LeBron and Tyreke, Minus Mr. Shaq

The Kings played the Cavaliers last weekend at Arco Arena. Steve snapped this photo of LeBron James and Tyreke Evans, going toe-to-toe.

LeBron James doing the chalk toss. Steve got a nice shot of Shaq, too,
but his head is so big, it sort of spills off the page.

Peregrine Peruses from Perch

Steve took this photo of a peregrine falcon last week at Sacramento National Wildlife Refuge. The bird had just finished eating, the evidence of which lingers on its feathers.

Core Values? Service? Shocking!

Steve and I have been talking about visiting Scotland (excellent birdwatching, plus, it's gorgeous), and now we have a clear-cut reason to do so. According to Scotland Magazine, The Edinburgh Bookshop is a "new bookshop for the capital," and has opened on the south side of the city. Best, its owners hope to "continue the legacy of the original Edinburgh Bookshop, which operated on George Street for many years, by bringing back the core values of customer service, wide-ranging stock selection, and well-informed staff."

Core values...God love them.

Mini Tech Survey

I reversed my walk today, ending near the grade school which normally marks the beginning of my trek. Six moms were parked alongside the curb in their minivans and SUVs, waiting for their children. Four moms were texting; one was talking on her phone; and one was flipping through a "hard" calendar. (What do we call the old-fashioned paper calendars these days?)

The youngest "waiter," a teenaged boy, was sitting in a truck, flipping through a magazine. How is that for a role reversal? I wasn't sure what to make of it, but I liked it. Someone was actually giving his thumbs a rest and reading -- there's hope for writers yet.

Seals on Santa Rosa

Steve took these elephant seal pics two days ago on Santa Rosa Island (part of the Channel Islands), off the coast of Santa Barbara.

The Beatles!

If it's possible to die from happiness, I've got one foot in the grave. Four days ago, I ordered The Beatles Stereo Box Set from amazon.com, and it arrived in today's mail. After opening the box, I sat, nearly paralyzed, as I tried to decide which of the 14 albums I would open first. I chose With the Beatles (which must be the UK version; here in the US, it's called Meet the Beatles), as this was the first Beatles album I owned.

I remember well the evening my mom bought it for me: we were flipping through the LPs at Jack's House of Music, when "All My Loving" began playing in the background. I gasped, looked at Mom, and begged her to buy the album for me. She balked, as the cheaper "mono" versions of the record were sold out, and $2.99 for the stereo version seemed an outrageous price to pay. But pay it she did, demonstrating there is no greater love for a child than a Mom's willingness to splurge on the Beatles.

To this day, the Fab Four remain my all-time favorite band. So much so, I've lined my office wall with six of their album covers (I've got 35 posted, in all). Rubber Soul is, and always will be, number one.

Alex & Me

Reading ALEX & ME by Irene Pepperberg. I have a fondness for African Greys, and recollect watching a PBS special maybe ten or so years ago, where an African Grey in the UK "spoke" with an English accent. If his owner was sipping a cup of tea, the bird would bob his head and say, "Cop of tay?," which really cracked me up. Now, when I acquire a hankering for a cup of Constant Comment, I ask Steve if he wants one, too, using this birdy accent.

Too Much Happiness

Nice interview with Alice Munro in today's WSJ. Here is the gist: She's 78, lives in a small town in Ontario, Canada, and is undergoing treatment for cancer. Her new short-story collection, "Too Much Happiness," is out this week, and includes stories that frame the darker side of life -- murder, home invasion, disfigurement and mutilation. The first story (unnamed in the article) is apparently so harrowing, she can't bring herself to reread it. Which means I'll add the book to my Christmas list and read that story first. Read an excerpt from "Too Much Happiness" here. (Photo by WSJ.)

Backyard Bird Blind

Steve bought a blind and set it up in the backyard last Sunday. (Every so often I'd peek out the window at him, then laugh as he poked his head up.) He took this photo of a male Anna's, but said the mourning doves wouldn't sit still. They've been shot at (dove-hunting season), and they're nervous. Maybe in a week or two...

Mistaken Identity

So sorry! Always I am mistaken for Professor Einstein.

