This time of year is always difficult for me, although I love the weather we generally have here in the San Francisco Bay Area. Mornings … always chilly; afternoons … warm and sunny; evenings filled with golden light. It really is magical.

For some reason, many of the stories I’ve written over the many, many years have been set in autumn: So say the Winos, The Graduation Present, and even Flipka.

The other day I found a watercolor done by my friend Connemoira many, many years ago. It shows a woman peeping out from what appears to be a tattered curtain, her eyes reflecting what could be a bomb blast. When we were teens we knew for certain that all wars would end during our lifetimes. They just had to, otherwise why else were we here?

Toward the end of her life, Connemoira’s work became deeply disturbing, as though what she viewed through that tattered curtain became too much to witness. But I promised her that I would “protect my novel” and so, after some revisions to the Oncle Boob story, I am ready for an editor. Do you have any recommendations? Synopsis here.

My friend Carol, who I’ve written about many times, fought for over twenty years to preserve a piece of the Richmond California shoreline known as Point Molate. From this bit of relatively undeveloped and little known shoreline you can see Marin County.

When she first began the fight, both Chevron (which has refineries near by) and the Indian gaming industry were interested in developing the area and the cash-strapped city of Richmond could hardly refuse their offers. So you can imagine what a struggle it was to convince city leaders that both industries would do irreparable damage to what could be an asset for the community.

Yesterday the city decided to finally honor Carol’s contribution (she died in 2021) with a bench reveal. It was a grey day, portending rain, but a couple of dozen folks showed up to speak about their friend and sit on her bench. Lots of tears, as you can imagine.

I live too far from Point Molate to have been active in the cause but I was invited to the unveiling. And welcomed warmly by an amazing group of people. Read here about their work.

Anyway, if you’re ever in the area, check out Point Molate and have a rest on Carol’s bench. She did so love to laugh so tell her a funny story!

Yesterday I took a break from beating my novel to death to take a walk around the nearby reservoir. Something I haven’t really done since the pandemic and my little whoopsy on the kitchen floor. I wasn’t expecting to run into any interesting doors but what do you know …

How could I resist adding this gem to the pantheon of beautiful doors? I don’t know what sort of high tech gizmo this outhouse uses but I guess unless you close the lid, the smells don’t get vented out. Don’t ask me where they vent to. I don’t wanna know!

And from the local news (a requiem for the family farm):

A group of multi-billionaires here in California have proposed building a utopian city on land between the San Francisco bay area and the rapidly expanding Sacramento metropolitan area. Their efforts to keep the project hush-hush have apparently backfired.

When I was a child that area was famous for fruit and almond orchards. We would stop on our annual pilgrimage from Reno to San Francisco at a place called the Nut Tree (satirized above as Wealthy Nuts Tree) and load up on all kinds of local goodies. Sadly many of those family farms are now gone.

Also in the ridiculous news from the west, this:

For those wealthy, well educated (mostly white) folk who’ve tired of luxury vacations on tropical islands, what better way to blow thousands of dollars than to buy an expensive RV and load it up with generators and supplies and head for Hell on Earth Nevada to live like a druid? A disclaimer: I have never been to Burning Man but I have actually camped in the desert sans generators, fancy tents and prepackaged meals. So I guess I’m unimpressed by their claims to have found enlightenment in the wilderness. I only recall insect bites, dust storms and a whole lot of canned beans and dried fruit. Enlightenment was getting home and into a hot bath.

Once again, I have strayed from the spirit of Thursday doors …. check out other doors from around the world at Dan Anton’s place. I guarantee, there are always more beauties than stinkers!

I was going to post this photo for Hugh’s #WordlessWednesday challenge, however, there are words in my picture! What a cheater I would be! I walk past this church whenever I go to the grocery store (which is unfortunately often). I may just have to zoom into this Sunday’s sermon.

The word “woke” has come to mean people and policies that are too focused on changing society for the better. The theory is the more “woke” people and policies become, the faster the United States will decline into a cesspool. Dogs and cats living together. You get the picture.

True, there are people who go overboard with political correctness. Here in California the homeless are now called the “unhoused.” If I were living on the streets I wouldn’t care if people called me homeless or unhoused. I think I’d have more important things to worry about. But to say that you don’t want a society that’s more empathetic and inclusive is the direct opposite of spiritual awakening. So it will be interesting to see what the reverend says about the two.

It will also be interesting to see how many of the Republican candidates in the presidential debate this evening will throw around the word “woke.” I’m currently fighting off a stomach bug (yeah, I’m full of complaints these days) so I will be watching and counting.

The same boiling water that softens the potato, hardens the egg. It’s about what you are made of and not the circumstances.

Soul Living

I took a walk the other day and ran into this mural on the door of a utility box. If you’ve ever wondered what happened to unicorns, well apparently they’ve fled to the Secret Ocean! Probably via that green UFO!

I had a hard time getting a clear shot because of its location. And also because of the bright sunlight!

Another utility box – this one in a more hospitable location (at least for photo taking.)

I’ve been in funk lately for a variety of reasons: a summer cold I can’t seem to shake, a garage that needed cleaning out about twenty years ago, and a lack of inspiration. As a friend of mine wrote, I’ve been thinking of putting writing on my list of things I used to do.

And then I found a birthday card a friend sent me long ago, during a particularly rough patch.

The “novel” she was talking about was just a rough draft back then. I did finally finish and publish the darned thing (unfortunately just after her passing) but was never happy with it. But now I think I know why. So I guess you could say, her note was my door for the week.

Check out other (presumably legit) Thursday doors at Dan Antion’s cool hangout.