Here in the Land of Lakes, not quakes

waiting for the fireworks

The barometer of my body says it's in a new and different place. My hair wants to part on the other side, and I'm still lost in this curvy city by the big river. But last night I connected the place where I went out for a glass of wine with the neighborhood I live in and the neighborhood where my St. Paul condo was. Three dots on a map of a zillion dots.

I'm afraid to drive here. Don't get into the bike lane when you turn, and watch out for the orange cones, orange cones, orange cones. There are giant potholes and trenches in the interstates (don't say freeway) from all the construction. And don't say the 94 or the 35W. Here you just take plain 94 or 35 W to wherever. And let's not talk about the W. Anxiety ramps up in the car like it did after the divorce when I marooned myself in my condo in South Pasadena, going to almost nothing. But I can walk or take the train. My new (to me) red Subaru has been christened Freiya, and I will drive her...eventually.

The sky is bigger and bluer here. Sky is distinctly separate from clouds. No grey linty what-is-what sky. Storm clouds barrel in every other night or so, and  lightning unzips the darkness. The 5th floor is a very satisfactory height from which to view the drama.

There is free yoga in the park before the farmer's market. Two seconds lying on the grass and I'm five years old because it smells like childhood. (That's me bottom right.)

The produce in the farmers' market cascades into more variety every week. First it was only asparagus and rhubarb and peonies. Then morels and bok choy. Now squash and lettuce, lettuce, lettuce, green beans, new kinds of spinach, gooseberries and red currants, and so much more.

A huge crowd came to fireworks along the river. Standing room only by the moment of showtime,and then bound in by rows and rows of people. It  sounds terrible, but it wasn't. The next morning it was all cleaned up even though they said 75,000 people came.

My living room still has its wall of boxes of books, and file boxes strewn with things I'm too lazy to file because it means bending down or lifting the box. And the TV is on a card table, but my bedroom is perfect with my favorite art hanging above the bed. And there's my desk where maybe the muse can find me if I ever sit down there.

Sometimes the morning light makes the view look like a painting. I see beauty everywhere, but I miss my friends. I wish they were here in the land of lakes instead of the land of quakes.

Thank you for the birthday wishes on Facebook, by text, by phone, by email, by blog comment, in person, by telepathy, etc.

The day began with flowers. I was in the kitchen, first sip of my latté barely swallowed when M came in the door. The result was this.

And  breakfast was made--(not by me) eggs with chorizo and avocado and onions and toasted tortilla strips.

Then came the farmer's market where this happened.

And there was cake baking (not by me!!!) that started like this.

And there was a feast prepared (not by me!!!) Grilled shrimp, grilled asparagus, rice so embellished I'm not sure how to describe it.
And the serving of the most succulent gluten free carrot cake ever in the history of the world.

And afterwards, a duet sung by the daughters for which everyone was require to surrender their devices. ( M sang the Tom Wopat tenor while C sang the Bernadette Peters soprano from "Annie Get Your Gun.")

And utter loveliness ( I did have a bit of something to do with that.)

There was a quite literal ache (in a good way) in my heart all day.

Thank you.

Boats, Bok Choy, and Berries

"Wanna go for a boat ride?" My real estate agent rang my doorbell and caught me having a beer and carrots and hummus lunch. I was pretty much done with the food so I grabbed the beer, found the key to my boat dock, and we stood in the sunshine waiting for her friend to pick us up. But the friend got anxious steering the boat in the wind in the narrow channel, so we dashed through the neighborhood to another boat dock where a friend of the friend was waiting to pilot us through the wind.

This was a preview, I think, of what owning a boat could be like for me. I'm going to have to practice. Maybe a lot. There's that part when you're coming in, and you get close to the dock, and you have to jump out with the line in your hand, and then tie the boat up before it scoots away. I saw a lady on a giant tricycle today with a dog in its wicker basket. I need the giant tricycle of the boat world.

The boat ride was wonderful though. We saw seals playing in the harbor. If you have a boat, you can take your boat to the Sunday farmer's market. (You can take your boat to the Vons, and to restaurants.)

I had already gone to the farmer's market earlier by car, so I rode on with the nervous friend and her friend, got out at a boat dock in an adjoining neighborhood, and had a nice long walk back to my place. I'm figuring out the lay of the land--or the marina, actually.

This evening I walked to the beach. It's amazing how few people there are on the beach here--compared to, say, Santa Monica. There were a couple of joggers who plodded by, but otherwise it was me and a lonely blue bucket, which I picked up and carried away so it doesn't end up in the The Great Pacific Garbage Patch. Oh--and the seagulls picnicking on a small sea lion or seal carcass. I startled them when I approached. "It's all yours," I said. I'd already feasted on baby bok choy, shrimp, and berries and ice cream.

I'm lonely here though. As lonely as an abandoned blue bucket.