waiting for coffee. Soothing my cats ragged nerves after being chased by our doggie guest. Planning on having a very lazy Sunday, maybe using my chipper shredder (for wood, this isn't Fargo). Pull a few weeds, order organic grasshopper controls. Damn things are all over. YUCK.

The annual waterfowl population explosion, precipitating the need for yet another construction/engineering project to solve shelter and drainage problems. Lucy is rather miffed that she didn't get to nest this year, but she and her gang of thugs are all I can manage vis a vis enormous arrogant birds with sex issues. The ducks, the whole fandamily of them, are easier to cope with if only because of their size.

Lame Duck and his mates have produced eight ducklings. There were nine, but one was taken I think by a raptor as there is no trace and it was gone in a flash. Technically there are two moms, as they both laid in the same nest, so I don't know which of the babies are all Mallard and which are Mallard-Rouen cross. They look identical at this age and won't have adult feathering for several months. I built them a water slide out of pvc pipe, which they seem to enjoy, and I gave them a new house so they can live apart from Lame Duck and his ditzy hen. They are so small. A duck egg is smaller than a regular chicken egg, and they don't fluff up much, so you can imagine what comes in such a little package. I had to completely re-fence their yard, as they pass right through the smallest wire I had in there. I am hoping in a few days they well be big enough to contain with conventional poultry mesh. I may have to fence in the existing pond, which will be difficult and expensive. Now the geese and the hounds all use it for recreational purposes.

The geese expressed some interest when they first saw the ducklings, stood around and watched and made comments, then ignored them and went on with their usual business. Their usual business these days when I let them out in the morning is to go on a bug hunt, take a bath in the sprinkler, preen and fluff, have a nap, then spend a couple of hours rummaging through stuff in the garage. Unless I am outside working, then they follow me everywhere. If I am mowing, they march in formation along the paths of cut greenery, just far enough in front of the mower to be safe. It's some kind of "chicken" game they all think is a hoot.

Hollyhocks, but no parsley yet. Acres of sweet peas and mint and morning glory. Nice neat beds of dahlias and allium and asters and portulaca. Cosmos rampant. The foxgloves got eight feet tall this year. I will harvest all the seeds from everything at the right time, and plant them next year.

Having to leave the mountain to travel to the big village for work has been good for me, and an easier transition than I expected. I like my work. It's complicated and it means something and I'm good at it, and they pay me for it. So far I find it doable to blow off most of the politics just because I don't have to be there every day, so I'm inconspicuous and keep quiet. Of course I may have glaring eccentricities that I don't know of, and could be the mocking stock of the entire plant.

I'm a little concerned about Swine, not sure if his prolixity is cries for help or just the usual supercilious boasting. Not that we would admit to giving a damn, but just for the interpretive value, he might give us a clue to the follow-up.

A day to spend outside, sweating and digging. Tonight could be a burn night, I have to check. I have a disagreement with the Fire Marshal in the next county over some ballroom dance instructors working out of their home converted to a studio with not enough exits or adequate flow. The whole neighborhood is going to take it to a public hearing, and I am encouraging the applicants to show up in their feathered outfits and quick-step into the chambers. The antis are pressing for cease and desist because TWICE, in FIVE YEARS, people have stopped and asked for directions from them on the way to their dance lessons. When I say neighborhood, I mean about three square miles of territory, closest adjoiner at least a half mile away. You can have a crack house meth lab for a home occupation, but don't try to get away with tango tutoring.

6/20/99, 1:53 PM
sarah is:

it's 7:45 a.m.

i do give a damn.

from beginning to end, life is maybe just a desperate and frantic search for some secret, some answer... some way to feel complete.

i'm going to hike diamond head. i have no other recourse.

read the latest issue of Vanity Fair with its juxtaposition of Gucci and Kosovo Wars and see if you still give a damn. I find that I care equally for both of them, that is to say not at all.

I accidentally got rotten egg on me, and dogs from all over the mountain are flocking to my porch.

Thinking that anyone who wd build a water slide for her waterfowl deserves the eternal adoration of birds everywhere. Pls. post some pictures!

Thinking Swine will be okay once he sleeps it off. Too much dope & not enfu sex in one night can make you think too hard.