Eight Fabulous Reads

I'm currently reading LOSING MUM AND PUP: A MEMOIR by Christopher Buckley, which got me thinking about the file in one of my office drawers called "Writing Samples -- Faves," which contains exactly that: favorite stories and articles that I've kept over the years, either because they're inspiring, or just so much fun to read. These are by no means all of my favorites, but they're a good start. In no particular order:

1. "The Paperhanger" (short story) by William Gay. The darkest and most delicious story EVER. (Appeared in THE O. HENRY AWARDS 2001 PRIZE STORIES)

2. "A Life Without Left Turns" (essay) by Michael Gartner. Funny, poignant -- a love story, essentially, detailing Gartner's parents' philosophy that you'll live a lot longer if you never make a left turn in front of oncoming traffic. (Appeared on usatoday.com, 6/15/2006)

3. "The Cavemen in the Hedges" (short story) by Stacey Richter. A clever, crafty, hilarious story about a woman who crosses the line. With cavemen. In the hedges. (Appeared in Zoetrope: All Story)

4. "Another Manhattan" (short story) by Donald Antrim. The exquisite unraveling of a man named Jim. (The New Yorker, December 22, 2008)

5. "Royal Pain" (short story) by Christopher Buckley. Rich Renard, PR exec extraordinaire and dealer of, well, royal pains. "It's in some ways an aimless existence. The Prince's only job, really, is to become King when his mother dies. But the women in his family live longer than Galapagos tortoises." (The Atlantic Monthly, April 2004)

6. "Them Old Cowboy Songs" (short story) by Annie Proulx. Archie and Rose McLaverty encounter a series of seriously unfortunate events in 1885. (The New Yorker, May 5, 2008)

7. "The Pig's Butler" (essay) by Thorhallur Vilhjalmsson with Jeffrey A. Kottler (gads!). "When an Icelandic Student went to work as a butler for novelist Danielle Steel, he never expected to end up as a manservant to her pet pig, Coco." (Talk magazine, Dec/Jan 2001)

8. "Reflections on Creative Writing Class: The Teacher; How to confront 30,000 words a week of teenage angst and ecstasy" (essay) by Frank McCourt. "The last thing writers need is answers -- the end of thought and the dream." (The New York Times, April 14, 2002)

Hats for Disguished Thumbs

Rene models his acorn beret. Tomorrow, perhaps, a vest.


La Photographie by Stephane.

Nerdy but Cool: The Skater Boys' Conundrum

This afternoon in Target I was perusing a box of recycled Christmas cards, when the word "kill" caught my attention. I looked over to find three boys, around 13 or so, rummaging through the Halloween candy (Sale! 75 Percent Off!). They wore black jeans and Vans, and all three had dark hair that curled at the backs of their necks. One wore a RAMONES tee-shirt. (If I were a 13-year-old girl, I'd describe them as skaters -- gangly, nerdy, and decidedly cool.)

As they were circling the bins, one kid said, "So you let her die, right?" and I realized they were talking about a video game. To my joy, his buddy said, "Well, hopefully you get attached to the character and let her live." The third kid wasn't participating in the dialogue, however, as he'd homed in on something spectacular. "Pez!" he rejoiced.

I knew I was onto some great dialogue, so I pushed my cart over to the sale bin, pulled a pen and pad from my pocket, and started jotting away. One of the boys glanced over at me, then turned to join his friends, who had wandered so far away that I could no longer hear what they were saying. But luck was with me, and they drifted back. RAMONE was now carrying a bag of Reese's Pieces. "You can buy Kit Kats if you want," he told his buddy, "but I'm buyin' these." Then off they went, shoulder to shoulder, in search of the Doritos aisle.

Fall Morning in Folsom

Observed during my morning walk this crisp October day:

1. Man wearing flannel PJ bottoms, Birkenstocks with no socks, a white tee, dark gray jacket, and sunglasses. Happily strollin' along.

2. Middle-aged couple seated on park bench, eating french fries from a McDonald's bag and talking to an older woman. Couple's two dogs -- one a Great Dane pup with large floppy ears -- were sitting at their knees, eyeballing the fries. Only caught snippet of their conversation, but the older woman (her hair in a bun) said, "Socialization is huge. Huge, huge, huge." True on so many levels.

The park was at its best this morning: the leaves on the sycamores, maples, and oaks are just beginning to turn, and the air carried the scent of a fire from a wood stove. I may repeat the route this evening, maybe on my bike this time, and my first sweatshirt of the season.

Peregrines

Steve's on the board of The Peregrine Fund, and was recently in South Texas for a board meeting. This young peregrine was trapped on South Padre Island as part of a long-term research project to measure contaminants and the reproductive health of peregrine populations.

