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.

 

Sunday, August 9, 2026    

     I have been ignoring fire season.  No fires or smoke here in Monterey yet.  But the fires are getting closer each day. A hundred thousand men are expected to arrive, to scrutinize cars, fancy, unusual cars. It is a treat for them and for our local businesses. Some of us are staying at home to avoid the crowds. Car week lasts 10 days. The police are on alert and the city will earn traffic ticket money. A win for our local economy. I am more perplexed then annoyed with car week.

     I focus on doing household chores, making up beds, doing dishes, laundry, taking a shower. I postpone showering.  I wait for the sun’s warmth, but no, the fog is persistent. How long can I go unwashed.

     This morning two hummingbirds race through the bottle bush trees. Mostly a blur until they start working a red flower. Sounds of airplanes flying over my house.

     My roommate is gone for the weekend. The house is quiet. The fog stays through out the day. By evening I am ready to not be alone. I try out new TV shows. I can only watch a few minutes of two different stand up comedians.  Netflix has two shows I watch, THE BOMBING OF PAN AM 103 and GOOD MEDICINE, good enough shows. Later in my bedroom I continue reading SLEEPING GIANTS, a novel by Rene Denfeld. She is becoming a favorite author.