At the noon ministerial Association meeting we had a drumming circle lead by a drum teacher. I am quite moved by the rhythms that grew in the circle but I could not keep up.

My right hand and my left hand would not coordinate with each other.

Finally I found that I could do one hand drumming but not two handed drumming. I wonder what that means.

I would like to take a class on drumming.

Thin fog diffusing the early morning sun light.

I smell the waterfront before I actually arrive. Piles of rotting wet seaweed on the beach.

Thousands of birds digging for snacks. A cluster of sandpipers race with the small waves moving on the beach.

A line of pelicans flying near the surface of the ocean disappearing into the fog.

Four workers heatedly telling the truck driver in Italian that they cannot unload the boxes of fish because their back's hurt.

And finally a group of bird watchers in bright clean clothes, with cameras, binoculars and books standing at the railing focused on something I don't see.

I am intoxicated with the smell of fresh bread in my car. I stopped at the bakery in Pacific grove and then went for coffee. My car warmed up in the sun filling my car with yeasty bread.

The several acacia trees on my street are swollen with yellow tips ready to burst into bloom. I love the yellow flowers, but then again I am not allergic to them.

Coming home from dinner with the kids I notice how dark it is. Outside the car the waxing moon is bright and the sky is filled with stars. I stop to look and breathe in the beauty.

Now in the house I have turned on lights and started the heater. I walk through the house picking up dirty cups and straightening the Sunday papers.

Soon I will be in bed. All is well.

Sitting, sitting on my bottom, on chairs, car seats for two days until I am numb with fatigue, sitting fatigue.

And the speakers were wonderful. Words, laughter, jokes, sentences, ideas swirling around the room.

During breaks I would walk outside breathing in the winter air, listening to the bird, feeling the wind on my face.

Now I am home, fire in the fireplace, silence.

My sister, her husband and I go out for an early dinner. Should we go upscale or to a Mexican restaurant. We end up at a familiar restaurant on Broadway in Seaside, eating spicy wonderful food.

We talk together and remember why we care for each other.

We watch men and women come in the front door separately and disappear around the corner and then leave. We watch mothers pushing baby strollers up the street in the dark.

We end up at East Village for coffee, surrounded by young people studying and talking and working on their computers.

We say good bye. They are going back to the East Coast.

I was going to talk about the post office, about lugging three big boxes in to the lobby. Three boxes of family stuff left behind during the holiday visit.

I couldn't carry them in all at the same time so I left one box on the counter and ran out to bring in the other two. I had covered the used boxes with tape but still they seemed shabby.

The clerk smiled and asked for a lot of money for postage and took the boxes away.

The biting cold is gone. The sea lions barked ferociously in the early mornings.

Yea.