How summertime just whizzes by! I'm breathless. Less than two weeks ago I braved Ernesto's effect on the ocean's waves, relentlessly knocking me down and dragging my bum through the sandy shore. I could still feel the rythm of the tide when I layed down to sleep. You know how a full moon affords several nights of moon-gazing before it starts to recede? It was perfect. Nights offerred intoxicating views of Luna's reflection, glinting bright silver on the dark water as the foamy sea rushed up to greet my ankles.
It was almost just enough, and maybe because I'm back in the throes of work or maybe because I wonder if life will ever be any easier (if I will publish, if it's worth it, if I should seriously think about becoming a lawyer or something a little more ... responsible), I'll admit it: I long for more out of life than a week at the beach.
Perhaps we should just go somewhere and detox for a year, where life isn't all about "making it". That was Nate's suggestion. It was a momentary detour from the actual plan, a plan that I get a lot more excited (and a bit petrified) about everytime I say the words aloud ... We're moving to LA. There, it's out. And there are days, believe me, that I wax poetic about living here. Moments when I can't imagine that we'll ever leave. It has been all that I wanted for my whole life, which may make me seem pretty lame. Whatever. I wanted to be a part of it. But we're ready. We've been saving our meager pennies, researching neighborhoods where we might want to live, trying to make contacts in the TV/film industry... all that's left for us to do is pack, and oh yeah, actually go there and make sure we don't absolutely hate it. Though does it really matter? This is Nate's dream. I've lived mine. The novel's almost finished. I've made unbelievably great friends here. I can write from anywhere. As for Uptown Baker. Dont' you worry. Wherever I am, there are surely sweet goods to follow.

"young cat, if you keep your eyes open enough,

oh, the stuff you would learn!

the most wonderful stuff!"

greetings from my humble little kitchen at the top of the island -- a six by 10-foot flower-green space where I compose the world's next great novel (in my head), dance to the gorgeous jazz sounds of diana krall (or whatever trippy music happens to be on npr late at night) --managing not to trip over my two left feet, my relentlessly meowing feline, bonkers or happy-go-lucky lab, callie (chocolate, what else?) -- bake cake and manage not to eat ALL the batter, beg my husband nate to help me with dishes, read up on the latest wine trends -- how will i ever retain all that information? tannins, acidity, full-bodies, cherries, berries, vanilla, leather?? Might as well help myself to a little old vine zin.

outside, someone's blaring kenny rogers from a "boombox" sitting on their window sill. i am convinced that this particular fan of the gambler plays rogers' greatest hits as an indication that he is open for business. teenagers stop by for a moment to shake hands with the old country music-lovin' puerto rican and then keep right on walking. i bet it's drugs. or it could be my overactive imagination. i'm easily amused.

less than a week after inquiring about a neighbor's pets and admitting to having full-view of her cute furry creatures from my curious kitchen window frame, she and her boyfriend put up blinds -- the nerve! i've noticed lately that all of the windows facing my kitchen now have curtains. bummer.

my friend carol who lives two floors above has a name for just about everyone in my building. she probably calls me peeping paula. i'm rarely bored. at least that's something. she's recently started walking dogs, so now she is the crazy-dog-lady.

thanks for dropping by. more tales later, as soon as I finish dinner...