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?