I Volunteer at Riverside Nature Center

          Third graders from Nimitz Elementary descended from the bus and converged around me. I held a sign with their teacher's name on it. I felt like I was greeting someone at the airport. But as we began moving through the nature trail, I turned into a curious ten-year-old.  The short-grey haired nature volunteer led us to a Bald Cypress, which was about a foot in diameter, the lowest branches just above my head. Around it a circle of bricks indicated the circumference of the largest Bald Cypress in Texas. 

          The nature instructor asked the children to stand on the bricks. Twenty children went about three-quarters around it. I wanted to know how old that big tree is, where it is, and what its diameter is.  She didn't know. I'll have to find out.

          We followed her through the butterfly garden and saw a patch, about as big as bedroom carpet, that had not been watered – see, the drought is still with us.  I took pictures, trying not to let any of the kid's faces show, because we did not have permission slips from parents.

          A plant specialist gave us a lesson in identifying poison ivy. Don't confuse it with baby box elder which looks exactly the same when it first comes out of the ground.

          I helped herd the children into a classroom where a young woman with shoulder length brown hair, from the Upper Guadalupe River Authority (UGRA) talked to us about Aquatic Invertebrates (water bugs).  My favorite has always been the dragon fly.  But I learned about Damsel Flies and other insects that lay eggs in water. Their eggs become nymphs which look nothing like their adult selves. One day they crack out of their nymph bodies and emerge as a completely different looking creature. They pump up their wings and off they go!  Dragon flies live only "one season."  I remember the big-eyed dragon flies in Coarsegold that took drinks from my pool. I loved how they zigged and zagged across the summer sky.

          Then we went outside and looked at actual, real critters captured from the river by a gangly young man from UGRA in ironed jeans and wire rimmed glasses: tiny fishes, crawfish, water scorpions, and even an invasive Asian Clam about as big as a thumbnail. Makes me think differently about swimming in the river. I sure hope I don't get bitten by a "hot fire" bug!

          I conversed with a smart little girl in a pink top and black skirt. She reminded me of Darla from the Little Rascals, with her dark bobbed hair, bright eyes and little button mouth.  She expressed real interest in everything, unlike most of the kids who went where they were told but didn't really engage.

          Our last stop was inside the Nature Center where a dark Latino man with a big belly, wearing a plaid shirt, told us he was with the Parks and Wildlife service. He had set up a long table that held various skulls. Behind it photographs of dangerous wild creatures stared out at us: mountain lion, javelina, wild pig, bobcat, badger, skunk, fox, coyote, opossum etc. One panel had venomous snakes: coral, cottonmouth and two types of rattlers.

          He talked mostly about what to do if you encounter a dangerous animal in the wild – he advised that we use our walking sticks to fight off an attacking beast and if we got bitten by a rattler, stay calm and walk back to where you came, unless you have friends that can carry you.

          The precocious little girl seemed to know most of the answers to his questions. She said she watches a nature show for kids. Hearing information and remembering it are two different things.  The little girl impressed me by how much information she retained.

          Now, remembering my day, I'm ashamed to realize how much I don't remember. This is why I usually take notes. Writing things down helps commit them to memory, and the notes are always there for you to refer back to.

          My two hours zipped by. The rain that had been forecast didn't come till late in the day. The morning was cloudy and mild, a perfect day to learn about plants and critters. I was sad to leave after the school bus pulled away and we volunteers waved good bye to each other and headed for our cars.

          When the rain did come, later in the day, John was out washing the cars. He came inside and said, "Soft hail!" and handed me a white pellet of ice. I popped it in my mouth and looked out the window. What looked like white marbles were bouncing off the vacant lot next door.  It only lasted a little while and by the time I took Walter out for our before-dinner walk, the sun was shining on puddles in the black, steaming asphalt.   

TIRED SUNDAY

Rare for me: got up, walked the dog then went back to bed.  The smell of pancakes roused me.  Threw chopped pecans and banana chunks into the batter John had made. Ate. Read the San Antonio Express. Back to bed. Read for two more hours, my friend Paula's manuscript. She's the woman I met at the writing conference, who lives two blocks from me.  Then got up and edited more chapters of my book, Posing for My Father. Paula has motivated me. Before I met her I wrote when I felt like it, edited or did research when I didn't feel like writing. But now, with her asking for more chapters, I'm pushing myself like a real writer.  

Also tired from the roller coaster ride my team has me on. I assumed the Lakers would get killed by Oklahoma. First game was a total route. Next game they lost by two points. Then they rallied in the third game. Last night they were so hot in the first half.  I willed myself to stay awake until midnight only to have them lose in the last few minutes.

I still miss players who've been traded to other teams: Jordan Farmar, Sascha (playing in Europe), Ronnie now plays for the Heat. Derek Fisher in a Thunder uniform breaks my heart.  Tomorrow night I expect the Lakers to lose, so the season will end for them. Then we have the long boring summer to get through.  Then Dancing with the Stars ends Tuesday. One-two punch. Bye-bye basketball. Bye-bye dancing.

Wednesday I make a trip to see my mom. I feel like I've already lost her. She is a shadow of her former self. I dread seeing her in person. At least over the phone I can try to remember how she used to look, my now tiny, frail mama.

But I'll get to see girlfriends, too. I love my friends and miss them. I'll miss my cats when I'm gone and my doggy.  Last night I took him out to pee just as the game was starting.  Bobby, our neighbor, was coming down the block with a flashlight and his two dogs, Midge a wiggly shitzu and River, a docile sheltie. They are the first friends Walter has ever had.  As Bobby and I chatted the leashes got all tangled.  He agreed to take Walter on their walk, so I could go back to the game.  Bobby's going away for three weeks. We'll miss him and his dogs.

