives by at his usual 60+ miles an hour. The young lady crosses the street, ignoring the light, and angles off towards Davis Square. Moments later she would have walked into a fatal accident. My thoughts go towards calling the police about the driver. It happens nearly every day at about the same time.
Still no sign of Recycle Man. Perhaps he's gone to the Berkshires or the Cape for the summer. Or maybe he's dead. Hit by a car crossing a street. Fell into a garbage can and couldn't get out. Maybe I've just missed him because of my timing.
An achingly beautiful sky this morning. A line of broken clouds running more or less west to east. To the north of the line is a clear, mild to middle brilliantly blue clear area, and the clouds vary from gray to pink to fiery red. And a great morning to run. 21 minutes for my 9 laps. The hip is a bit less sore than yesterday, but now my left thigh muscle is feeling a bit odd. Small spasms.
Since C took the day off we walked to Harvard Square as though it were Saturday. And passed some of the wonderful flowers planted on Massachusetts Avenue across from Porter Exchange. On one of the flowers was what appeared to be agiant wasp with alternating red and orange bands from tail to head.
Today was a sex day--but nobody is interested in that.
What passed for rain was falling, had mostly fallen when Cassay and I left this morning. Very windy. Cooler than in previous days. Very humid. Difficult to breath. Like being in a sauna or dense rainforest. No sign of Recycle Man.
We walked to Harvard Square for the post office and to visit Fred at a Stebbins Gallery opening from 2-4pm. He was already gone when we got there. No great loss, though. Most of the art was awful.
K has invited us to dinner at her place this evening. She's inviting an old friend, M, who has just returned from the Amazon where he photographed some people and places for a big oil company? Some big company. 90 rolls of film, he said. K has known him for years. We hear the story about his 18 years in a house across the street from where we saw the film just a week ago. Near Kirkland Street, just off it. It was one of those 60's houses where lots of stuff, including sex went on. He and some pals rented the rooms to lots of women so they would have new sex partners. Or so it seemed from what actually went on. That took us to a long discussion our the experience that C and I had on FH. It started at K's and continued when we returned to our place and then didn't stop till 2am. He was very interested in this other way of organizing sex. More about that later.
The newspaper guy pulls up to our house just as Cassady and I put our shoes and leash on for the walk to the bike path. Why are you up so early today, I ask. He decided to go right from his night job, which ends at 2am, to this job. An older woman is in the truck with him today. I've never seen her. She has gray hair, glasses, and a pony tail. He gives me two NYT's but no globe. We get the globe, I assure him. He discovers himself to have been looking at the list for another street, same number as our house. Later, as we walk down Orchard Street, I pass him and his ma (conjecture) as they deliver their last papers of the day. Sunday? What was it like this morning? I seem to have forgotten. But the good news is that Recycle Man is back! Perhaps it was a short vacation.
Late afternoon, returning from a walk with Cassady, my head is covered with sweat. Taking off my hat, and running my hand over my very short hair causes a cooling effect. Suddenly the idea of how the human brain may have evolved comes to me. The brain is big and round as a way of keeping the device small and compact and minimal distances between the parts. Years ago I remember part of the Cray computer's design being related to having all the parts as close together as possible in order to help speed things up. So a big compact ball, but difficult to keep cool in the middle. So along come sweat glands to contribute to the cooling. Keep the head higher up in the hair and cover it with a material to protect it from the sun and heating. That would be your hair. Well, its an idea.
We have been speculating about Erika and whether or not she will actually get off the plane from France on Thursday. We can only hope.
A terrible time running today. My hip is better still. But the problem is dinner last night and eating too much. It went running today also. Wonderful spaghetti and meatballs. Buttered, hot garlic bread. And a salad that could have had more tomatoes. A bottle of blueberry beer. And, finally, for dessert, bread pudding with yogurt and fresh blueberries. How do you spell a long slow groan/moan from having eaten too much even though you couldn't help yourself?
news about JFKJ plane crash trip to HS So, we dont' know all the undercovers here. sign on Mass Av, near porter, with licentious image line for EYES WIDE SHUT
he seems to be dead. changed history. intolerable heat
moonday ironic about JFK sending men and then they come back alive afternoon relief from heat of showers
Crossing at Mass Avenue, on our way home, we pass some cars waiting at the light. A woman is driving a late model something colored sort of maroon. The license plate says: CATOWNA
JFKJ shouldn't be President--too big a risk taker energy outburst
s3cond day for CATOWNA keystone cats, skunk--almost
For several days a sinister looking guy has walked down the path to Davis Square. He smokes continuously. There was no communication the first two days. He looked like bad news. Gave me a slightly creepy feeling. The first person I've had that feeling about while out so early in the morning. He's about 6+ feet tall, dresses in bluejeans and a t-shirt. Wasted look in his face. Today he wore a baseball cap backwards and waved as I ran by.
