jon_decles

Paint!

It is now twenty years since Kelson and I painted the Lodge, with some help from our friends. Kelson did the entire outside, in oil base blue. He spilled it, stained rocks, swore a lot, but got it done in less than two weeks. The neighbors were astonished.

Likewise the bathroom was done in oil base: the walls a tasteful creamsicle orange, the ceiling a dusky lilac.

The rest of the house was painted with water based paint.

The outside of the house now shows some flaking, but the color is pretty true. Had we not had major construction to do in the bathroom, there would have been no need to paint. The color is as sharp and true as it was the day we painted. It has been washed, and it holds up.

The rest of the house is faded, worn off, non-washable by any but the strongest of imaginations. It has been suggested that faux finishes are the result of people trying to wash water based paint. It doesn't work. It if move a picture, the spot behind it is a totally different color. In places it is simply washed through.

Eric, who is still doing the bathroom, could not handle the smell of the oil based paint, so he hired Patrick, who is Irish and who did it just fine. I nearly passed out the second day, although I rather like the smell, because as soon as the painting started the temperature dropped. Patrick papered over the place where a door should have been and I survived.

The new color scheme is a little bolder than before. Diana says it is not quite CalTrans orange. The purple is really purple. Eric was shocked when it saw it, but quickly changed his mind and decided he liked it. Grandson Evan said it was hard to believe that something in those colors could be comfortable, but that it was.

The way the light works, when you look in the mirror you look good. That's bottom line.

And then, the tea house was opened. But I won't write about that until Diana gets all the pictures up on line, so that you can see what I am talking about.

The book has ground to a standstill.

We finally did two dump runs, one for yard recylcling, during which Jonathon broke the pitchfork and we discovered that it was made so that it could not be repaired. The second one was a week later, and we ended up with a flat tire and the kids late for gymnastics.

I have been working at the Petaluma museum, as Mark Twain. It is the town's sesquicentennial, and Mark Twain did speak there. You can find out more by going to timegames.org.

I am low on vitamins and money. My lettuce is not doing well this year. I am exhausted, and I have a bump on my toe: did I mention the 22 hour days I have been putting in, and having to walk the last mile uphill to my house at 2:30 in the morning because some idiot set fire to the old, abandoned bar down the road?

I am back to running with Byron after school on Thursdays.

I am looking for someone to write me a blurb on the new book. So far, all the authors I have asked are too busy to read it.

All for now. Just thought you would be amused to find that I am still alive and striking out.

Although it is doubtful, someone out there may be wondering what I am up to these days. It's been nearly a month since I posted.

Well, working, for the most part. The amount of time it takes to enter little tiny corrections into the computer file of a novel, in the hope that the published version won't been too, too awful, is enormous. It wears down the brain. It is worse than reading about knitting, if you don't knit. It is worse than trying to swallow a poliitician's lie.

Well, ok, its not that bad.

But it does put the brain into a state somewhere between tapioca pudding and valium: and I don't mean that in a good way! I have to stop periodically and go into dream time in order to think and work again.

I know! It's just like Highway Hypnosis! Yes, exactly!

As everyone knows, the seat of the emotions is the liver (not the heart) and it should come as no surprise that at the end of the day I feel like a week old blanc-mange.

All that is keeping me afloat is Eric.

Eric has appeared at last and is busily fixing my bathroom. I will have a tile floor. I will no longer have a rocking toilet that leaks because you can't turn the valve either on or off all the way. There will be Walls! I MAY EVEN GET A DOOR!

First, the news you all have been waiting for: the doctor says there was no sign of cancer — though he hedged by noting there was a 15% chance of his being wrong, and offered more procedures. (Does my doctor work for Nick the Greek?) I chose the less invasive, and the one that allows me to run in Greece this summer, provided I can find ze papers that will possibly allow me to get ze passport to leave the Reich.

Next, let me express the delight of seeing so many of you at Pantheacon. Imagine my delight that the first voice I heard was that of our beloved Thallassa, calling to me as I rushed toward my first performance: the Morrison/Dionüsos ritual.

Aside from finding out that we are kind of broke, and having to leave part of the family at home, it was a great convention.

