Oh, well. That's OK. Because this year you get a 29th day to do more in February.
Doesn't it seem odd that adding a day and making the year longer should be called "Leap Year"? Yeah, yeah, I know why we do it. I'm just thinking that leaping ordinarily closes a gap. Sure, I suppose an argument can be made that leaping lengthens a distance and thus is an appropriate analogy for adding a day to every fourth year, and I've had a couple of long-jumpers in the family so I can appreciate the value-added, so to speak, but I can't shake the feeling that the marketing department is manipulating my emotions and trying to make me feel joyful about a longer wait until my birthday. Leap Year, Schmeap Year. Let's get to my birthday already!
Alright. Since we've got all this extra time on our hands, let's glance back over my shoulder to see a lovely Saturday drive to Moonstone Beach after which I backtracked to charming Paso Robles to visit the Goodwill store, public library, a Thai restaurant, and the comfy Paso Robles Inn.
Sure I could have done like all the other tourists and visited the eleventy hundred wineries winding through the coastal foothills, or enjoyed a fresh seafood meal within sniffing distance of the actual Pacific. Or I could have at least snapped a few shots of the amazing scenery to decorate my
world-famous neighborhood-famous? humble blog. But I decided to enjoy the getaway in my own style and so the unglamourous thrifting and book-browsing and Thai-food-eating were not captured in visual images, except in my memories.
Speaking of doing things my way...
...I'm finding myself writing more these days. Drawing words. Like you sometimes see in the movies about last century. Before we typed everything on keypads and touch screens. Back around Nineteen ninety-something? Remember analog writing with pen to paper?
It feels good. It could lead to more writing here, and fewer photos. (Oh, wait. Hmmm. Looks like the "fewer photos" is already happening. Not so much for the "more writing here". But it could happen.) Perhaps some experimentation with focused essays or stories or haiku or comic strips or.... nah, I'm not making any promises about what you will or will not encounter here.
Because I rarely know myself until I park my fanny in the chair and try to bring some order to the chaos that is My Mind.
I'm currently enjoying a book about Julia Morgan Architect, who has inspired me since fifth grade when I had a summer school class in architectural drawing. Yeah. It was back in the glory days when we voluntarily signed up for "enrichment" at the local public school. During summer. And we bought popsicles at the 9:30 a.m. break. For a dime. I also learned to play guitar in summer school. And to sew. And to count to ten in Japanese.
Back to Julia Morgan.
And the photographs in the Julia Morgan Architect book.
And the memory images that populate My Mind.
I graduated law school when I was 40. I am not now, nor have I ever been, a practicing attorney, but that's a story for another day.
The dean of the law school I attended was petite and quirky. She was a graduate of Boalt Hall Berkeley. She taught Torts to every incoming class of first-year law students. I'll never forget her.
And now she's all mashed up in my mind with Julia Morgan. They are both boundary-breaking Berkeley-educated females, small in stature and mighty in will. That's not so unusual I guess, but the more I learn about Julia, the more I wonder if the dean is Julia reincarnated. These two women keep dancing around and around in my thoughts.
Kind of like the llamas that made me laugh when Snow Patrol's Chasing Cars came on while I was driving through the green hills on my way to the coast Saturday. What started out as a singular image multiplied in My Mind until the hills were alive with the Sound of Llamas. The song is entirely ruined for me forever (in a good way) because of this, and now it will be for you, too: