Friday, July 31, 2026

     So much excitement this morning in our neighborhood.  The old towering pine tree is being cut down.  The crew of loggers are arriving.  I can hear them talking outside of my window in Spanish. My roommate has moved our cars to protect them from damage. This tree was here when I moved into my house in 1971. I love this pine tree.

      The tree, on city property, has been slowing moving closer to my bedroom ceiling each year.  Twice I have notified the city of the danger of the tree falling on top of me. The city forester has said no, the tree is safe. But now the roots have damaged the water lines. The tree has to go. Our neighborhood is ready for the trucks and machines and workers.

      I keep looking for some excitement each day, some event to remind me I am still alive and kicking, and today is a banner day. Now it is just car sounds and voices but soon the machinery will star cutting and grinding through the day. My roommate hopes to keep some of the wood chips for her backyard farm.

     I am almost finished reading Lena Dunham’s memoir, FAMESICK. Fascinating and difficult to read.  She has had such a troubled life. My personal librarian is taking a break from library deliveries during this summer.  So I manage to pick up and return my own books. It is a struggle walking with my cane and then using the courtesy walker in the building.  It would help if I didn’t reserve so many books each week. In the evening, we watch the final episode of THE MAN MUST BURN, about the Burning Man yearly desert gathering. I am shocked by the reports of masked armed ICE agents violently capturing people in American airports.

 

Thursday, July 30, 2026

     Wednesday night, Newshour reports on the high number of single women buying homes. Before 1974 women could not buy a home without a man’s cosigning the loan and the deed.  As a single woman I buy my house in 1971 with my parents’ signatures. And now today, women are free to be home owners. Within a couple of years, I remove their names, and eventually I paid off the house. Such hard times.

      These bubbles of memory pop up in my mind. I am unable to get a credit card in my name in 1968.  They want my ex husband to sign for the card. I was 28, single, with three children and a fulltime government job. Yes, I am fiercely fighting for women’s economic rights.

     The morning cold fog has settled into town. I am shopping for more warm flannel clothes. I suspect we will have a hot spell this summer but not yet. Usually, the house warms up in the afternoon when the fog beings to dissipate.

     I am engrossed with Lena Dunham’s memoir FAMESICK, the complicated story of being in her 20’s and successful and quite ill. She talks about writing, directing, and acting in her TV series GIRLS. We watch the first episode of Prime’s new series RIDE OR DIE. Bright, funny and deadly. We are committed to continue watching. I love Dr. Anthony Fauci and am moved by his calm demeanor when questioned in the congressional hearing.  No good deed goes unpunished. Another failure for the old president.

 

Wednesday, July 29, 2026

     The park has two kind of benches, comfortable and uncomfortable. In the morning, I find the most comfortable. We meet and talk. Two older social workers sharing observations and stories of our lives. Dozens of kids are screaming and running around the playground equipment. Summer camp programs.  Some sun and some fog. Life is definitely worth living even though I am old.

     In the afternoon I drive my roommate to her appointment and then two hours later I pick her up. The driving is easy but the front stairs to my house are a struggle. I have been watching exercise videos to improve my step climbing.  Unless I actually do the exercises, nothing changes.

     I lay on the couch for my usual nap but nothing happens.  Lots of thoughts and worries and ideas. I guess I don’t need more sleep. Still only two six foot sunflower plants blooming at the fence. Many more to come. On the kitchen counter, a bowl of backyard tomatoes waits to be eaten.

     I am excited to start reading Qiu Xiaolong latest book THE SECRET SHARERS, an Inspector Chen Mystery. I have read his thirteen previous detective novels based in China. I am uncomfortable saying I am a committed reader of his work. As a child I read all the Zane Gray books I could find in the library. I no longer can tell if this is a well written book.  I think I have incorporated Xiaolong’s Shanghai fiction world into my Monterey world.