Peregrines are now off of the endangered species list (DDT and other pesticides caused egg shell thinning and reproductive failures), as trapping results and research measurements now point to a healthy, increasing population.


A biologist is banding this young peregrine; the hood helps protect the biologist and the bird from injury. The peregrine was released a short time later.

Insomnia Haiku

Awake again. Rats.
What's the secret to sleeping?
God knows, but won't tell.

A Passion for Nature

Currently on page 59 of A PASSION FOR NATURE: THE LIFE OF JOHN MUIR by Donald Worster. It's been difficult reading, as Muir was tormented by his father, a controlling, joyless, brutal man.

"Daniel enforced his son's work regime, not through inducements or praise, but through thrashings and sermons. A burning brush pile became a reminder that an everlasting hell was waiting for bad boys who disobeyed God (or withheld their labor). 'The old Scotch fashion of whipping for every act of disobedience or of simple, playful forgetfulness' continued on the frontier, but now it had become part of rural work-force discipline. Most of the beatings, Muir wrote, 'were outrageously severe' and most of them fell on him, not on his sisters or younger brothers."

It's no surprise then that he found solace in nature, and comfort in the plants, wildlife and trees of Yosemite. What's surprising is that he didn't turn out like his father.

Folsom's Annual Bark 'n Splash

Folsom hosted its annual Bark 'n Splash on Saturday, when local canines were invited to frolic in the kiddie pool before its yearly cleaning. This photo features Maya and Erich's Labs, Country and Delilah -- Country is the black Lab in the center of the photo (posing for the camera), and Delilah is the yellow Lab, hopping from the water -- which she did easily, roughly 2,000 times.

Not only was the pool filled with Labs and retrievers, but with two great Danes, one St. Bernard, a handful of cow dogs, two coons, two poodles, one exceedingly shy pit bull (a contradiction in terms, if ever there was one), and maybe half a dozen unidentifiables (aka mutts). Oh, and there were two bulldogs, one wearing a nifty little life vest.

I Heard the Owl Call My Name

At 4:12 a.m., I was sitting at my computer, thinking I'd blog about Kristen Lavransdatter by Sigrid Undset, when I heard a great horned owl calling. I ran downstairs (in the dark -- crazy, I know, but I didn't want to alert it by turning on a light), and popped outside, where I stood barefoot, in my PJs and bathrobe, listening as a second owl responded, and then a third! I knew they were different birds, as the voice of the first bird, the caller, was slightly higher than the second bird, the responder. The third bird called from somewhere south, but never flew closer to join his comrades.

Temperature was close to 58 degrees, with a light wind blowing from the south. I got cold after 18 minutes and came inside, as it seemed the calls were becoming fainter. I'd hung in, hoping they'd fly west, directly over the house, but they must have flown east, where the eating is better.

4:39 a.m. and they're still calling! (Renee. Come. Out...Renee. Come Out.) I worry a lot about these birds, but tonight, at least, my faith in their future is restored.

Big Bird(s)

Brown pelicans, Santa Barbara, California. I love this pic.


Photo by SPT

Grand Ol' Bull Elk and His Sugarbabe

Steve was in Montana last week, attending a Board meeting for the National Wildlife Refuge Association. He took this shot of a meadow near Melville, about 20 miles north of Big Timber. Those are the Crazy Mountains in the background.



Here, he's leaving Charles M. Russell National Wildlife Refuge (1.1 million acres), located north of Lewistown, as evening approaches and the moon rises. The landscape looks much as it did in the early 1800s, when Lewis and Clark stood in this spot, contemplating what they'd have for dinner, and who would cook it.


Steve spotted this pronghorn near Melville (it's munching a bit of grass). The pronghorn is the swiftest of North America's land mammals (it runs at about 55 mph, for several minutes at a time), and is among the fastest in the world.


A bull elk and his sugarbabe. Or one of many sugarbabes, I should say.



In the end, I made it not quite six weeks without blogging (see the Ron Carlson Kool-Aid Caper, below), and might have lasted longer, but I wanted so much to post these photos of Steve's. I regret not having gone with him -- I had the chance, but I passed, wanting to wrestle with the new novel, which is kinda driving me nuts. I'm taking a break from it, working on a short story, which features an elk as a character, though not as "fancy" as the grand old bull, below. Anyway, glad to be back -- and just in time, too. The mountain bluebirds are in, and I saw a flicker on Friday. Got a lot to talk about!

