So, I’ve been organizing my hard drive, putting things in their place, and I came across an illustrator file full of of the most random assortment of text ornaments. Aren’t these elements great?

Tonight for dinner, I packed a picnic, piled the dog and some jackets in the car, and took off with my grandmother and aunt to the beach. It’s about 12 miles from where we live, and it’s a simple beach. Certainly it is not the best beach I’ve ever been to. It’s actually plenty boring… sand dunes, sand dunes, sand dunes, and then water. No palm trees, no board walk, nothing fancy; just ocean. And it was the open space I needed.

It started in January - dreams, once or twice a week with him in them, and continued through April and into the cold beginnings of May, when abruptly they ended. I assumed they were over for good. But now they’re back. Saturday and Sunday night, consecutive nights of dreams… one dream continuing where the other left off - both confusing, and last night’s ending with me turning and walking away. Until last night’s, none of the dreams were eventful, just small mental movies of my normal life, but with him around. As I near sleep again, I find myself troubled.

My outlook on life is sunny, light and strongly rooted in certainties. But this - I’m not used to it. I took this picture last night - and it’s not in focus, the lighting is dim, but it captures absolutely how I’m feeling right now. Just… conflicted.

I am cleaning my desk. It’s technically partly my aunt’s desk - so I can blame her sort of for the astounding mess it is. On the other hand, I am beholden to her generosity, so I should probably just stuff it. However, I thought I’d tell you about what I’ve found so far. That’s right, I said SO FAR.

1 drill bit
1 plastic baggie of screws (no known use)
1 AA battery
1 yellow legal pad
2 wooden dowels
1 pair of sunglasses
1 Reader’s Digest
1 black nylong mini-umbrella sheath
2 cans of air freshener - 1 Febreeze vanilla, one Avon Lavender Breeze
1 tube of concealer (Almay)
1 compact of concealer (Laura Mercier)
1 box of tissues, sans box
1 can of oxygen (the kind you spray into your keyboard)
2 sketchbooks
3 popsicle sticks
1 envelope of coupons
1 unused bandaid
1 perfume sample (Diesel… not crazy about it)
1 ball of twine

It’s like treasure hunting!

My attempts to learn the guitar are changing how I listen to music - I listen for more now - for the timing and the chord changes, and for how much of the melody hangs on what intrument. It’s fascinating. I’ve finally chosen what song I want to be able to sing and play. It’s a fairly simple song, but right now simple for me is still like climbing Mount Everest. I chose Bob Dylan’s “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door.” It’s got a great straightforward acoustic arrangment, and it’s always been a favorite song o’mine, so it’s kind of an obvious choice.

Anyway, I’m having a ton of fun. Love, love, love this.

Peeps, I have bought a guitar. Tonight I learned how to tune it, and to play the chords D, G, C, A and F. I have very sore fingertips, which I will try ignore while I update you on my life. I am sleepy, oh so sleepy, so it may come out a bit garbled. I have named my guitar Gene, which is not cool, but somehow fits, in the way that things are just so. I looked at it, and said, “It’s a Gene.” So let it be written, so let it be done. <chest thump>

I have this whole list of summer goals, and one of them was (#7) Learn How to Play the Guitar, so today after the gym (goal #3: Dissolve Flub with a Sans-Sugar Lifestyle and Gymrattery) I went to the local mall. I found a shop that sells both furniture and musical instruments, which seems a little different to me, but whatevs. A nice Felipe man helped me to buy a normalish looking instrument that sounds nice. I’m not picky at this point, I want what will work, and Gene is the perfect guitar for me sssssssssssssss………

Oh geeze, that was not a snake, I just fell asleep sitting at my desk, writing. I slept seven minutes, long enough for me to be a little embarrassed, and for the song to change from Feist to the Killers.

I’ve got to go to bed, but one last parting shot. I was at a party on Saturday night, and from the backyard, I took a bunch of photos - this one is the gratuitous California palm picture.

As I sit here typing this, sweat is accumulating in the inner crook of my elbows and dripping down onto the desk - making it difficult to not slouch, since I’m basically propped up my elbows, and with the moisture, my elbows keep sliding. This whole week has been hot, and the only saving grace is that at least its not a humid heat. At night I’ve been sleeping with arms and legs splayed out, no sheets, and I’ve given up blow drying my hair in the morning. Instead I’ve just been putting Sally Herberger’s Style Primer for Wavy Hair (highly recommended) in and letting it air dry.

Everything has slowed down - we have had salad every night for dinner because we don’t want to turn on the stove. People move at a languorous pace, trying not to expend energy. Even the rigid morning joggers have slowed their paces. People are staying off the roads as much as possible because of the high gas prices, and the streets are emptier than usual. It’s a quiet, dry week, and if it weren’t for the birds in the palm and pomegranate trees there would be no noise. Inside the house, the animals are all laid out on the tile floors, trying to stay cool. Abby keeps making funny squeaking noises in her sleep, and her paws slide back and forth as she dreams of running. The cats are like accordions - I had no idea they could stretch so long - particularly Phantom, who seems even more accordion-like because he has black and gray tiger stripes.

I feel like I should be in some place like colonialist Sri Lanka (back when it was Ceylon) - with a study that opens out onto lush greenery with gigantic leaves, birds, and the not so distant sound of the ocean. I’d sip on an iced milky drink, and do all my writing on a typewriter. I’d write about jungle stories, and brave explorers, and then at night, we’d light lanterns and burn mosquito repelling incense.

Hot summers and incense always remind me of Beijing when I was growing up. The nights were so hot they were heavy - at dusk people would leave their tiny apartments and go to the breezy green parks, where trees had kept things shaded during the day and the heat didn’t radiate off the concrete. To keep even cooler they’d wear the lightest things they could find, and it wasn’t unusual around sunset to see couples walking down the street, both in cotton pajams - thermos of tea swinging - heading off to Ritan Park. In our complex (QiJiaYuan) the elevator operators and a handyman or two would gather in the lobby of our building, sitting on stools with their jars of green jasmine tea - and they’d smoke cheap cigarettes and liaotianr (literally to “chat away the day”). I’d stretch out on a stoop with a fan made of folded pages of the China Daily and listen to their winding conversations. To repel mosquitoes, they burned a special coiled snake of incense on the windowsill, and as it burned it glowed in the dusk, and smoked a green musky smell that I can recall perfectly. Sometimes if they didn’t have incense they sent me to pluck wisteria blossoms from the vines that grew outside, and they’d burn the petals in a metal lunch box. If I begged hard enough or said something funny, they’d let me light the match, and I’d prop myself up on my elbows and watch the purple and white petals begin to smoke and singe - and the smell that it gave off was acidic but potently perfumed.

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before, but I love tart things - citrus of all kinds, for example, just make me happy. At the local farmers market, I picked up my favorite citrus - the blood orange.