Your Smart Phone is Listening. Really.

I'd heard it said once or twice that our smart phones can listen to us, and I've read what I believed to be a couple of fringe-y headlines claiming the same.  Nah, I thought.

This morning the granite repair guys came to my house to measure the cracked and crumbling granite around my kitchen sink. My faucet is shot too, and I have a new one waiting in the wings. "Look, Pierre," I said, "I bought the faucet you suggested." There was some discussion then about whether or not I'd bought the right faucet and if it could be installed without the escutcheon--or if I'd need a different escutcheon if the size of the new faucet was different from the old faucet. Escutcheon, I said. Escutcheon, Pierre said. We said it twice, maybe three or four times. Escutcheon.

I went for a walk after that. Took a yoga class. Showered. Ate lunch. Did a bunch of chores around the house and yard. I finally sat down to work on the last few pages of the first draft of my book around 1:45. I googled something about women and shame, birthmothers and shame, the effects of shame, and clicked on the link to the article shown above.

Check out the ad. Those are escutcheons in case you don't know what an escutcheon is.

I google a lot of things. Weird things that might give someone pause. I'm a writer.  And in my ordinary life I google things like best non-toxic cookware and most opaque yoga pants. I google how to tell one type of gull from another and if cassava root is really gluten free. Ten days ago I googled kitchen faucets, and yes for a day or so faucets showed up in the ads on my Facebook page and wherever. I get that. I don't even mind it since I hate to shop and kinda like it if something I'm looking for magically appears. But I didn't google anything at all today until I googled the stuff about about shame.

So shame on me for not knowing that all this while my phone has been listening. And your creepy phone is probably listening to you. I've turned off my microphone in Safari. Maybe I can put a pillow over its face too.

Tuesday Morning Beach Report

Immense waves roaring in one behind the other, no space between them.

And tiny sea salps, spaced out on the sand like bread crumbs marking a path to who knows where.

And this, posted by a friend on FB: Art from Guantanamo detainees who were imprisoned next to the sea, but not allowed to see the water.

There was a party here.

I invited my yoga friends over for a birthday brunch.
They brought presents. That along with the birthday wishes that deluged my Facebook page and my email made for a fun couple of days.
I'm on Medicare. And I'm still having fun.
I'm lucky. Blessed. Fortunate. Letting the good times roll.
Thank you, everyone.

Eyes of Fire

It's that time of year when the windows in the condo building across the way reflect the rising sun. At first glance the place looks like it's engulfed in flames, the windows like giant eyes of fire.

In Oaxaca it's two hours later, and the sun stays up til six in the evening there. The skies are nearly cloudless all through the daylight hours, and the chill in the morning air is crisp, not damp. I love being home, but my body feels soggy and tired.

I dreamed of my mother last night. She was younger--maybe the age I am now or even in her 50s. We were all gathering somewhere for a family get-together. At my brother's house, maybe, or my son's. There were plans to sightsee and go to a concert. Picking up the tickets was confusing and my car had somehow downloaded the software to be a self-driving car. It was disconcerting, sitting in the back seat while the car inched its way through city traffic without a driver. I climbed into the front seat anyway--no easy feat to make it from the back seat of a Prius into the driver's seat, but I did it, twisting my body this way and that, and then realized it really wasn't necessary.

Wherever it was that we were, the house was full of us, arriving and deciding who would sleep where, and then changing our minds. My mom decided to drive herself back to her apartment a day early. She grabbed my older daughter in a hug and told her she lived too far away. I don't know when I'll see you again, she said.

I woke too early this morning, waiting for the first sliver of daylight before I flung off the covers. I walked toward the building that was glowing, and on the grass found a playing card. Two of clubs. What is the significance of the two of clubs? I googled. It's the card of conversation. The two of clubs person is gregarious and entertaining. It's the card of communication.