Lost & Lucky #2

A Lego van my grandson asked me to photograph and text to my sister-because she just bought a van for traveling, hitting the road.

I made a commitment to do this thing, meaning write something every day for 30 days and post it to this here blog of mine. So here I go—even though it's well past my productive time. The day got away from me. I lost control of my calendar. Which, back in my working-for-a-paycheck days, a trying-to-be-helpful colleague counseled me was the one thing a manager must never do. I don't remember why it was so awful, but there you have it. 

My husband is muttering while diddling around on his computer, as he does. It always sets my radar quivering, my nerves on edge, my mind clicking through how or if I'm meant to respond. I want to answer him, to say something like, "If you have something to say, just say it." Or, "Are you trying to communicate, or really just talking, muttering and making confused noises for your own benefit."

"I'll be dammed." He just said that. And "Humph?" then "Hmmm." Then some bemused chuckling into his beard and a few frustrated sighs.

I never know, am I supposed to say something? Like, "Can I help?" 

I don't know. I guess I don't tend to talk to myself that way. If I did, I imagine it would be a kind of tepid cry for help. If someone else were in the room, it would be at least partly for their benefit.

The sighing and "humphing" continues. I should move on.

Some things that struck me today:

• The tents, make-shift lean-tos and parked trailers of the homeless alongside the freeway. 
• A "Recall Gavin Newsom" sign on the freeway overpass. Is this really going to happen? I hope not. 
• Hearing on the radio, that one of the Republican candidates to replace the Governor says the January attack on the US Capital was likely a fabrication; an event staged for the cameras and that the first thing he'll do "when" he's elected Governor is repeal the requirement for government workers to wear masks and get tested for Covid weekly if they haven't been vaccinated.
• Struggling to roll and push overflowing garbage and recycling bins to the curb; the smell, the excess, a curved and dry slice of pizza, a massive cardboard tube.
• Lamenting that one of the butterfly bushes appears to be dying from neglect, along with several other plants.
• Hosing spiderwebs off the bushes. It bothers me when bushes are covered with spiderwebs, which becomes like velcro for dust and detritus. I worry the plants can't breathe; that their leaves are so dirty and covered, that the sunlight and oxygen can't penetrate and eventually they will suffocate.
• I feel for plants when they struggle to live. I want to help them—to prune away their dead bits, to water and tend to them like the invalids that they are.
• Thinking about the word "invalid" and its dual meanings; to be afflicted, in poor health and to be moot, not relevant. Is that true? Are they spelled the same and it's only the pronunciation that differs? Can a person be said to be both, an invalid, and also in some sense invalid?

I'm noting that I must self-edit, self-censure, since this rambling missive is bound for the blog, which, at least theoretically, makes it public. Not that anyone will wander into these words. Still, I find that I'm writing in euphemisms, coding my feelings and observations so as not to offend or violate a confidence. 

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A trailer carved out of giant redwood tree. It travelled around the country to generate interest in saving California's north coast redwoods.