Not least amusing was hanging out with Dan, and arranging his Very First Ever tarot reading: by Stephen Abbot, using the Nekromicon Deck, in the OTO (Crowley) suite. Stephen read, with full dramatic flourishes, all the cards from the accompanying booklet. — This happened because all the Absinthe was gone.

Dan noted that, even though he had never been to one of these things, through the Dickens people he knew there, he was only one person away from all three thousand attendees.

Jonathon (Bagel), my youngest, got sick Saturday, was well again Sunday, but had to leave early as grandson Byron had come down with a bad fever. They have all been down with the flu since, but it looks like it is letting up.

The copies of my book (Blindfold on a Tightrope) did not arrive from the publisher until we had left home, so I had no autograph session. This helped alert me to the fact that I need to get the next book in print and in hand before May, and though I got Sadie's proofs in September, I had only done half of Chapter One. I am now applying myself, to the level of exhaustion, each day, getting the work done.

The cover looks great at this state. —Oh, the upcoming book is StormWars!, the sequel to The Particolored Unicorn, which you are all no doubt listening to as a podcast, even as I write this.

It's cold up here, but that is not news. The crocuses bloomed this last week. They usually bloom in early January, so you can look forward to a long winter this year. (My crocuses are not on downers, like Puxatawny Pete. I'll bet on the bulbs over the groundhogs any day.)

I guess that's all the news from Boggs Mountain. I finally got all the stuff from the convention cleaned out of the car as of today.

And Now To Rome!

Well, the time for the biopsy approached (again) and my nerves frayed (again) and none of this was helped by being unable to use the kinds of medicines that actually cure the headaches that come when you cannot eat what you usually eat, cannot drink what you usually drink, and in general are living an Alien Life!

My dear daughter-in-law Kim went to the doctor with me, knowing I would be something of a mess after the event. As we waited and the people in charge kept assuring me that most guys who go through this procedure think it is 'Nothing,' we discovered that Kaiser, grounds and all, is a 'no smoking campus.' Fortunately, Kim does not smoke menthol cigarettes, otherwise I should have said something about 'non campus menthis:' but I did not.

They called me in, and again assured me that I would be ok. They could tell I was having a problem by the dead whiteness of my skin and the trembling of all extremities.

Blood pressure was taken and I was ushered into the refrigerator. I know there are good reasons for hospitals to be cold, but that does not help. Cold makes me tense up even more! And then I had to take my pants off!

Oh, how I was longing for that cast party in the hot tub!

To cut to the chase: the procedure is pretty simple. They shove a sonic canon up your ass and use it to site as they fire a dozen harpoons through your intestinal wall and into your prostate.

The doctor first used the ultrasound to discover whether my prostate was swollen as a whale, but he didn't tell me. He shot first with lydacain ("Lydacain Rose, oh my Lydacian Rose..."), then fired away.

Mind you, everybody was kind and careful and bending over backward to assure that the experience was as least horrible as it could be. They let me tell jokes. We discussed the shores of Tahiti (where it is warm) and what opera I liked (I allowed as Peter Grimes was one favorite, though to call something 'modern' when it was written around the time I was born seems odd..) and many other things designed to divert me from the experience.

In the end (my end) the pain came on and was awful. I bled like a stuck pig!

When it was over, and the very kind doctor was gone, the assistant continued to sooth me until I was able to get up. (They had covered me with blankets against the approach of the glaciers from the hallway.) I did get up, made my way out, and greeted my dear Kim.

And then we had to do the shopping for the ritual two days in the future, which involved a Mexican market with excellent prices.

It was three or five hours later that I realized that the horrible pain was not from the procedure, but a seizure of spastic collitus, brought on by my tension and the cold. I kept on with my LeMaz breathing and by the time we got back to my house I was weak but out of agony.

I am still waiting for the results, but everything else is pretty much working again, and my son is doing the heavy lifting of stuff like firewood.

I cooked the goat, we got through the ritual, and next week we are going to Pantheacon. And, the weather has been a great deal better.

The Old Entertainer is Exhausted!

His newsletter is a month late. His biopsy got postponed, thus adding to tension. There is snow! And more snow! When it is not snowing it is raining! It is cold!

And then, there was the Jeep. On one trip to Berkeley it made horrible noises. I took it to the mechanic, only the noises stopped part way. A week later, back to Berekely, more noiises! Back to the mechanic.

