Sierra Marlins Stampede

Sierra Marlins sponsored an open-water swim yesterday at Negro Bar, roughly seven miles from the house. Steve and I volunteered to work as timers for the Masters 1/2 mile and 1 mile swims, as well as for the USA swimming competitions (also 1/2 and 1 miles swims), and for the Youth 500 yard swim (kids 8-10).

This is the second year we've worked the event, and we've got it down: I call each swimmer's number (written in black marker on their upper arms), and Steve records their time. It's trickier than you'd think, especially when swimmers wobble up from the water as a bunch -- which they do fairly often -- and we've got to identify numbers that are sometimes smudged, and coming at us at a pretty good clip. But it's great to see the look of accomplishment on the swimmers' faces, and a real treat to be part of the event.

Steve swims with the Marlin Masters each weekday morning at 5:30, and with his Broadstone buds on Sunday. His big open-water event of the year is generally Donner, a 2.7 open-water swim that chews the hide from his skin (cold, cold, cold!). He'd love it if I'd swim too, and I told him as soon as they find a lake that's 90 degrees, I'll definitely be there, babe!

Snakedance

I almost stepped on a common gartersnake during my walk this evening; turns out I saw "him" about the same time he saw "me," and I jumped, elbows akimbo and knees hooked high while he scurried into the brush. I glanced around to ensure no one saw me, knowing I looked pretty geeky. I think the coast was clear.

Sustainable Mango

Just bought a table constructed of sustainable mango.

Sustainable wood is harvested from carefully managed forests, or reclaimed from old buildings and barns, or other wood sources, such as furniture.

To ensure the wood you're buying is sustainable, look for certification, which sometimes comes from a label. Guidelines established by the Forest Stewardship Council (FSC) are the ones most environmental groups trust.

Country Kepner

Here he is, "Country" Kepner, dog-child of Maya and Erich. He's a nine-week-old Labrador retriever, and already knows how to sit! Steve and I now have two grand-dogs, a boy and a girl. I'll meet Miley when I fly to San Diego in October to visit Jena and Jeremy.

Where are the Sandhill Cranes?

Upstairs, my office window is open. I'm waiting for the faraway calls of greater sandhill cranes, signaling their flight over Folsom from eastern Oregon, as they head to the Central Valley, where they'll winter in delta grasslands and marshes.

I'll rush outside the moment I hear them, knowing that even as I peer at the stark blue sky, it will take a few minutes to spot them. And then there they'll be, riding the thermals and singing their songs, and I will breathe again.

Autumn Begins

I haven't been paying attention; the tips of the maple trees have turned pink, and I'm wondering when it happened.

I should have seen it coming, having walked every day last week. But my eyes were on soccer fields and sidewalks and artificial turf, or my chin was tilted downward while my thoughts went everywhere: on the frightening state of publishing and the exit of editors -- one of them from a terrific house considering my historical novel.

My thoughts are scattered. My foots hurts. My oldest daughter is getting married and my youngest just got a dog (they named him "Country" and I've fallen in love; now I want one too). There's a lot to look forward to. And much to think about.

I want to witness the season in all its splendor, inhale the autumn air. I want to crunch acorns beneath my feet and arrange pumpkins on the porch. I want to sip hot cider from a paper cup, and eat a sugar doughnut. I want to see it all, hear it all, taste it all. I don't want to miss a thing.

Bird Day at Conaway

Steve took this photo of a white-faced ibis yesterday at the Conaway Ranch in Yolo County, near the Sacramento River. Check out the irridescent feathers (click to enlarge).

Brian Doyle on Yes, No, and Maybe

Been hunkered of late, working on the new novel. Did take a few minutes this morning to check my favorite blogs, and found this link to an essay by Brian Doyle, editor of Portland Magazine, at the University of Portland, Oregon. Doyle's topic is rejection -- how much he's doled out over the years, and has received on his own. But he also touches on acceptance, which he discusses here:

Some of the best yesses I have issued over the years: Yes to a thirty-year-old Mormon man who wrote an absolutely haunting essay about laughter (which was also funny). Yes to a sixty-year-old man who drives a bus and wrote a piece about a six-year-old girl who was so broken and so hilarious and so brave that when I finished reading the essay I put my face in my hands and wept and wept. Yes to a fifty-year-old doctor who had sent me arch essay after arch essay but finally sent me a perfect essay about the best teacher she ever had, to which I said yes so fast I nearly broke a finger. Yes to half of an essay by Andre Dubus, an essay we were cheerfully arguing about when he died of a heart attack, and I asked his oldest son if I could print the good half and not the mediocre half, and he said yes, which made me smile, for I could almost hear Andre cursing at me happily from the afterworld, in that dark amused growly drawly rumble he had when alive.