Drinking Ron Carlson's Kool-Aid

While at Squaw Valley Writers Workshop in August, Ron Carlson, one of our fiction workshop leaders, encouraged us to lay off the email until after 4:00 p.m., and to forgo blogging altogether. He's no Luddite, but he's got a point: all things technology are time suckers -- and he never even mentioned Facebook, which I confess is an all-out addiction.

The point is that there are too many distractions for writers, most having to do with eating, coffee drinking, and excuse-making in general, and if we're "working" on anything other than fiction, we're simply goofing off.

So I'm taking a sabbatical from blogging, and limiting myself to two Facebook visits per day -- before 9:00 a.m., and after 4:00 p.m., when I'll also check email.

Can I do it? Heck if I know, but I'm gonna try. I gotta try. I've got a deadline for the first draft of my new novel, and if I'm going to nail it, I've got to drink Ron's Kool-Aid.

See you April 1?

Dusty Checkin Us Out

Dusty is a four-year-old Morgan gelding owned by Toni Deery. I met with Toni on Saturday to get a better understanding of horses and their habits, hoping to incorporate this knowledge into my new novel. Dusty was a kick, no pun intended. Steve took the photo.

New Wildlife Pics

Off to Squaw Valley Writers Workshop, but before I go, I wanted to post a couple of photos that Steve took in/around Grover Hot Springs during our 3-day camping excursion earlier this week. (Top photo is of a mule deer buck; he stood outside our tent in early evening and browsed on a plant that looked a lot like a wild rose; second photo is of a cinnamon-colored black bear with her two cubs. She appeared on the outskirts of Markleeville, around 12:00 p.m.)

First afternoon we were rained out, but timing was perfect: we'd just set up the tent when the first drops hit, and not having eaten yet, ate our sandwiches in the tent, then sacked out for a nap. That evening, we took a nice soak in the hot springs, and by 6:30 the next morning, the coffee was on the camp stove and Steve was off to do a little fishing in the creek. I stayed behind, finalizing my manuscript for Squaw, sipping coffee near the fire. Ah, glorious Sierra. How we love to visit.

Little Bit Buried

Finalizing the additions to BRIDGE AT VALENTINE, due from Tres Picos Press in Summer 2010, and wrapping up the short story for Squaw Valley Writers Workshops Aug. 1-8.

Also received a nice invitation yesterday to write a book review for Larry McMurtry's LEAVING CHEYENNE, which I'll post here as soon as it's live.

Happy writing, all!

Crushes on McCourt and McMurtry

I've always had a little crush on Frank McCourt, author of Angela's Ashes. I read yesterday that he's in a New York hospice and not expected to live. This is distressing news, as he's one of my favorite writers (Larry McMurtry is another, and I've got a crush on him too). A few years ago, I had a chance to hear Frank McCourt speak in Sacramento (he was 76 at the time). Afterward, I waited in a long line to have my book signed, and when my turn came, I said, "Thank you for coming to Sacramento to speak to us, Mr. McCourt."

Pen in hand, he paused, glanced up, and grinned. "What choice did I have?"

Even now I laugh, thinking of it.

Catcher in the Rye

It was on this day in 1951 that J.D. Salinger's first and only novel, The Catcher in the Rye, was published. It has gone on to sell more than 65 million copies. (Tidbit courtesy of The Writer's Almanac.)

Wedding Weekend

Just got back from Fort Bragg, where our niece, Megan Fleshman, married her sweetheart, Josh Lydon. We stayed at the Elk Cove Inn, our favorite, with daughter Maya and son-in-law Erich. Steve got some beautiful pics. Top photo is of Maya and Erich. Middle photo is a river otter (yes, they swim in the ocean!), and middle photo is a western grebe.

No photos of the bride and groom yet, as we don't want to post until they've seen them, and they're in Hawaii now. More to come, I promise...

Swooning in the Swamp

Now reading The Snoring Bird: My Family's Journey Through a Century of Biology by Bernd Heinrich. Three chapters in, and am hooked. The New York Times, in reviewing the book, said, "This particular gene pool turns out to be something of a fever swamp, and thereby hangs a tale of two naturalists that reads like a cross between a Darwinian parable and a Nabokov novel: an absorbing scientific saga rife with uncanny twists and fraught with quandaries over the primordial tussle between nature and nurture."