"The Clutch!" says he.

He also notes that I must be the best driver in the world, as I have put 200,000 miles on that clutch.

Up and down the mountains with my daughter in law, and we get back to the mechanic, who shows me what he took out.

You have heard, no doubt, the phrase "The bearings are gone.' Well, in my case, the bearings were GONE! That is, the ring in which the bearings ride was empty. Caput! The noises were no doubt the bearings flying out of the monkey's ass all over the road.

With a ring like that, I could (dare I say it!) get stranded in the middle of the Golden Gate Bridge: or worse!

But I did not, and praises go to Hermes and Hephaestos for taking care of us.

I think now I will make a cup of Mr. Micawber's Punch, which research tells me is comprised of sugar, lemon peel, rum, and hot water. I commend it to you all on these freezing nights!

Things just keep coming fast and furious!

My deep desire is to be with my friends from the theater this weekend. You know: sitting naked in a hot tup drinking martinis until four in the morning and talking about Theatah! Besides, I've never been to the Collier's. (Sp?)

The other choice was my tea group's Hatsugama, and I am afraid that one had to win. The days when I could have done that, then got up at Six to drive to Sacramento, are, I fear, long gone. And my bilocation is just shot all to hell, now that I've turned 39.

I am at that stage of my tea career where one has to prove one's self as a member of the community. It's kind of like getting a Ph.D. No matter how much you go by the rules, the university can turn you down (as they did my later brother in law) because it does not feel you would be an 'ornament to the profession.' (He wore sandals, burmuda shorts, and had a beard: that kept him from getting it at Berkeley, in the 60s!) So, I made he decision to go to Hatsugama instead of the cast party.

And it was a good thing I did, because I discovered, at my lesson Wednesday, that I am to be First Guest.

Well, thought I, this will be a Good Thing, because Tea is very calming, and I need that before the biopsy on Tuesday.

Only today the doctor's office called and said they would have to reschedule because their machine broke down.

Visions of a giant drilling machine from a Jules Verne novel flashed into my head. Their MACHINE broke down?

So there's another two weeks of anxiety, and I am sure I will be less than personable as I struggle to finish up things I won't be able to do for a while after it. Heavy lifting things, construction things, etc., etc. etc.. I was hoping to finish my play about Herakles in the lay up time...

And worse, because I am on a double critical today I did not go back to Berkeley (hhmmm novel... short story..."Back To Berkley"...) because I didn't want to be on the road, so I am bereft of my dogs! Oh, the loneliness of of the dog distance walker...

Only I had to go out to communicate and release a mouse anyway...

And I guess that's all the news from Boggs Mountain.

Do any of you folks play Sims on a Mac? I am having the worst time of it...

It has just turned midnight, the day of the 10th, so I have made offerings to Asklepios, God of Healing, Dionysos, God of Theater, and Hermes, my Patron, called The Helper, on behalf of our compatriot Martin, who is going into surgery today. I added a ridier (as they say in Congress) on my own behalf as well. Those of you familiar with Show Business will know Martin from his wonderful portrayal of Scrooge. Please send him lots of good energy, healing stuff. He is a good man as well as a good actor

Our old buddy Duffy, who is a therapist these days, tells me that there are a multiplicity of treatments and that this is one of the things with a likelihood of cure; and that many of the best treatments have appeared in the last five years. In other words, things look pretty good.

I should like to add, at this point, that the past year has been an exceptionally happy one for me. I have spent most of it acting, and in retrospect, I discover that Theater is the place, over the years, where I have felt the most at home. --This is not a sign that I will abandon my literary leanings, but only that the immediate gratification of the ego that a live audience provides is more personally endearing to the performer than the scant requests for autographs upon his books that come far less frequently to his hand.

Could Mr. Micawber have said that any more eloquently?

We were all greatly gratified by the Dickensian attendance at our New Year's Ball, at Greyhaven, and could only have been more pleased by an even greater influx from the temporally shifting environs of our beloved 19th Century London: a pass which we hope will come next year, and the year after, and so on into... in short, for as long as the house stands.

YHOS,

It was really cold (28) when I got home after the ball, but Hey Ho, my wood man was due the next day.