Check it out when you have a few; it's a fun/funny read.

The Keeper of Junk Food Wrappers

I don't know what to make of this. During my evening walks, I've noticed from time to time a gold Acura parked on the side of the road, roughly half a mile from the house; the car is newish, no dents or scratches, and while the exterior seems to be well tended the interior is a wreck. Each time I've passed it, I've slowed, curious about its contents but too embarrassed to check it out. Well, today I finally did.

Allow me to share.

On the passenger's side, spilling from the seat to the floor, is a pile of junk food/fastfood debris. (And when I say "pile," I really mean "mountain." As in "Kilimanjaro.") Specifically, I counted:

2 McDonald's bags
3 KFC bags
2 Wendy's bags
2 Wendy's red foil wrappers
2 KFC cups, large
1 Haagen Daz ice cream wrapper
1 Haagen Daz ice cream box
1 Nestle Crunch ice cream wrapper
1 Rold Gold pretzel bag, flattened
A mess of empty water bottles, lids attached
Beaucoup french-fry bags. Way too many to count.

And that's just the stuff I remember.

The photo above I pulled from the Net. "My" car is radically worse. The pile reaches up to the window -- actually, it comes slightly above it -- although for some reason it doesn't appear to be spilling onto the driver's side; somehow (how?) the Keeper of Junk Food Wrappers manages to contain it to the passenger side, which makes me wonder what happens when he makes a quick left turn. Does it come spilling onto his/her lap? If not, why not? How does he/she keep it in place?

The back seat isn't nearly as intriguing, although it too is a mess. Papers are strewn everywhere, as are empty plastic bags. There's a proposal of some sort peeking out from under the stash; unfortunately I couldn't identify the company or the name on the report, as I was reading upside down. Not to mention worried about getting caught.

But trust me when I tell you the pile is growing. As is the mystery. Stayed tuned for updates...

Dickens, Twain, and Tinti

Received One Story's newsletter yesterday, with the news Hannah Tinti's first novel, THE GOOD THIEF, is now out. I read the first chapter yesterday via an online link, and really enjoyed it. I'm sure I'll pick up this novel the next time I'm at Border's. Read an excerpt here.

Tobias Wolff's Latest

I'm a fan of Tobias Wolff; his memoir, THIS BOY'S LIFE, is a favorite, and I very much enjoyed his novel, OLD SCHOOL. But his latest, OUR STORY BEGINS, a collection of short stories, is disappointing. In his "A Note From the Author," he informs us he's included stories that are new, and some that are decades old. No matter. I don't take issue with the writing -- it's lovely, and there is much to learn from him, stylistically.

But the endings of the stories I've read (there are 31 in all; I've read seven so far) have inspired some serious muttering. In one instance I turned the page to discover I'd come to the end, and simply sat, dumbfounded -- I thought the story was just warming up, so it was a shock to learn it was over. (Publishers Weekly gave this collection a starred review, saying, "In most (of the stories), there is a moment of realization, less a startling epiphany than a distant, gradual ache of understanding, that changes how the character looks at the world."

In my view, an occasional startling epiphany would help these stories, but having said that, I do look forward to reading his next novel, and perhaps his second memoir, IN PHARAOH'S ARMY. He's generally very appealing -- this collection is simply a miss.

Does Thinking Make You Fat?

An article by Robert Roy Britt, LiveScience.com's managing director, reports the findings of a study which determined people who think more eat more -- up to 29.4 percent more, in fact, than couch potatoes (read about it here).

The study, however, was published in the journal Psychosomatic Medicine, which begs the question, Do we just think we're getting fat when we're thinking, or does thinking really make us fat?

My head hurts just thinking about it, which explains my double chin.

Vacay's Over -- Sob!

Back to work today, which means I'm once again at my desk. Outlining the new novel (contemporary this time), looking for opportunities to increase tension, plug in a laugh, and make my readers cry (because they're sad, not bored, which is always the bigger challenge!)