Wednesday, August 12, 2026    

     Now there is an American Pope from Chicago, who plays Wordle every morning at the Vatican. I keep composing this letter in my mind. Do I call him just Leo or maybe Mr. Leo, and what do I want to really say. Mostly about my childhood family and the 1940’s Irish missionary priests who we thought were wise. This is a work in progress.

     I sleep well last night finally.  Something has settled in my mind. Maybe the imaginary letter to Mr. Leo is helping. Foggy cold morning. In the 1940’s we would move to a cabin in Carmel Valley to escape the summer fog.

     The Timber fire in Big Sur is still out of control and moving. No new fires reported closer to Monterey. The roaring of cars is the background noise this morning. My close friends came for a visit yesterday.  As usual we talk about medicine and families. Luckily, we like the topic. We don’t talk about our cowardly incompetent president.

     We watch another episode of THE BOMBING OF Pan Am flight 103. I am intrigued with the investigation of the bombing. Several times I am close to tears.  We become frustrated with THE CAPTURE because season two has been moved from Prime to Peacock tv with ads. So sneaky. I am reading ISLANDS OF ABANDONMENT, NATURE REBOUNDING IN THE POST-HUMAN LANDSCAPE by Cal Flyn. A hopeful book.

 

Tuesday, August 11, 2026

     When joking about car week and men, my roommate reminds me that women also appreciate cars. OK, caught me.  I like cars because they take me places. I am not so enthralled with their charm and beauty and speed.

     I couldn’t fall asleep last night. Struggled to find a comfortable position, getting tangled in my bedding.  I turn on the light, move into my blue recliner and start reading the current New Yorker. Articles, talk of the town short pieces. I am uncomfortable with my snarky reports on Car Week. Time to look around and see why people are so happy to be together with the cars. I have been missing something important.

     The sunflower greets me in the morning as I prepare my breakfast. Slow movements on its tall stalk. I nod back. Good morning. Yesterday we had sun for about ten minutes. Fog and fires are now our reality. A small fire at Jack’s Peak park, a couple of miles near me. The fire is quickly put out. The pictures of the burning trees are starling.

    I now check the Cal fire web page of updates. The big fire news is in Big Sur. Lots of evacuations and road closures. I smell smoke but cannot see it in all this fog. We watch more of TRYING, the feel good funny series on apple plus. I continue to read the books I am reading.

 

Monday, August 10, 2026

     My friend and I talk frequently about the meaning of our lives as old people. We are both frustrated.  We want more in our life of health, energy, purpose.  And then she says the answer is 42 and we both laugh. Yes the HITCHHIKER’S GUIDE TO THE UNIVERSE, the book we all read decades ago. This is the answer to the meaning of life. JUST, FORTY TWO. Sigh.

     I spoke too soon. Fire season is here with smoke and flames in our county. No flames near me yet but the smoke is here. This is definitely a distraction from the sounds of roaring cars of car week. I would rather have noisy cars then flames.

     Foggy morning. I am wearing my puffer jacket in my bedroom eating my breakfast.  Outside a group of tiny birds are moving around the bottle bush trees. The six foot sun flower plant on the deck is now blooming. The flower greets me this morning through the kitchen window. My roommate is back and cooks a dinner from the backyard farm, steamed artichokes and Italian squash pasta.

     I am reading THE LAST THING HE TOLD ME by Laura Dave.  The story is familiar.  I am not sure if I read the book before or watched the TV series. It is a compelling story.  We watch the last episode of season one, THE CAPTURE.  Good unexpected ending. We will continue with the next season. And our favorite warm and funny show, TRYING continues to be excellent.  I forgot all about our dangerous president this weekend.