He came, but with him the Wind and the Rain. I had to drive into town to get a tarp with which to cover the wood until my son can come up and put it away (a dry day) and I was warm within, withall.

The next morning was to be Call the Doctor day: only the power went out! --No mind, I had a podcast to make, so I did.

When I got home it was snowing.

This morning the power company said it would be Tuesday before I got power back, so I went and got my son to help me load the laundry, with the intention of doing it tomorrow. (Tomorrow, Tomorrow, I luv ya, Tomorrow...) When we got back the power was on.

I have informed relevant parties that I am up again, and have begun the search for an appropriate photo for the back of the new book.

And, I am tired.

Night All!

When I got home last night the inside of the house was 37 degree. Outside it was twenty eight. Today it started to snow! I would include an image, but the system will only allow me to insert an url, and the pic is actually on my desktop. If you want to see it, look me up or either MySpace or Tribes.

At the dump today I was informed that I was being fined for including steel cans in the trash. Mind you, I am all favor of recycling: but last time I went to the dump I was told they would not accept steel cans for recycling. Now they 'always'' have. Only you have to wash them first.

To be fined for something you have to commit a crime. So it is now a crime to throw away steel cans. Worse, according to the man at the gate, it is illegal not to wash out your empty yoghurt containers! (Which they have also never before accepted, only now they 'always' have. Thank you, George Orwell!)

Ghandi noted that 'freedom is the right to say 'I won't.' A government is within its rights to forbid you from doing something but the minute that government tells you that you must do something, you are no longer free.'

It is reasonable for the Congress to forbid us to use incandescent light bulbs anymore, as they contribute to global warming. But when we are told that we MUST wash our empty yoghurt containers, or become criminals: then we are living under Totalitarianism, plain and simple.

And meanwhile, Global warming seems to be lowering the temperature here in California by alarming degrees.

Am I curmudgeon?

You bet your Fat Aunt Petunia I am!

I'm busy either writing or turning the writing into Something Dramatic. In this case it is the podcast of "The Particolored Unicorn," which began the first Sunday of Advent. For those who don't know, podcasts are like radio, only you can get them on your time rather than the radio's time.

To hear the podcast go to unicorn.libsyn.com and click. If you click one of the secondary buttons it will download as the podcasts are brought online, which is every Sunday until its over.

The dreadful cold of last week has eased off (Thanks Mrs. Micawber, Thanks Peggoty!) and I may be able to talk my way out of Philadelphia this weekend, if all goes well.

I am sooooo far behind on so many things! Today I am waiting for Jonathon to arrive and help me get down the Christmas stuff. i have only one day in which to decorate the tree, tomorrow, and I had arranged with him last night to come up and help me get it all down. I am not up to the up and down in the attic routine on my own.

The good news is: the doctor says he can see me afternoons rather than mornings.

It is my deep conviction that mornings are dangerous and unhealthy times for people to be abroad, and nobody in his or her right might would get up in the morning if it were not that our world is currently run by Worm Eaters.

It has been a while since I posted, but I have not been idle. The kids (Jon, Kim, Byron, and Anastacia) moved in during the run of "Ghosts of Olompali" and moved out at the beginning of the run of "The Great Dickens Christmas Fair." The good news is that they are only 5 miles away from me now, instead of thirty, and Byron is in the local school, which has a rep for being a good one: though he has come home with some unfortunate homophobic notions which we hope to dispel with viewings of "Torchwood."

For those who have not kept up: I am playing Mr. Micawber, from "David Copperfield," and although it almost seems like type casting I am having a ball. I love the part, and I am very grateful to Mr. Dickens for casting me in it. It is giving me a little room to grow.

Up here on the mountain it is very cold. When I came home this week the sky had dropped more than four inches of rain, and there bodes to be more. And a drop to twenty degrees, which may mean driving down in the snow.

On a cheerful note: My novel "The Particolored Unicorn" is now a podcast, which can be had at unicorn.libsyn.com

On a less than cheerful note: the bank charged me a thousand dollars in overwrite taxes, then wiped out my meagre savings acount. I can no longer afford to die! Hopefully, tomorrow's medical tests will tell me that I am not going to, as I have way, way too much work to do before the final curtain. (And fer Gawd's sake, when I do kick off, will somebody please applaud?)