Take Ten to Recharge

Writing, reading, exercising, weeding, sleeping and eating (though not necessarily in that order!). Evenings are for us, though, and last night Steve skipped off to capture this image of horses in a field on the south side of Hwy. 50. One day, all of this land will be houses. We're enjoying it now, while we can.

Snoozing Mallard

Too hot to do anything but sleep.

112 in the Shade

Steve came upon this panting coyote last night around 8:00. It was 112 degrees, breaking the record for Folsom (paper actually recorded temperature at 114; we believe it). We're hoping for a little relief today. And maybe a glass of iced tea.

Early Flockers

Still hunkered; just started chapter four of novel, and am editing short story for Squaw. Meanwhile, nice pic of Steve's to share -- house finches near the 'hood. SPT says they are done nesting, and although it's early, they appear to be flocking for fall.

Donner und Blitzen!

The blogs will become less frequent for a while, as I've begun writing a new novel, "Old Will Road," the first chapter of which was featured as a Story of the Week in Narrative's May issue. I'll continue posting Steve's photos from time to time -- this one taken Wednesday evening, when we'd scheduled a camping trip to Grover Hot Springs, but later cancelled due to inclement weather.

This shot is looking north from our upstairs bedroom window.

You Think You've Got Problems

The Monterey Herald reported today that sea lion pups are overtaking the parking lot in the Breakwater Cove area, near the Coast Guard station. The city has hired a part-time temporary worker to "sweep" them back to sea, but when he leaves at 5 p.m., they take over the place, going so far as to camp out on the toilet of the men's restroom.

Read the story here. (Photo by Orville Meyers/The Herald)

Sweet Delilah

Jena and Jeremy have a new beach house, and Maya and Erich have a new dog! Meet Delilah, an 8-week-old female yellow Lab. She joins Country, at home. (Miley lives in San Diego with J&J; of course we love her too!)

Larry's Kidney

Just started LARRY'S KIDNEY, by Daniel Asa Rose, "...the true story of how I found myself in China with my black sheep cousin and his mail-order bride, skirting the law to get him a transplant -- and save his life."

I was in bed, reading, and when I got to page 19, I busted out laughing. It seems Daniel is in Tiananmen Square, and he asks his tour guide, Yuh-vonne, if she's aware of what happened there in the late 1980s. This is what transpires:

Yuh-vonne winks lasciviously. "Inside those walls, emperor spend so much time playing with his concubine," she says.

"No, not inside the Forbidden City," I say. "Across the street in the square. In 1989."

Yuh-vonne quickly averts her gaze. "Our elders will not tell us," she says. "Many time we ask them, but they say don't ask."

"Do you know that students were hurt here?"

"A few," she says carefully. "That about it."

I bring her gaze back to me with a hand on her shoulder. "Not a few," I say. "Hundreds. The tanks rolled right over them when they were protesting."

"Ow my God!" she says, sucking in her breath. "I have to go tawlet!"

"Seriously?"

"No, I can wait," she says, but she looks constipated suddenly, buttoned up.

Can't wait to read more!

Wood Duck Sits on 23 Eggs. (That's a lotta eggs!)

Steve met Mike and Toni Deery at their ranch this morning, where they have a pond with a wood duck box. Steve's gone over twice to check the status, and this morning there were 23 eggs -- double the normal amount. He's guessing another female wood duck "dumped" her eggs in this female's nest after a raccoon got her own first batch. The eggs will hatch in about five days.

Steve, Toni, and Mike also banded the duck (number 1096-90254), removing her briefly from the box to place the band and check the eggs before setting her back in. She settled in cozily.

"Old Will Road" Hits Narrative Magazine

I think there are maybe three people I haven't yet told about my short story, "Old Will Road," featured as a Story of the Week in Narrative magazine. It hit the site on Mother's Day, and will remain accessible all of this week from their home page. (After that, click on the archives link and search for my name, down there at the bottom of the "T"s.)

Thanks to everyone for the wonderful emails and comments. I love that you love the story, and yes, I promise to give serious thought to giving these characters a permanent home via a novel.

Young Barred Owl

Steve took this photo of a young barred owl at the Francis Beilder Forest, an Audubon and Nature Conservancy bottomland hardwood sanctuary, near Charleston, South Carolina. The little guy's parents are likely nearby, and are probably still feeding him. He's not exactly a fatty, and looks like he could use an extra mouse or two!

