Out by the reservoir, horse hooves coming up the trail. A girl on horseback, and behind her a boy saying, “This was always my grandfather’s favorite place. He hated it when they made him sell.”

The sun shines fiercer here in the clear mountain air. Time again to go  back…to a book discussion group.


On board the #12 bus to Huntsville. It was 8:36 a.m. when I figured out that the Subaru was gone because S. took the car to Salt Lake City for that yard sale at her sister’s house.

Rode my bike to the bus stop. Waited 5 anxious minutes, the sun coming up over the Wasatch Front–blinding the driver of the bus as it approached…and passed by.

Lunging out into the street, waving and shouting. The bus stops in the middle of the intersection. It’s a lady driver, laughing and apologizing. “So sorry. I don’t usually see anybody at this stop.”

Waiting for the bus ride back down the canyon. Sun setting on the hills. An owl calling from the park. After the library closed, as we were locking up: a stunt bike dude and his roller blade doing laps around the building.

Let’s Go Toby is on the bus today. And the retarded kid up front by the driver.

Unable to sleep, I get up, get dressed, and get out. Come back later to sleep in the shed. Fall asleep listening to the roar of traffic. Waking up hours later, traffic has subsided to a background murmur. The clock inside says 1:38 a.m. I’m in the living room, sleeping on the futon.

Sunday, Oct. 7

I was hanging up laundry when S. came out and collapsed on the lawn. Laid there crumpled up in the sun. “The problem is…I want to jump your bones. But I have a headache.”

Dragged the Ted Williams sleeping bag out back. Set up the bamboo screen against the fence. S. brought sex toys: a pear she had picked along the way…and 3 raspberries.

Monday, Oct. 8

On the #317 bus to Huntsville. Yes, you do have to stand there on the curb waving a dollar bill to get the driver’s attention!

Wed. Oct. 24

K. was half sick this morning. Sitting at the counter reading the anthrax stories in the paper. Mike was hovering, a dragonfly giant in short pants and sneakers.

Rebecca swooped in on K.’s low pressure area, then donned the rubber gloves and face mask, taking the mail out back for processing. Returning a few minutes later with a full color fold-out of a California condor she had removed from Your Big Backyard.

She stood there reading a while while I sat there cleaning and sanding the edges of our core collection.

“Do you realize there’s only twenty California condors left?” she says in that voice she reserves for all living things except humans. Brown-skinned, brown-eyed beauty. Doll-sized but don’t mess with her. Fiercely efficient and loving fun. “This picture is at the secret location in California where they are breeding.”

I nodded my head and kept working. Sanded the edge of a book, clonked it into a box, and reached for another.