Guess that is all for tonight.

This is touching bases.

If I have not been on for a while it is because I have been in rehearsal to play Mr. Micawber, one of the great parts. I am now playing him at the Great Dickens Christmas Fair, at the Cow Palace in San Francisco.

We have a cast of about 600, somewhat more of 150 of whom are Dickens characters, myself included. The rest are other people in Dickens' London.

This has slowed down a lot of other stuff in my life, but that's ok.

I just realized, in looking at the tally, that this marks my 40th year in Show Business. For a guy 39, that's not bad.

One satisfaction of the part is that, with my head shaved, people who have known me for most of those years are not recognizing me until I speak. The voice is the celebrity giveaway.

Anyway, that is why you had not read from me.

We run until just before Christmas. If you can make it, please come. If you get there at opening, about 10 Am, there is a great tableau in which Mr. Dickens presents a lot his characters.

On Sunday, December 2nd, the podcast of my novel "The Particolored Unicorn" begins at unicorn.libsyn.com

Whenever they say (usually of a person who has just died) that 'he/she lived a full life' they never explain with what that life was full. Now, for some of us it is full of splendor and excitement, for others... Well, not so much splendor maybe...

After a week flat on my back, sleeping more than reading (I was really, really sick) I realized that the Daichkai was coming, and as I had missed it for three years I prepared to survive and go forward, infused with garlic and rubbed all over with Tiger Balm like a turkey in an Alice Waters scenario.

I went down to Mountain View on Saturday, a trip that took many hours as traffic moved at about two miles per hour the whole way. I don't know why. When I got there I followed the instructions twice, and then again, with no result. I finally found a phone and called the buddy with whom I was to stay: and learned that he had given me the wrong instructions.

That understood, and with a new set, I got to his house, slept, and got up early to make the last leg of the journey (in kimono) to Saratoga.

It was a great day and I ended up having four teas instead of three. I got to see Yabanouchi (very Samurai), Matsu (a kind of strange offshoot of Omotosenke, but really interesting, and serving the very tea I have just myself bought), a thick tea with a woman doing Omotosenke, and then another Omotosenke thick tea in the tiny house at the top of the mountain with the guys.

My legs were killing me, but my spirit soared. I think my pulse rate did too. (That is a lot of tea to consume: we're not talking Red Rose here, folks!) Then my buddy took me for some Sufi coffee, and I drove home. Or maybe I flew, I am not sure.

I am now preparing for Dickens, while doing some more tea stuff.

Jonathon has taken the crew out for Men's Mysteries this weekend, hiking out over the mountains in the rain and the dark tonight. Kim and the Kids are in bed. The sketches for the cover for the sequel to "The Particolored Unicorn" arrived, and I love them!

I have not been able to get through to Phyllis. I hope she didn't come down with my cold!

With the closing of "Ghosts of Olompali" I thought I would get a breather. Closing day was, after all, a kind of apothosis, with many actual folks not of our company.

On Tuesday I figured I could trim my moustache for the benefit of my fellow tea students: it was tending to get into the tea and leavle my red moustach green. So I did it.

Tea went better than expected, and then on Thursday I got a call from Phyllis about Sunday.

Sunday? I learned there was to be a parade in Sonoma at which Mark Twain was desired. Cool! -- thought I.

Later I looked in the mirror. --Not so cool! But I could use the brow extender and make it passable. I was ready! Even though I felt a cold coming on.

Saturday morning I was already committed to a parade in Kelseyville, the Pear Festival, at which my grandtots were to march with their gymnastics class: their first performance! I got up at 6, walked the dogs, did the chores, and obsertved that it was 40 F(riggen) degrees out! We went, albeit with their gymn unicorms over sweaters and such, and me with a down jacket. --It was fine parade, with many, many tractors of great vintage.

In the afternon it was time for a ritual to Demeter and Persephone. Fortunately, Jonathon cleaned outdoor and Diana came up to be the priestess. --I attended wraped in jackets, wool shirts, a wool himataen, and my wreath over a stocking cap. It was nice, but cold out. Afterwards I drove down the hill to show Diana my art installation, now in its final phase, before she headed back to Berkeley.