New Logo for CLO

The Cornell Lab of Ornithology has a new logo -- a yellow-bellied sapsucker. Love it!

Pete Fromm

I met Pete at Tomales Bay in late 2007, where he was leading a fiction workshop. We sat together at breakfast one morning, talking about the things we have in common -- or, rather, the things he and my husband have in common (swimming and wildlife biology). I liked Pete, and when I got home, picked up a copy of his memoir, INDIAN CREEK CHRONICLES, which I have since shared with my hairy wildlife friends.

Pete's got a Story of the Week in Narrative this week, "Peas," which you can access here. (If you're reading this after May 10, search the archives, instead.) I know you'll enjoy it as much as I did, so check it out and leave a comment on Narrative's board; it's definitely worth your while.

Olive Kitteridge

Just finished OLIVE KITTERIDGE, this year’s Pulitzer Prize-winner by Elizabeth Strout. The book is a set of 13 linked stories set in small-town Maine, and features as its protagonist a retired school teacher named Olive Kitteridge.

There is much debate among readers concerning Olive’s bristly personality – whether she’s gruff, maddening, loveable, sympathetic, or “blunt, flawed and fascinating.” One reviewer stated “Strout makes a reader feel protective, even tender, toward Olive…” but I could not disagree more. I found her to be heart breakingly mean-spirited, as she is in this scene with her husband, Henry:

It was Henry who bought the groceries now. One day he brought back with him a bunch of flowers. “For my wife,” he said, handing them to her. They were the saddest damn things. Daisies dyed blue among the white and ludicrously pink ones, some of them half-dead.

“Put them in that pot,” Olive said, pointing to an old blue vase. The flowers sat there on the wooden table in the kitchen. Henry came and put his arms around her; it was early autumn and chilly, and his woolen shirt smelled faintly of wood chips and mustiness. She stood, waiting for the hug to end. Then she went outside and planted her tulip bulbs.

I could cry, reading that.

In an interview with Robert Birnbaum, Elizabeth Strout says she doesn’t have a stake in readers’ reactions to Olive, but that she does have a stake in their reactions to the book. “I hope that even if they have a negative response to much of Olive’s behavior, they are maybe still drawn into this humanity that is underneath all of her actions.”

But it is difficult to find humanity in a woman who is cruel to her family, friends, and those in her community. Her favorite word seems to be “stupid,” as in “you are stupid, they are stupid, he/she/it is stupid.” So I do not commiserate when sad things happen to her, or when she at last realizes the value of what she has so consistently and cruelly dismissed. (In other words, lady, what goes around, comes around.)

Having said that, I don’t need a soft and fuzzy protagonist to appreciate a finely crafted novel. The writing is delicious, and all of the characters supremely drawn. Which, despite cranky old Olive, is to Elizabeth Strout’s credit.

Eucalyptus Visitors

Two birds new to our backyard yesterday: the western tananger (above) and the black-headed grosbeak (below). Both of these birds arrived ahead of a moderate cold front and significant rainfall (just over an inch). Steve took the pics from his upstairs office window.

We also think the hooded oriole is back -- heard him, but haven't yet seen him, as he/she is quite the hider-outer.

Birdwatching Bonanza

Spotted during walk along the trail this afternoon:

• 1 barn own (it flew directly overhead and landed in a stand of cottonwoods near the creek)
• 1 black phoebe
• 1 lesser goldfinch
• 1 California quail
• 1 zippy little lizard with short, stout legs
• 2 downed saplings and a big pile of wood chips (the beavers are back in the neighborhood pond -- maybe we'll see some kits soon)
  

Novel's Early Promise Stalls

I'm not quite halfway through Gil Adamson's THE OUTLANDER (not to be confused with OUTLANDER by Diana Gabaldon), and suspect I've stalled because the book is a bit slow. Premise is great -- "In 1903 a mysterious young woman flees alone across the West, one heart-pounding step ahead of the law. At nineteen, Mary Boulton has just become a widow, and her husband's killer..." -- but the promise of a great adventure remains unfulfilled.

I am hopeful, however, as the character called The Ridgerunner has just come back on scene, implying he and Mary will again get together and stir up a little action.

Happy Earth Day!

Okay, I'm a day early, as Earth Day doesn't actually arrive until April 22 -- but I've got two commitments tomorrow and may not get a chance in the morning to post this link to the Peregrine Fund Webcam.