As I said, the game was great for the first three quarters. During half-time I flipped over to Saturday Night Live. Mick Jagger was hilarious! When I first saw him I thought he looked like a caricature of himself. He has such a big head, small shoulders, skinny legs and big feet. But he was very funny playing characters and doing various accents.

I listened to an Oldies station tonight, when I walked Walter before dinner. So sad to hear Barry Gibb died, and right after Donna Summer. What fond memories I have of their music. Meet the Bee Gees was the first stereo album I ever bought, in 1967.  When I taught aerobics in 1983 I used Donna's "She Works Hard for the Money" as my opening song.

I hope I have enough years left in me to finish my entire autobiography. For now volume one takes me up to when I left L.A. in 1970.

Wait! I hear cats caterwauling . . . .  Back inside now.  A black and white long-haired cat who I've seen pissing on neighbor's bushes, was lying on the pavement near Jane, who sat by the front door. Inside Walter and Audrey were trying to peer out at it.  I went outside and it got up but didn't go far. I asked what he was doing.

He said "nothing, just hanging out."  I let him sniff my hand. Pink nose. Pointed face. Weird eyes, the "second lid" showing. Sick?  I told him we had enough cats and walked him away from the house. He flopped on the pavement. I petted him. Kind of skinny but not starving.

I picked up Jane and carried her through the house to the garage. Walter and Audrey wanted to get out and check out the trespasser. I had to hold Jane and close the garage door; I didn't want her running away.

There was still food in Jane's dish. So the stray cat can't be too hungry.  I washed my hands and returned to my writing. Whose cat is he? Ours now?

No Bean Sprouts, No Bread, No Butter

Tonight John and I went to dinner at the River's Edge, Tuscan Grill to celebrate my birthday – he was out of town for it last Sunday. The restaurant juts out over Guadalupe River, which after our week of rains, is gorgeously swollen and wide. To our delight, silver, grey and blue clouds obscured the sun so the light was soft and easy on the eyes.

        I was thrilled to see a ginger-sesame salad with bean sprouts, Napa cabbage, etc. on the menu, because I have not been able to purchase bean sprouts in the two markets I frequent. When I asked the produce managers, they both said "We don't carry them anymore, they go bad too fast." 

        This is a major hardship for me, who craves all things Asian, especially in times of stress.  It's true, even in California I had a hard time finding really fresh, crisp sprouts and when I did I celebrated – the white shoot, the firm green mung bean. Yum!

        So I asked our darling young waiter if it was true, were there really bean sprouts in the salad? And if so, could I talk to the chef and find out about his source? Could I perhaps purchase bean sprouts directly from the restaurant?

        He looked at me as if I was crazy but said he would find out.

        The only California Chardonnay on the wine list turned out to be too oaky for my taste and not nearly as good as the Kendall Jackson reserve I have at home. But, oh well.

        John ordered a steak that was supposed to come with a side of veggies.  We drank our wine, admired the view and waited for bread, which never came.  A different waiter brought our meals.  No bean sprouts in my salad.  John got a big square plate with a steak on it and a side dish of zucchini and yellow squash swimming in a garlic cream sauce. 

        "May we get some bread?" I asked the new waiter.

        "It's in the oven, almost done," he replied.

        A while later our waiter returned. By now I'd eaten about a third of my salad and John had made headway into his steak.

        "You're right," the waiter said. "The owner's here. His wife ordered the salad last week and asked why there were no bean sprouts."

        "Because we live in a bean sprout free zone!" I replied. "The markets don't carry them."  He didn't know quite what to say to that.  "May we get some bread?" I asked.   He left and I said to John, "Maybe I should become the Bean Sprout Lady of Kerrville. Certainly there's a need. Think of the health food stores and Chinese Restaurants."  But then I thought about my kitchen full of cat and dog hair, and this week, "little anty things" as John calls them, crawling all over the sink.  They're little teeny ants which he says will go back outside once the ground dries up. There's no way the health department would give me a license to grow bean sprouts for sale. Still, I might just start sprouting beans for my own use. After all, we have a whole truck garden growing in our patio . . .

        The waiter returned with a little basket of bread. "I'm sorry but there's no butter. Well, there's butter but we're out of ramekins."

        The bread was good, real sour dough with a crisp crust and warm soft center. I tore of a chunk and shoved it into my mouth.  When he brought take-home containers and proceeded to box our dinners at an adjacent table, I made sure to not let him take the bread away. I opened one of the containers and tucked it into a corner.

        When we left the restaurant, the sun was just setting. A sliver of orange appeared over the river. John drove us a little ways down Guadalupe Street until we came to a small dam. "Stop here!" I said and opened the window. The sound of rushing water filled the car.

        I noticed pretty white wildflowers, long stalks with six pointed petals. I got out of the car and picked one. I brought it back into the car to look at.

        "We have those growing in the side yard," John said referring to the vacant lot next to our house. I don't remember seeing them. I got out and picked four more.  He poured bottled water on a napkin and wrapped it around the stalks.

        Next to the dam is a little park with a path along the river. "The best time to come here is between nine and ten o'clock at night John said."  I have no desire to be out a after dark, but I did think about asking my writing teacher to come here with me after class Tuesday, because it's only a block from where we meet.  I wonder if I'll remember to ask her.

        John dropped me off at home and went to Azul to listen to music and analyze the handwriting of one of the waitresses.  I was bummed out when I found out the Laker game wouldn't start for another hour.  I'm so sleepy, how will I stay awake?

        I trimmed the wildflowers and stuck them in a tall shot glass. Then,

putting the food away, I opened one of the containers and found the bread.  I spread butter on it and stood in our little rented kitchen watching teeny tiny ants meander over the Formica counter top. The bread tasted like San Francisco. Delicious.