The next morning I awoke at six and was near dead. My throat was swollen shut, raw and burning, and my fever was up. I could barely stnd. I called in sick and spent the day in bed, with Kim feeling me home made chicen soup I was sorry to miss Sonoma, but I would have been useless as anything but a victim on a stretcher.

This morning I felt better and we worked a little on the tea house. But the fever and dizziness is back, and I may have to call in sick for jury duty. Worse, I missed Ana's gymnastics class today, and I may have to miss Byron's class tomorrow.

Just thought you'd all like to know why I have not been more in evidence.

"We do not remember days, we remember moments." -- Cesare Pavese

Today at Olompali I had one of those perfect moments.

I was standing up near the milking barn, eating some of the lovely Mexican food. Phyllis was seated nearby, and there were three men playing beautiful Mariachi music. The lead tenor had a high, clear head tone that was just wonderful. The air was clear, the sun was bright, the old oak trees were dark green and the grass was golden. The Chumash woman next to Phyllis said an Indian prayer. Ms. Haas was wearing a cloak that had actually belonged to Lily Langtry. Other old friends were about whom I had not seen in years, and there were new, young friends to make it a continuity, and timeless.

I realized that it was a perfect moment. That my childhood dreams could never have encompassed or projected such a moment as my being there, playing Mark Twain (for many years), being a member of this fanciful theatrical family, in this perfect and beautiful time and place. It was simply too beautiful to be.

My childhood hopes of super heroes melted, silliness, next to that moment, complete and perfect.

Sunday we went to the County Fair, we being Kimberly, Jonathon, Byron, Anastacia, and me.

The first thing I noted was that there is now a school in the fairgrounds. Several big buildings. A Christian school.

I checked into that, and it is a curious tale, mainly positive. All legal angles were checked before the fairgrounds rented them the space. The fairgrounds need the money, and the poor school had been, despite being a good school with good teachers, jettisoned by its parent church: which is now opening a competing school!

The next thing I noticed was that there were fewer booths than last year, fewer exhibiters. One family farm is pretty much carrying the torch of agriculture, and I plan to buy as much as I can from them. Localization is good. As evidenced by the local Safeway, for the first time, putting up a big banner and offering Lake County Pears: and an excellent price. The pear growers were pretty much represented by one family as well, which was giving away pears in an exhibet hall where one was not allowed to eat them: but hey, they were calling attention to our senior crop, and deserve patronage!

Byron had been difficult, so he was not allowed to go on rides: except for the pony ride, which was a good thing as he had been afraid the last time, and now he and Ana are fine with ponies.

Finally we got to the Floraculture Building, where my entries were. I took a first for my petunia (fuschia colored), a second for my haning aloe, and a third for my niche. The note on the back of the card said that I needed height, that I should have put the bottle in a stand, and that I should have stood the bread on end: all three choices I had rejected as really tacky. But the judge really likes bottle stands, and gave the first prize to an entry with a tacky bottle stand which I had specifically NOT bought from the big shelf of them because it WAS so tacky.

But they, the person who used it did a great job, as did everyone else. The judge did think my background was clever.

No appreciation of negative space. Hmph.

I lot a day picking up my exhibet, then didn't get to Greyhaven until late Tuesday night. On Wednesday I staggered around and finally got to my hair man on time, about 6 p.m. I am not a Bright Redhead again, and the show opens tommorrow. Thursday morning Diana and I planted two iris, dug many more, pruned, and I climbed up on the scafolding to see where Tom had discovered rot under the edge of the deck. First time I have climbed that side of the house since I fell off it.

Got back to the Lodge in time to go back to Calistoga to meet with Ivan, who was vacationing there. Today was prepping, mainly.

Ivan says they have built a winery which is a fabulous Tuscan castle in Calistoga. Renaissance art and all kinds of neat stuff. Someone very rich having lots of fun. There are tours. An SCA wet dream, I gather. You have to take the tour to see the Great Hall.

You would think after this many years I would not have butterflies: but then, we have never done this kind of show before.

Yesterday was about mucking around in the pond. It was over 100 F. and a good day to climb in and get slimy.