Somebody from Carbury's bakery dumps a bunch of day old stuff in the small parking lot across from the Rosebud diner. I asked. That's what he/she (androgonous looking face and body) said. Lots of well fed pigeons and seagulls in the neighborhood.
The bodies have been recovered, JFKJ's autopsied, cremated & buried at sea. The history of the country has been changed. It seems there was talk about his running for President. It is not impossible that he might have achieved the goal. But we will never know the answer to that question.
Miss Blonde Pony-tailed cutie pie is out running this morning. Parallelling us for the short distance we are on Beech Street. She turns left at Massachusetts Avenue, we go right to Regent Street. That ponytail swishes like you wouldn't believe.
There's a funeral home on the corner where we cross Massachusetts Avenue. This morning two people pulled up to the entrance in one of them Urban Assault Vehicles. They get out and go in the front door. Its about 4:40am. The man looks to be about 70. The woman is considerably younger. Perhaps an emergency call to prepare a body.
On Willow Street, about half way to the bike path, two hippy-dippy graduate student looking types are walking towards me. We pass. Right behind them, about 30-40 feet, is a petite young woman dressed in a full-length velvet dress, purple or black, with long curly hair. When she passes me the two guys wait till she catches up before going on.
I've turned around in my thinking about JFKJ and his becoming President. Of course, he can't now. But what of the candidates probably haven't taken chances? Perhaps now we are more likely to have the first woman president. His sister Caroline. There would certainly be an emotional wellspring for it. Time will tell what she does with her new position in the pantheon of American stars/royalty/politicians.
Did JFKJ bank any of his sperm? He might have done that for his wife in case anything happened to him and he still wanted to father children. Of course, THEY won't be doing that. But I wonder... did he? A fantasy about my daughter having had sex with him and saved the "results" from which she can have one or more children--thus relating me to the Kennedy family. Oh, the whacky things people think of!
We left 20+ minutes later this morning. I slept a couple of hours and woke just after 4am. We meet none of the usual characters. A difficult lonely run. Nah, not really. Well, except for the hard part. My body wasn't really awake and ready.
Fierce thunder and lightning that caused Cassady to cower wherever she could find a low dark place. The storm passed directly overhead with possible nearby lightning strikes as we heard fire engines at least twice. Very heavy rain and at least one piece of hail 1/8th inch in diameter. We watched and listened from the deck. At one point it was raining and off to the west the sun was shining.
I increased my running distance to 11 laps this morning. It seemed to be no problem. And I got an earlier start. None of the usual characters.
My mental state has not been too good thelast week. The whole JFKJ thing. Going over the final moments in my mind. Not unlike what happened with the Shuttle crew in 1986. That one replayed for months. I thought it would never go away. Today, and the last week I've had severe sleeping problems. Explosive bursts of energy well up out of me as soon as my head hits the pillow after a long day. Its often necessary to get up and exercise myself to exhaustion, or get up and go about the day. Gradually the energy surge dies down, my body temperature starts to drop and shivering begins--even on a hot day. Then its possible to go to sleep. Slept from about 11am to 3pm. Then up and reading the paper. Rain every now and then. Walked Cassady on the bike path around six. Nice cloud pictures. Came across a very large snail on the path. Threw it back into the bushes as there was lots of traffic. Better for it to try the crossing after dark. A young woman asked me what I'd taken a picture of. A snail trying to cross the road, I explain. I'm a photographer too, she says.
A bit of difficulty running today. Very muggy. A tad too fast on the first 6+ laps. Total of 11 again. No residual aches or pains from yesterday. Pooper Scooper duty today as Cassady decides to do it exactly in the middle of my running path. She even aimed so that her results are under a leaf.
Near the end of the run I look down the path, and spot a gal walking/running on that section. She gets out a bit too late for me to intersect with her on that part of my run. I'll have to start a bit later one of these days and see who it is. Somebody I can have a real bonking babes in the bushes fantasy about.
Where did the last week, and my memory of it, go?
26 minutes 37 seconds for 11 laps today.
Trouble sleeping again. Up with surges of energy that cause me to twitch like I'm being shocked with electricity--but its coming from inside me, not from the outside. Finally, a couple hours of sleep. Later we three go to Harvard Square, get the mail, have a cold drink at ABP, stop off at the Wine Cask, then home again.
Just before leaving last Monday night E asked if we had been to Woodstock in 1969. Neither of us made that memorable event. I know one person who went. He is now a high level official in the information technology division of the Federal Reserve Bank. The people who went to the event, heard the music, had more sex in the mud than most of us will have in a lifetime, must have decided that wasn't the way. So they went home, went back to school, into the army, or plugged away at their jobs. Ah, but I'll bet they still think about sex in the mud.