Right now, as I look out the windows to the west and north, I see blue sky and sunlight on the greenery. I like that. I like the sun at his angle . . . I think I’ve said that before. These are the days and mornings I wish would last forever.

But, then, anyone looking at me would see a round-faced occidental geisha in T-shirt (although it says – in embroidery, “San Diego” and has a classic “woody” on it) and cargo shorts, for I am letting the white creamy facial cleanser slowly seep into my pores and do its work. I don’t mind the tingly feeling, but I think when people see me unexpectedly they feel a tingle down their spine. No one seems to get used to it. Once I opened the door, forgetting it was on my face.

What is really effective it so be active while it is on my face and the pores open up with the heat and the chemicals mix with my perspiration. I’ve said this before, but no one has listened to me. Well, it’s their loss. I, and I alone, will be the delightfully lovely one here.

A rabbit, I think, ate one of my newly planted perennials so I am going to put in more day lilies. They leave them alone. Today I need to put my supports over the tomatoes and call and order a dumpster. Yes, it is throw things out time. I must declutter. But is so hard – I might need those old coke bottle telephone pole insulators. Oh, and not my old New Yorkers . . . nor my collection of pieces of bricks from buildings long torn down . . . nor my dish of broken little wooden Christmas ornaments who are in the hospital for broken legs and arms and missing beards. Nor my rocks from Lake Michigan, nor my Pacific Beach sand, nor my menus I collected from various places. Not the huge pile of afghans –

And no, no, don’t take my pile of cute bears that convinced me to pick them up at Goodwill because their little faces said to me they were real and not just material and stuffing.

I may need a shotgun.

I was kind of down all day, even though the weather was fine – blue skies and temperatures in the low 70’s. Then about 7 pm, I just gave it up and stretched out and felt sorry for myself. I guess I dozed; I stirred myself long enough to call my mother and do the night check in thing. Then I decided I’d watch or a just a minute of so of TV, but “no usable signal” showed on the screen. Rats.

On my belly, with a flash light and duct tape, I made a temporary fix on the connection point behind the rocker in the corner – the corner where I had piled a lot of stuff. And I watched the last 50 minutes of Ax Men.

It was the aftermath of one of the Oregon storms and crews couldn’t get to sites, equipment was stranded, homes were flooded, bridges were out, roads were out . . . loggers cut fallen trees and the road bulldozer pushed them aside. I watched people carrying out rugs and padding saturated with water; I watched them salvage baseball trophies and pictures. I saw them lose a lot. I saw them lose jobs with only the clothes on their backs.

Makes me feel real bad about my personal sulking. But do not fear, I am accomplished at it – professional status. You can’t take the pout out of sulker easily, but I do feel kind of not cool about it tonight. Almost enough to kick my butt into action tomorrow.

Heck, those guys out there were working to get to work. I need to shape up. it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to trust me with a chainsaw though. I’m not that stable.

After I came back from taking Alison to work this morning, I sat down to check the headlines and do some reading. And then I thought that gee, my eyes were tired and it felt so good when they closed. So, I set aside the computer, left my book on the table and snuggled down under an afghan. I didn’t sleep, but it felt so good just to rest there and let nature take its course. As it turned out, I did not drift off to sleep, but listened to the birds and the silence in the house.

I knew sounds would come soon enough; it has been a long time since I have been alone in a house. I think the time I spent in Pacific Beach qualifies only in the sense that when Der Bingle’s friend was at work, I just had myself to account for. But always in my mind was the draw of the beach and just the feel of getting out and being in Southern California.

Now, Georgia was different. He would leave and I would wander through the rooms – once I ate a can of green beans and a can of spinach, because he was on a low vitamin K diet and they were just in the pantry, ignored with little hurt vegetable feelings. I won’t say that I felt all that intestinally great after having consumed them, but it was a one-time thing. There was no place really calling to me and the apartment is nice, with cathedral ceilings and lots of fans, many windows of daylight and comfy leather sofas and chairs . . . and Turner Classic Movies and a nice porch. Lots of books – internet service – a jigsaw puzzle on the coffee table in the sunroom. Sodas in the refrigerator and peanut butter in the cabinet.

But back to here, back to this morning. The first hint of alien life was a soft, “Grandma?” from the french doors. I looked up and there was Miss Sleepy Eyes Two slumped in the wicker chair, so I invited her to take the other end of the long sofa . . . and she did. Sydney settled on the floor beside us and we rested for quite a little while. Sunday morning, soft and gentle.