But it was nice to see a little crack in his sarcastic, superior armor. He talks sooo much shit/but sometimes he's just a doubt-filled, lonely little podling/like the rest of us.

And glad to see that someone else has guilty thoughts of heart-stoppage during cokefests/& worries abt what their moms wd think to find them dead is such a sleazy fashion.



(And I wd give Swine a hug if he was handy.)

it's always a ridiculous adventure hiking diamond head.

i was there by 8 a.m. and there were already tour busses and limos parked inside the crater. marathoners were running out of the tunnel and people from every walk of life were milling about with cameras and video recorders.

the Koreans are my favorite. they smile and laugh a lot, they get rowdy in a cute way, and say "aloha" when they pass you on the trail. and they wear reasonable hiking clothes and shoes.

the Japanese are fun too. the old ladies wear slacks and long sleeved blouses, wide hats, big sunglasses. the men wear long pants and golf shirts and baseball caps and fanny packs. some wear althletic shoes but most wear loafers.

the young Japanese women wear tons of make-up, Bebe dresses, or Calvin Klein suits, and high heels. no shit. i admit it's not too much of a rugged trail, but it's not *paved* or anything.

on my way up i passed some haole folks, southerns i think, and i overheard a guy say, "Did you see that? She was wearing high heels!" and i replied, while passing, "most of them do, most of the time." and he retorted, in a long drawl, "i'm sorry, but that's a technical foul."

i about pissed my shorts.

i also ran into "The Diamond Head Guy" (that's what i call him), in his counterfeit Parks and Recreation Officer uniform. a big, beefy, tanned, charismatic fellow i see up there every weekend, talking about volcano craters and tetonic plates. he was on his way up to collect tourists to take on another hike in the valley for a "donation" of $15 a head. he recognizes me now. i said, "hey, i'll see you later at Manoa Falls!" and he said, "We do go to other places sometimes, ya know."

at this point it only takes me about 35-40 minutes to get up and about 15 minutes to get back down, but i like to hang out at the top for a few moments and watch the surfers.

i gotta jump in the shower before my daddy-o gets here.

obladee obladah life goes on yeah.

I almost forgot: Happy Father's Day, Daddy!

And you too Simon. I enjoy yr little league tales or triumph. I hope you got lots of hugs & kisses & funny ties from yr brood.

i'm lookin at this weirdass yet strangely interesting site. i find it quite odd, yet it doesn't suck.

[email protected]
http://members.tripod.com/~ayiss

i'm packing my bags for philadelphia. i've never been to the east coast. i'd rather stay in the middle of the country and pick corn.

[email protected]

replying to emails. time seems to have slowed to almost a standstill, and life is elsewhere. all i can think about is dinner. i am so happy to be sharing this experience with you.

was just reminded of the fender bender he got on the way to the Dodger game Friday,

she is young and dreams
about giving up the burden
of her wings
giving herself over to him
allowing herself to be light
enough to be carried
only for a while, to rest
as if floating away entirely
on the shoulders of
his dreams, to relinquish
her purpose and be bound to
his desires, which willingly
become her own
how she longs to be an instrument
of sacred and easy pleasures.

[email protected]
http://syrup.org/visions

semi-sweaty after the short bike ride to work.
The ride hasent awoken me to theusual level this morning.
And I have to believe this cloudy, damp sponge feeling I am experiencing
was transfered to me from someone else.
People lie to be nice sometimes.
It doesnt seem that nice if you are the one being lied to for your own benefit.
Feels like manipulation.
I hate the thought that someone thinks they could possible control me or my thoughts. Making me feel wanted or uneasy or guilty or loved.
I hope it gets hotter than Hell today.
I will take the long way home.

The [email protected]

Trying to put together a trip to Victoria Canada. The airline price from Idaho to B.C. is ridiculous, so I'm trying to schedule flight/boat transportation. It is not coming together easily. I'd hate being a travel agent and doing this for a living. Back to the web.

sorabji.com�: "I always thought Sal Monella was a gangster. I always thought, if they know who this guy is and that he's killing all these
people, why don't they just arrest him?" -nate

that was wierd.

FULL OF PISS & VINEGAR BECAUSE THE FLAMING LIPS ARE COMING TO TOWN!!!!