The pedastal got moved, the basin got re-seated, and the water lilies got replanted: with smooth river stones to hold them down and keep the lovely koi at bay. The fountain worked at least until early morning. Never let anyone tell you that it is a good idea to pump the dirty water (rather than the clean) through your fountain. There is some re-engineering to be done here...

And then today dawned.

Jonathon had promised to come up and work on the tea house, and he did indeed.

The fear and anxiety generated by comparing numbers and measurements had been awful. The tea room itself had been built to accomodate my old tatami, and I did not realize that they may shrink with age. The new tatami, also of standard Edoyama size, turned out to be bigger. Outa San, who made them, advised that it would be less expensive to plane down the shimmed edging that to recut the mats to accomodate about an eighth of an inch.

My boy Keith drew plans for how that might happen, but I had doubts. He is, after all, president of Off-Kilter Engineering.

Jon returned my hammer this morning, so while he worked on the mizuya, putting in pieces of wood that were being clutter rather than useful, I finished hanging some of my diplomas/certificates. ==Jon then discoveed that we could not find the drill index, so it was time to address the tatami.

To our shock and delight, they all fitted in nicely. All the math was wrong. (Good thing I don't believe in numbers anymore.)

Having ascertained that they fit in the winter configuration, we then decided to move them into the summer configuration. A call to my friend Duffy, who called his Sensei (mine was away) got us the last detail, and it was time for me to wash the floor of the mizuya.

That done, the last mat was installed.

Trembling with anticipation, I made tea for Jon.

Well, trembling like Meathead San is more like it. First I realized that I did not have my fukusa or other personal gear. So we stopped, I ran back to the house, and then we started again.

I was doing Summer Bowl, and it went well right up to the point where I had folded the chakin... And had no place to put it because I had missed removing the lid of the kettle. Er, you can't get there from here.

Back into the bowl of water with the chakin, do the lid removal, do the chakin moves again, and then, finally, things went as they should have.

Well, except for the bugs. We don't have the shoji for the windows up yet, so the bugs come in. Oh, and except that part way through I realized that I had not put my glasses back on, and I was flying blind, occassionally missing the kensui when I emptied the rinse water.

It is so nice not having the straw coming up every time one moves. So nice not having holes under part of one.

***

I walked the dogs just after midnight, but the horney black cat kept tripping us. Then I went over to close the chickens in, and the Chickens Of Doom had scratched the leaves onto the path so thickly that I slipped and fell, pulling some unfortuante muscles. So tommorow I will wear the truss.

Because tomorrow we go to the Fair and see if I won any prizes.

Oh, Happy Happy Joy Joy, the mats all fit, the tea house progresses!

And today was the very first time I have ever spent a day gluing macaroni to the walls. But yes, that is what I was doing.

Today was the day to do my entries in the Lake County Fair. Yesterday should have been submission of my agriculture entry, but I was in Santa Rosa getting my lower plate fixed and making the pain go away: and discovering that Home Depot at the northern end of Santa Rosa has done away with casheirs, leaving one poor young woman to deal with all the angry cusutomers who did not come there to work for Home Depot for free.

Frankly, when I am forced to use a computer program for which I have not been trained, and not been paid to be trained, then it is time to get pissed off. Home Depot has been attractive because its prices are slightly lower that other places. If I have to go to work for them as a cashier for mine own purchases, then I need to be paid for that work: and they are no longer lower priced than, say, Lowes, which is somewhat cleaner and more attractive as a store. They thus join several other Big Box stores in making themselves unattractive places to shop.

Most of us are familliar enough with computers that using one is not really a thrill: its work. One is supposed to be paid for work.

And while I am being irate: I put up posters for Ghosts of Olompali down at my local post office, and a couple days later discovered that some vigilante, using her or his own set of standards as to what should be there, had ripped them, and several other things, off the board and put them under a rock on the bench.

Well, that just gives me an opening to talk about the show. In my life NOBODY ESCAPES THE COMMERCIAL. It's what Totalitarian, Business Dominated, America has earned. Telemarketers Beware! You WILL write down the names of all the books my family has ever written!

They tell me that if I wiin three blue ribbons at the fair I become a professional. I think that means I have to open mine own flower shop or something.

No, My Fellow Americans, YOU do not have Altzheimer's, your computer has it, and the business world is trying to convince you that you have it, so they can cheat you better.

