Two Ladies Out for a Pleasant Walk

The two ladies were led by their little dogs down the sidewalk in front of my apartment. They were gossiping about somebody or other. I keep my windows open on fine afternoons, and any conversations that take place in the street sound as clear as if they were taking place on my front porch. Just fifteen minutes before this, when I had arrived home from work, there'd been a high school girl sitting on the electric box outside my gate, waiting for her boyfriend to come pick her up. Lots of teenagers hang out at that spot. Each morning there is a group there, smoking and talking about things I would rather not have to listen to. But they are very polite to me whenever I leave for work. And whoever is there when I arrive home is just as polite. They do leave quite a mess in their wake. Hot pink and black cigarette boxes, nasty cigarette butts, strips of paper torn off of failed English assignments, and broken plastic cups don't outright destroy the overall scenery, but they don't let you imagine that you live in a secluded country home, either. I was sitting at my desk when I saw their shadows on the sidewalk outside the gate and heard their voices over the brick wall. Two ladies. The word lady in Noah Webster's Dictionary of 1828 states that a lady is "A woman of distinction. Originally, the title of Lady was given to the daughters of earls and others in high rank, but by custom, the title belongs to any woman of genteel education." "Just look at this!" cried the younger. Their shadows stopped advancing. "What is it?" demanded the elder. "It's those d***** high-schoolers. They're always sitting around here, and then they go and leave their s*** all over the place." She had discovered the mess I was referring to, and was using genteel vocabulary to describe the scene. "That's disgusting," commented the elder. "Typical," sneered the younger. True ladies recognize bad education and repudiate its influence. "Let's turn around here," said the younger. "He's done." "Who's done?" I wondered as their shadows retreated. I was curious about the immature mess that had sparked their commentary. When I had arrived, I hadn't really noticed anything worth looking twice at. So I grabbed my key and didn't bother to slip on my shoes. They and their dogs were already gone around the next corner. I opened the gate and glanced at the grass. But before my eyes could be attracted by anything resembling teenager trash, they were hijacked by the sight of a large pile of dog food that had travelled the full extent of the dog's digestive tract. Not two seconds later I was assaulted further by a most unpleasant odor, compared to which cigarette smoke and ashes is a rose garden. I had to retreat directly, and I was forced to shut my windows on what would have otherwise been a quite pleasant day in the big city. Moral: Whenever we encounter utter depravity in the world, we should do our best to grace the situation with our own little gifts of decency and decorum, for the betterment of society.

Learning to Labor and Louis Lamour

Don't worry, Casson decided not to apply for the army. The interview was very enlightening: it was obvious that despite the excitement of travelling and "being a part of it all", the likelihood of having to go on several 15 month assignments without being able to take along your family is just too much. Three months was what we had in mind, and that would be hard enough. He did have his first day in court on Thursday, all on his own. Basically it ended up that the judge rescheduled the hearing because the other side wanted to make some changes to their defense. Casson said it was still pretty fun to stand in front of the judge and speak for his client. He's doing a lot at the firm that he enjoys. We both really like our jobs and are learning more than could be learned in school. I just pray that his job will lighten up a bit as far as the feeling of extreme pressure. Sidenote: I wonder what ever happened to all those Louis Lamour books that used to be in the upstairs den at my parents house? I always figured they were worthless and cheezy westerns. But recently we rented an audio book "Mohave Crossing" and "The Sixth Shotgun" and listened to them while driving across the desert. If its not the best writing in the world, its nowhere near the worst. Both stories were perfectly told and we laughed throughout both of them, especially at the endings, which sound almost like punchlines. Conclusion: Louis Lamour westerns make for great listening on road trips.

Sandy Ego

"I could never live in Arizona. There's not enough excitement there," stated the elder half of the couple that sat next to us at the seaside coffee shop in La Jolla. I was already a little bit bummed that the coffee came in paper cups, the cheesecake was frozen, and I'd shown a little table-rage when an outside seat opened up. But I was really in the best of moods, beginning to forgive myself. The lady in green took her place at the table that I had previously been at, with her sweater only a shade greener than before. I stuck my legs out of the iron bars that divided the cafe from the traffic-packed street. I made a point of looking hard out onto the water, to make sure the lady knew that I really appreciated my new prospect, and hoped she would feel a little generous because of it. I turned my head and made eye contact with the man. "Hey, we're from Arizona." I can't remember much of the rest of the conversation, other than that he tried to justify his remark by stating that when he referred to "Arizona," he was really talking about "Gilbert," and that he was mostly concerned about the water supply. "Well, you've got us there," said Casson. A bike ride from Carlsbad to La Jolla and back was just what we needed this last weekend. The coastal highway is a constant stream of speedy cars, family vehicles, elastic bikers, and long distance joggers. It's awesome! Only in California can you be out of spares, get a flat tire on your bike, look up, and see a bicycle shop across the street. Just make sure you go cross at the light, because the fine for crossing the Coaster tracks is something like $1000. Only in California can you see people crossing the said Coaster tracks in broad daylight. Actually that only happened once. The thing about the lack of spares/looking up/appearance of bike shop probably only happens once, too. But these things do happen.

Phoenix is Green

The herbage is a foot deep outside my door, in the empty lot that is usually nothing but a barren field of broken glass and pebbles, and used exclusively by dirt bikers. I wish I were in Turkey with my sister. Casson says so, too. But we're going to San Diego this weekend, which is almost as nice. I can barely bend over anymore, so we'll see how the bike management goes. Nadine and I got the tea-service at BORDERS again, yesterday. I know that Mike and Robin had been there before because "their" books, Mascot and She Got Up Off the Couch, were both on the Please Reshelve-rack, and looked slightly more used than a pair of brand new books should appear. The tea-service: a-hem. First of all, let me say "tea service" makes it the most fabulous item on the menu. Forget paper cups... let's get back to teapots and teacups and lovely service. What if this were an option for all coffee drinks once again? I think even Starbucks used to have the option: for-here or to-go cups. Now they are subliminally communicating inhospitality. Anyways, I wish I could say that this all led to lower prices for coffee drinks, but it doesn't seem to. The exact opposite happens with the tea-service...$2.65 for a pot and any number of teacups? And you don't throw anything away (except Sugar-in-the-Raw packets).

Being 'Pregnick'

Second Grader Quote of the Day: "Hey, you'we weawwy dedeen pat."

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Sorry about the Latin plural "the-mathi" (from the plural of Mathis, our last name), but we live amongst cacti and can't escape the logic of it. I hope that this way of communicating outdoes facebook and hotmail and letter-writing. I think that it's partly due to the signing in and out of facebook and the like, and especially the stamp-buying and -sticking and placing-outdoors of the letter that keeps me from being more of a correspondent with friends and family. What do you say?