Two cacti, each less than half an inch tall, growing behind the tree in a deeply shaded corner on the street side of the fence. They get a narrow sunbeam for an hour, maybe, from under the fence in the afternoon. I find them while cutting out a rose bush that’s been lost under the tree’s canopy. I scratch the ground to dig out their roots. They’re in sand that spilled over from the brick landscaping on the lawn side of the fence. I push my fingers in and feel for the roots’ ends. The roots curl back and grow into a crack in the brick. I cut them off there and and bring them around front, plant them next to the front gate.
Friday, September 24, 2010
On the first day of autumn our palm tree dropped at least 100 pounds of 15 foot palm fronds onto our garden. A branch on one neighboring tree and — luckily — no heads were busted.
The thing that I appreciated most when we first moved up here to the hills nine months ago was the movement of the fog over The Bay. The fog could just be a narrow ribbon across the horizon, starting over the south span of The Bridge and extending over the north of The City. The next morning the sun would rise behind us and there would be a still white pillow covering everything below us (except the clumsy lump of Albany Hill, the tips of the spires on The Bridge, and the three-pronged radio tower on the hill across the way). I would drive down into that cloud to work. If it hadn’t burned off by my drive back in the evening, it would rise up the hill and spill out around us, rushing silently between the houses.
That season is starting up again now, a couple of months before we move down into Alameda. We’ll live and work under the fog for half the summer and fall there.
Friday, December 11, 2009
I turned onto my street and stopped, hanging halfway out into the cross street. A deer was sharing my lane. It jogged ahead a few car lengths and I eased out of the intersection. The deer skipped into a neighbors yard and disappeared. I continued to the end of the block and pulled into the driveway. I turned off the ignition and my mind flashed back to one of the first nights after we’d moved in. A man had knocked on the door and said he was looking for his cat. Sitting in the car now, I realized that this man had actually been checking the house out and that he was probably the person who broke in during the windstorm a month later and took the computers.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
The macaroni moon uncurls and dims to almost nothing before it flops again into the water — tonight, at the south tip of the bridge. Tomorrow it will come around behind the sun again and drop onto the Presidio.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Tonight the moon is a golden macaroni slipping into the sea behind the blinking bridge lights.
I decided to go to yoga just as I was telling my wife that I would be going home to do my taxes after work. I pocketed my cell phone and spotted a red dot in the sideshoot of a poorly-pruned palm tree. I crossed the driveway to see it. It was a catsup orange ladybug, half the usual ladybug size, no speckles. I’d seen a black ladybug with red spots earlier in the day, but I couldn’t remember where. This morning with Benjie or at lunch? Landing on my fingertip or crossing my windshield at the gas station?
I lingered at work as my coworkers started getting chatty, then stepped out and walked around to the yoga studio next door. I found the meditation room and sat down, propping myself up with a block. Another student came in, rolled out her mat, and sat. Half an hour later, an older woman came in and turned up the lights. When she saw us she took the other student aside and told her something. The other student returned to her mat, rolled it up, and left. I sat for a few minutes longer before I got up and walked away.
I got up late this morning and walked into the family room. Benjamin was sitting at the corner of our big round couch eating a toaster waffle. He looked, newly de-mulleted (first haircut yesterday), wearing a red zip-up sweater. Tricia was taking a cup of lukewarm coffee off of the table next to him. “I gave him the waffle and he just came in here and sat down where I was studying. Then he picked up my pen and used it to stir my coffee.” There was an informal handoff: Tricia went off to the bathroom, and I watched Benjie, poured him some milk, and started a kettle of water for myself.
“Good morning. Hey, do you want to watch some Sesame Street?”
Clear as anything, Benjie sang out the first three notes of the Sesame Street song. “Dooo doo-doo.” Not quite enough that royalties would have to be paid if it had been broadcast, but enough that the music could be recognized, and enough to impress me.
A week ago, I picked him up from daycare a couple of hours early. I walked into the classroom, navigated the childproof gate, and found him and another boy huddled over a xylophone. When Benjie heard my voice, he turned and started to run toward me. Halfway across the room, he hesitated. He turned around and walked back over to the other boy. He bent down onto his knees, put his hand on the boys shoulder, and looked him straight in the eye before turning around again and walking calmly back toward me.
A coworker just pointed out two red-headed conures squawking away on the power lines outside our office.
The title for the job ad says, “This is not a job.” I think that this is a coded reference to the Rene Magritte’s famous painting The Treachery of Images.” So I follow the link, and the first line says “…it is a career!!” Two exclamation points.