I say semi-fast because I didn't have to fast for a whole day, just a big part of one.

My doctor wanted me to have some blood work done. I don't know why. I think they were out of jello shots at the vampire cafe or some such. Anyway, he suggested it last time I saw him, and the only proviso was that I could not eat or drink for 8 hours before the bloodletting.

Which is all very well for people who live ten minutes from the hospital, but I do not. I live more than an hour away, and over two mountains. Just getting up in the morning (morning - shudder!) is bad enough! But not having coffee, or food, or vitamins, and being expected to be capable of safely driving to an appointment to have my epidermis violated.. Well, I had to go to the dentist to retrieve my lower plate, with a new tooth installed, so I figured that would be the day. And it was.

After bleeding I went to the dentist, who noted that the extraction had come along nicely, and I got the new plate. But by the time I got to a restaurant, and food, I had been without nourishment for 17 hours or more! It was as difficult on my system as if I had been directing "Long Day's Journey Into Night."

I went to the Hawaiian Barbecue fast food and ate.

And I shopped for my upcoming entry at the County Fair.

***

By Sunday my new partial was hurting so bad I could barely eat. Not on the side where the new tooth and the extraction was, but on the other side. Felt as if I were enduring strep throat and diphtheria at the same time.

And Jonathon and I had to go to Sausalito to pick up the new tatami.

They are beautiful, but we don't know yet whether they will fit. More adjustments to the room are going to be necessary, and by the time we got back it was dark. He barely had time to get them unloaded and into the tea house before night closed in.

By today my jaw and throat hurt so bad I had to take the plate out. My dentist will see me tommorrow and fix it, I am sure. This evening it was time for the kids to go to gymnastics. Next week Byron will be promoted to the Big Boys class, so I will be taking them on separate days: and today he started kindergarten, so all the kids at class were in a zany mood.

I got the iris planting started.

"Ghosts of Olompali" opens on the 8th, and there is the County Fair this coming weekend.

I need to slow down a little, and be careful not to fast so much.

This weekend I performed as Mark Twain at the Riverboat Casino benefit for the Vallejo Music Theater. Unfortunately for them, everybody in California seemed to have scheduled an event this weekend, so they only got half as many people as they expected. No mind, the ones they got were quality folks.

I think the biggest support group for the theater is the Fire Department. I shared honors with Doc Holiday, portrayed by a fireman, and there were firemen everywhere! This led to a silent auction in which the firemen provided things like a dinner for six with abalone for which the firemen had done the diving, cooked and served by the firemen. --This led to much excitement among the ladies, who wanted to know what the firemen would be wearing.

"An apron," said Doc Holiday, and the bidding reached a frenzy. --Well, there was one fireman who insisted that he had to wear pants with his apron.

But there were more things involving firefighters, and soon it became apparent that the caterers for the event were going to outbid everyone but the firemen themselves! Oh, there were many other neat things in the auction as well, but I think next year they may as well just auction off firefighter prizes.

They put me up in the Union Hotel in Benicia, and nice bed and breakfast which was surrounded, when I first got there, by a street fair; so I changed at the theater. Then again, it was the 150th anniversary of Mare Island, which competed. But, we had some folks from Mare Island at the event, including a man who had worked on the famous submarine that sank in dock before launching.

I had a great time, and they are wonderful folks. Their next production is "Dido and Aeneas," which is a novel followup to "The Sound of Music." Later, they will be staging 'The Last Night Dinner on the Titanic," with Molly Brown's great great grand daughter in attendance, and a recreation of some items on the menu. Weak moderns could not face the menu even as well as they could face the sinking.

Each member of the party will receive a ticket printed with a name from the passenger list, and at the end, you will find out whether you lived or died.

Next week I will be the host at a Tea event at the college in Sacramento. I'm a bit terrified at that, as it has been years since I did a demo as host. We will only get the list of items that we will use the night before!

And then it will be full time for "Ghosts of Olompali," about which you can discover more by going to the Timegames website.

And, the tatami mats may be ready for the tea house this week!

It is entertaining being an entertainer.

Oh yes: about the title. When I got home it was a balmy 105. By midnight it had plunged to 50!

Global cooling, that's what I fear!