The peregrine pair laid their first egg in this nest box in Boise, Idaho, on April 10; their second on April 12; their third on April 14, and their fourth (and last) on April 17. I just took a peek, and the female was standing over the eggs and then she gently sat and took her time settling in. Her back is to the camera as I write this, and I'm hoping she'll turn a bit so I can see her face. (If she's not moving when you click on the link, don't worry -- she's alive. Just check again later.)

Little feathers clinging to pebbles are waving in the wind, and every now and then a car passes by in the upper left-hand corner.

She just poked her head up!

Grover Hot Springs Here We Come!

Made our res this afternoon for our annual trek to Grover Hot Springs (our favorite camping spot), just a few miles west of Markleeville. We'll take our bicycles and our bathing suits, as there are lots of great hiking/biking trails, as well a pool, fed by six hot springs. Ah, heaven. Can't wait for a campfire, coffee, and melted marshmallows on a stick!

(Photo by Gary O'Toole)

Focus on Writers Contest 2009

Focus on Writers Contest 2009, sponsored by Friends of the Sacramento Public Library, is accepting unpublished manuscripts between May 1 and August 1, 2009. Categories include:

• Short Story (2,500-word limit)
• First Chapter of Novel (3,000-word limit)
• Poem (Two-page maximum, per poem)
• Non-fiction Article/First Chapter of Non-fiction Book (2,500-word limit)
• Book/Article for Children, Fiction/Non-fiction (1,000- or 2,100-word limit; see rules)
• First Chapter of Book for Young Adults, Fiction/Non-fiction (3,000-word limit; see rules)

Prizes awarded in each category: First ($250); Second ($150); Third ($75). Winner will be notified by September 15.

World's Greatest Irony?

This month's Vanity Fair features an advertisement from American Spirit, a tobacco company featuring "100 percent additive-free natural tobacco cigarettes." In other words, organic. Yes, you read that correctly -- no fertilizers or pesticides (at least those prohibited by the USDA's National Organic Program) are used in growing this tobacco -- although, apparently, the nicotine is still somewhat problematic, as there are no fewer than eight (count them, eight!) boxed warnings that the absence of additives in their tobacco products "does NOT mean a safer cigarette."

Yep, they're pretty sure you'll agree: Natural Tastes Better. Oh, and here's a bonus: the advertisement was printed on 30 percent PCW recycled stock.

Crazy.

Oh Joy! Rapture!

The poppies are in bloom!

Candyfreak

I'm reading Steve Almond's "Candyfreak: A Journey Through the Chocolate Underbelly of America," a sort of memoir/walk down candy memory lane, and finding it wholly entertaining. The first chapter of Almond's book brought to mind my own favorite candies, which I bought at The Variety Store (walking distance from Arden Park), some 90 decades ago.

I remember the store well -- its high ceilings, dark linoleum floor, and sundry offerings from sunglasses to Slinkies to lined notebook paper -- as well as the set-up of the candy rack, which rested on top of a glass case, near the cash register. Penny candies were arranged in slotted boxes on the bottom row, within arm's reach, but the pricier candies -- full sized bars, which cost five cents each -- were lined end to end, filling four tiered rows of the candy box, so that a kid could lose his mind while making a decision, sometimes buying a Sugar Daddy out of sheer desperation and wildly regretting it later.

Too, I remember my favorites, as well as the proper method of eating to achieve premium enjoyment. In no particular order they include:

• Candy Cigarettes (bite tip off end and blow imaginary smoke while simultaneously chewing candy)
• Peanut M&Ms (separate colors, eat reds first, check hands for chocolate-residue)
• Payday (pick off peanuts, eat peanuts, save caramel nougat for last)
• Jujubees (a movie favorite, although choking is sometimes a problem)
• Good 'N Plenty (shake small amount into palm, toss directly into mouth)
• Burnt Peanuts (delicious little toothbusters; ingest with caution)
• Boston Baked Beans (boxed candies quite good, but better if purchased from gumball machine with twisty metal handle; often available in tire repair shops, and at your dad's local mechanic)
• Ice Cubes (available for purchase in 1967 for two cents each; now cost $39.99 for tub of 120, making them 33 cents each; that, my friend, is a travesty)
  

I would giddily devour any and all of these candies today, and can only imagine how much fun I'd have with a pack of cinnamon toothpicks. Ooh, and a Chick-O-Stick. Yum.