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYY

remembering with a blush how she once picked up a copy of "The Odious Duke" in the break room where it had been left behind by one of the Clerical Specialists, and read about 3/4 of it on an extended break and had to retire to the ladies to read the rest

reference (or non sequitur): Sarah's last post

drinking a cold one.

A group of kids that looked remarkably like my 9-10 year old Cardinals showed up to play a doubleheader this evening. They even answered to the same names as my team... but they played baseball like possessed souls. Were they really my Cardinals?

They lost the first game 13-7 and then won the next game 24-5. Everybody there, most of all me, was amazed at their performance. Every single kid made remarkable plays. They'd never beaten this team before.

They couldn't have played against a nicer bunch of guys, but it was nice to see them end the regular season and head into tournament on this note.

Needless to say I'm very proud of them.

Wondering if Mark or his server is updating or something. Every time I try to get to the
New Msgs. screen/I get a' Connection Timed Out' msg. Oh well....

And thinking that I've never heard of a 25-4 baseball score before in my life.

Just went to scratch my ear, and one of my earrings on the left side is missing. How do these things happen? How can I not notice an earring falling off? In early spring, I lost my wedding ring while I was weeding. Two weeks later I'm in the garden and lo and behold-there it is in the middle of an Iris clump. I bet one of the dogs already ate the earring though. Unless it's in our bed. Speaking of in bed, looks like hubby's playing hooky today. Or maybe he'll go in for a few hours today.

smacking myself on the forehead because i just realized that once again i am in a place where both ody and the dolphin are digitally active.


er.

som,ethinglikethat.

...FROM CNN.COM

Neither bride nor groom waffles in syrupy ceremony

Couple ties knot in South Carolina Waffle House

June 22, 1999 Web posted at: 8:46 p.m. EDT (0046 GMT)

SPARTANBURG, South Carolina
(CNN) -- Waitress Debra Steadman
and grill cook Matthew Cox feel so at
home at the Waffle House, where they both work, that they decided to hold their wedding in the restaurant
Tuesday.

About 60 family and friends of the
couple filled the Waffle House in
Spartanburg, South Carolina, for the
ceremony. Regular customers contributed to the costs of the wedding cake,reception food and decorations in the restaurant, which remained open during the nuptials.

The couple went to the parking lot for the traditional tossing of the bouquet
and garter.

Steadman, 33, has worked at the Waffle House since she was 17.


THESE PEOPLE ARE FINE EXAMPLES OF WHAT MAKE MY EXISTANCE MEANINGFUL

happy for the diabetics: No More Painful Pricks.

face down in the flatbed scanner.
(I think that's what I'll call my first novel)
wondering what my excuse would be if anyone was to walk into my office
"I uhm, got sick of the usual, boring, scanner tests, so I decided..."
"I thought I had some food stuck to my face, and you know, it's such a long walk to the bathroom..."
"If you think THIS is flexibility, you should see me in bed!"

so the scan turns out...nothing. Just black with the tiniest glimmer of light from my ear-ring.

the Dilbert cartoon continues....

[email protected]

No More Painful Pricks ... I think that's what I'll call *my* first novel.

Eating crackers, listening to music, and semi -watching Frasier, growing more and more convinced that I've seen every single episode currently in syndication. Same old thing: Kelsey Grammer acts pretentious, comedy ensues.
There's a girl in one of my classes who I know is interested in me, but hardly ever speaks. I have to initiate all our conversations, and I don't know if I want to persue anything with her if she's that shy. Sometimes you just can't think of a damn thing to say, and it's good to keep the kind of company who can start talking when you can't. I can see us going out: I'll talk, ask questions, she'll give me short, meek little answers while she stares down at her shirt and picks lint off it, and eventually I'll feel like I'm interrogating her or something, so I'll stop talking, she'll pick more lint off her shirt, and that's it.

Oh, Nate, you're such a smart lad. I won't clean the carpets right before Labor Day (no emergency room visits). The boys are outside on the chaise lounges not doing a very good job at falling asleep. I was supposed to be working this week, but the guilt factor is nill (I'm dogsitting my client's pup) and the 5am alarm just isn't doing it. Maybe tomorrow. More paths and stairs. It's OK until I hit a boulder when I'm trying to smack in the rebar for the stairs. I either move the stairs or remove the boulder. I discovered this place reading over someone's shoulder, a sore spot right there, and I really like it here.