Coffee heat rising

And we’re only halfway through another weird day…

Honestly. I”m sure reality has just run right off the rails. 

Case in point: this morning I roll out of the sack. Stumble to the back door to let Ruby out. Stagger over to the pool, figuring to take a fast dip. And…


There’s a big, round damp spot on the KoolDeck. It’s about, oh, a yard in diameter. Not a puddle. A wet spot. Perfectly circular.

I didn’t put it there: haven’t been in the drink since 10:00 last night.  It’s 110 this morning, headed toward 115. Trust me: if that water had hit the KoolDeck  before 10 last night, it wouldn’t still be lingering there. And no: nary a cloud in sight.

New Pool Dude didn’t put it there. Ruby would have gone screaming batsh!t if he’d walked into the backyard in the wee hours of the morning. Or at any hour.

Coyote? Possibly Mr. Coyote hopped the back wall (he can, pretty easily: it’s only 8 feet high, not counting the shrubbery), took a dip, climbed out, and went on his way?

If that were the case, surely there would be at least a few coyote paw prints. ALL that’s in evidence is a round, flying-saucer-shaped wet spot.

Uh huh. Martians, no doubt.

Hey! Martians like to cool off, too. right?

The pool, under the ministrations Swimming Pool Service & Repair, is sparkling, stunningly, almost frighteningly clear. Feeling good about that. Evidently what I was trying to get across to Canned Pool Dude — that the filter needed to be cleaned — was spot on.


Irrigation Dude  shows up shortly after dawn cracks.

He’s another highly amiable and ingratiating working-class fella.

I suppose I find these guys charming because that’s what my father and all his pals were: working-class fellas. They’re just nice guys to have around, guys who know how to do their jobs and seem to take pride in doing them well. They may hate their jobs, but they hide that sentiment well. 😀

He had a kid with him — well, a young fella in his 20s, who to We Who Have Circumnavigated the Block Too Effing Many Times looks like a kid. Irrigation Dude was earnestly teaching the craft to him.

Heh heh! Keep that young man out of the slam, sir!

Left a small lamb shank to defrost overnight. Snab that out of the fridge and set it to marinate in lemon juice (the last couple of viable Meyer lemons from the backyard tree!) and garlic and herbs. But I’m out of fines herbes, lhudly sing goddam! So this is something that needs to be purchased soon. Like…today.

Bang around thrash around thrash around bang around…eventually it’s TIME: cannot put off a grocery-store run another minute. Dayum!

Cruise down to the Sprouts at the corner of Main Drag South and Conduit of Blight. Get most of the stuff I need. But…yeah, they do have a rack of bottled spices. And noooo… NOT A CHANCE do they carry fines herbes!

Why did I not know?

Run into WonderAccountant there, at the checkout stand. So that was nice. She really is such a sweet person…WHAT LUCK, to have that pair move in across the street!!!

Okay. Surely the Albertson’s across the street — being part of a regional (maybe even national) supermarket chain — will have a jar of fines herbes.

Veer across Blight (six lanes of traffic plus the accursed train tracks), skid into the parking lot, come to light fairly near the door. Quickly find the spices…



you can see this coming, cantcha?

NO they do NOT carry fines herbes!!!!!!!!!

Hey! They’re right across the street from a Catholic Charities home for the elderly (very!) poor, across Conduit of Blight from a neighborhood featuring apartment houses where you dare not leave your cleaning goods (if you’re a cleaning lady) in the back of your pickup lest they be stolen while you make a quick run up to your apartment to bolt down a peanut-butter sandwich, and where a cop was shot through an apartment door by one of the fine residents. Yes, so lovely. So WHY would you expect any of their clientele to even know what “fines herbes” ARE, to say nothin’ of buying them???

I suspected as much. But hoped for the best. Wrong hope.

Decision time: Drive down to AJ’s or over to the Safeway? Or order the damn things from Amazon?

Given the price of gas (of late it’s dropped to a mere $4.88/gallon), I decide to order from Amazon. I yam peeved, but tell myself it’s just not that big a f*ckin’ deal.

Already have the lamb shank that calls out for this particular spice combo marinating in red wine and lemon juice. I reckon tarragon will do as a substitute.

Pass the goddamn cheapo wine, puhleeze!

And we’re brought back to the question of what DID leave that perfectly circular yard-wide wet spot on the CoolDeck????

Oh well. Pass the wine again, if you will.