An elderly beagle left a little dirt on my pant leg and a saliva-sticky mark on my chin this morning. I met him on my walk. There is nothing more pleasing than to have a dog reciprocate a greeting. He eagerly did, meeting me at the halfway mark with a nose boop and a happy tongue. 

Further on, a young woman walked toward me, up the hill. She was clearly on her way to class, striding along, backpack on her shoulders, her head slightly down as she leaned into the hill. As we were about to pass, I said, “Your hair is beautiful.” She stopped to look at me, then smiled. I smiled back and walked on down the hill in the early morning sun. 

Somewhere in my community, as I was walking and not paying attention to the cross streets, I saw a sign on a glass door. The sign said, “Actual Size.” Nothing else. There was no other marking on the door. It’s mildly funny, made me smile. What, for me, was far funnier, is that someone thought that was worth putting on the door. Maybe they even created the sign on the computer and printed it, found tape and stuck the sign to the door, and then laughed about it. Someone went to all that effort for a laugh, for no purpose OTHER than the gag. Just a giggle or a smile for anyone who takes a moment to notice it.

The server at the diner where I got a late breakfast was dancing to the 70s music that was playing. She stopped suddenly and complained to me about how hot it was in the room. “I’m so hot,” she said. “Hot and spicy.” I replied, “That’s what Joe says.” (Joe is her partner.) And we both had a good laugh. “He wishes,” she said, with a wink.

A disco song started playing. Another server danced along the aisle, singing. I asked if she knew how to do the hustle and then realized that she’s TOO YOUNG. And now, I will diminish, and go into the West and remain Galadriel. I mean Deb. 

I just looked up from my editing, thinking about how I wanted to word something, and watched a gray-haired man hop up from a bench across the way to take a picture of an older woman, presumably his partner, who was eating a cup of gelato from the pizza place. He sat back down and smiled as he showed it to her. They’re sitting so close that their arms brush as they scoop the gelato into their mouths.

A very attractive young man with black curls hanging down his back is walking in a circle outside, a large circle. He’s waiting for someone. Is he a little nervous? There are two standard waiting postures: the shift from one foot to the other while looking at a phone and the walk aimlessly. I’ve done significant (undocumented) research on this. You can trust me that he’s waiting. He’s wearing a blue and white small-check shirt and one of those zigzag hair bands to keep the curls out of his face. 

Ah, good news, readers. It’s probably 10 minutes later than when I last looked. He has met up with someone and they’re now walking, with intent, across the street. Both have smiles, friends happy to be together. Over the weekend, I watched a group of men like that meet up, long-term friends, gray beards, some bent and arthritic, faces lined. They called out when each one arrived and hugged–true hugs, not those weird backslap hugs–all around, each time. There was so much joy in the room because they were together. 

I’m working on a project and doing some research around protest music. If you use Spotify (yeah, I know what Daniel Ek is doing–he sucks), there are some real bangers on these two playlists: 

• Rolling Stone 100 Best Protest Songs of All Time
• 100 Best Protest Songs According to ongoinghistoryofprotestsongs.com

A warning though: there’s a lot in these songs to make you sad. Some days it seems like we’ve literally been fighting for 125 years for things that should never have been divisive.  

“You kill people and break things for a living,” says our current Secretary of Defense. Look at those words, those deeply offensive words from a want-to-be tough guy who has no experience leading anyone. I suspect it is only discipline that kept those generals and admirals in their seats while Petey and Donny postured in front of them. I felt a strong urge to verbally flip both of those men off as I watched clips of the meandering speeches that clearly highlighted how little they understand their roles or our military or our Constitution. 

A young natural-blond man (fun aside here–I wasn’t sure whether to add an e on the end of that word and turned to Merriam-Webster for assistance. It seems that ‘blonde’ is a gendered spelling. M-W recommends eschewing that and going with blond, which would be correct in this context anyway)…back to that young blond man. He is frequently at the coffee shop working on a computer, very occasionally on a call. I have no idea what job he does but I have to remark (or is it that I want to remark?) that his biceps are so large his tshirt sleeves don’t fit over them. I imagine that men are particularly jealous, though I don’t know very many women who care about the size of a man’s biceps. Awkwardly, our reflections in the garage door glass just made direct eye contact and now I shall stare deeply at my screen for at least the next three years.  

Jeff Daniels will be in town next Friday, performing at City Winery. I LONG to go but the only tickets available are singles at 4-tops. There is as much chance of me joining a table of strangers as there is of me standing on stage to sing to them. He’s a genuinely lovely performer. I am very sad.

Oh no. The person at the table between me and blond man just left. We are facing each other now and just made direct eye contact again. It’s soooo awkward. This seat is right by the window so I’m not leaving but I am absolutely not making eye contact again. Guess I’ll be typing with my eyes closed. This experience is somehow worse than that time I was sitting beside the man whose pants were below his butt cheeks.

I’m working on a new project during editing breaks. I’m not going to share details but I’m really having fun with it. It’s not what I was planning to work on next but I can hear this new protagonist’s voice so I’m making lots of notes. Many of those notes are currently more questions than anything else, such as, is protagonist a reliable narrator? Also, does protagonist have a ride-or-die?

A couple with a toddler is now sitting at the table between me and blond man. Mom and the toddler are waiting in line and an absolute giant of a man–6’7” I’m guessing–is in line behind them. That toddler is NOT having it. He’s trying to make friends, even bending all the way over to be at eye level but she noped right out of there. The man is wearing a great striped flannel that is way too short for him but really lovely. It’s deep brown, gold, and red, perfect fall colors. He has given up on chatting with the child and is talking to the mom while the dad sits at the table scrolling on a phone. I will not point out what incredibly misogynistic parenting this is. I will not point out what incredibly misogynistic parenting this is. I will not…

Um. There’s a cat in here. It’s mewing. Everyone is looking around. Some people are laughing. The guilty party is not fessing up. I hope I get to see it. So does the toddler who is in “find the cat” mode.

This is crazy. Something just hit me right in the face. It stung but no damage done. It hit me in a downward arc so it was definitely thrown by someone who probably did not intend to hit anyone. That would be unacceptable behavior in this noisy but peaceful place. There are many shenanigans here but no mean-spiritedness. I said, “Ow,” quite loudly so it’s likely that whoever did it heard me. Also, I think I know who did it. Lol

Sisters have arrived. They’re elderly, the same height, same haircut. They *might* be twins but even so, I can tell right away which one is older. They’re sitting together outside. Older sister is in a light blue shirt and matching blouse unbuttoned, long sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her sister is wearing a pink shirt with a pinky-peach checked blouse, also unbuttoned, cuffs rolled back. They’re eating the delicious pasta salad available from the coffee shop and sharing what looks like an Arnold Palmer. (I’m so nebby. haha) I wish I could hear them talking. I can tell from their body language that they finish each other’s sentences. And that they love each other. There’s a softness in the way they’re handing each other napkins and utensils. I’ll bet when they fight it’s hilarious to watch. Gentle, biting words while they work together to make dinner. Lol

My sister (Hi sis) and I do NOT fight like that. When we fight, it’s claws out, daggers drawn, pistols at dawn. Hehe My poor brother-in-law. What he has to endure. I don’t know why he puts up with us. Well, particularly me. He MARRIED you, sis. Lol

There’s a tiny, tripod terrier outside. It could not weigh more than 5 pounds. Cuteness overload.

Much love.