REQUIEM
The deadly Metro Rail crash this morning took place in the town of my birth. Also, it's my sister's birthday, who also greeted the world for the first time in this Los Angeles town, six years earlier than me. I know there must be some kind of synchronistic meaning to this, but I don't know what it is. Or just an odd coincidence....On second thought, that's far more likely.

But again, such strange and sudden tragedies and their ironic details -- the crash was caused by a man who wished to commit suicide by parking his car on the tracks, then chickened out at the last minute -- point up the apparently twisted arbitrariness of life of this planet and the ways in which single individuals by their impulsive acts can affect large numbers of others.

We don't hear as much about the ones who silently go about healing and loving and supporting others, enhancing lives instead of cutting them short. They're around -- many were on hand to help the injured at the crash site, firemen and policemen and other emergency professionals, and some concerned bystanders. There's a bumper sticker that reads: "COMMIT SUDDEN ACTS OF KINDNESS AND SENSELESS BEAUTY." Obviously the treacherous guy responsible for today's news would post something directly opposite this sweet saying, should he wish to commemorate what he accomplished today. Without doubt, he'll be commemorated by others with no less disdain and resentment than people like Osama or Abu Musab al Zarqawi, even if his act was largely unintentional. In widest terms, terrorism knows no particular land or ideology. It can be deliberate or accidental. It's the bane of the 21st Century, and I saw it today, too closely. Way too closely.

FOR THE MAILMAN
Firstly: the rain has passed, and it feels like the roiling tempest bathed our lives eons ago, and the sun feels so sweetly warm, balmy as whipped cream on peach pie, the sky a pure cerulean (spelled correctly?) blue. Rainstorm? What rainstorm?

I made a point of getting out a lot today, mostly prompted by my current crafts project: New mailbox! Or, should I say, renovated mailbox. Ever since we moved here, our mailbox has been set loosely atop a metal frame with no base for the box itelf, causing it to tip precariously every time the mailman tries to insert our daily, personal stack of recycled tree pulp. We had a note from the mailman not too long ago, complaining. So, finally taking the broad hint, I whizzed down to Home Depot and purchased some industrial strength adhesive. As a base, I used an old board from some rotting fence. Adhered it to the metal frame with "Better'n Nails," found some old gray-blue spray paint, made my own address stencil, dug up some fuschia acrylic, and VOILA! "new" mailbox.(Photo to come.) But the item is not the piece of beautifully crafted, precious art I was hoping for. But at least it kept me out of trouble today.

Well, not completely. My Santa Clauses down in the Marina gave me this cool visor with a cocktail logo. Tipping my hat to the tippler in me--if you'll pardon the pun-- I've been experimenting with mixed drinks.... I am now consuming a Brandy Sling: brandy, lemon juice, and Triple Sec on ice. Oh, tart. Tart!! Added some Pepsi. Soooooo, I've ceased moaning about my lost career as a professional mailbox painter. But my mailman is happier!

VIEW TO A STORM

A picture is worth many, many words. This is the view we were forced to absorb yesterday from my home-office window. The shock of the strange! Dazed by drips! Crazed by currents! Ravaged by rivers! Slain by seas . . . Well, it isn't quite Banda Aceh, thank the Lord, but here we be, in a Southern California I've never seen before: Wet. Drenched. Soaked, slurpy, silty and saturated. Please, at least let this be the end of the drought! The roots of my roses come loose in the mush. Things float on by in my garage floor. And if all that weren't bad enough, appalling ants are crawling on my walls.

Is this the end of the world?

BUCKWHEAT UPDATE
Since this is "His Place," I thought it only right on a slowish Friday to note some new developments regarding my peach of a pooch: Not much! Though the cold and rainy weather has given more opportunities for cuddle time on the couch. (And yes, I know, it's a bit of a bizarre closeness we two different species enjoy. I'm perfectly okay with the fact that Mr. Wheat allows me to indulge some thwarted maternal instincts. I do my own psycho-readouts, thank you very much, and so far have discovered nothing perverting family values or even mildly less than joyful and normal. Well, if not quite normal, at least satisfying to all family members.) Don's a tad jealous that Buckwheat doesn't cuddle with him, but I've been more or less encouraging this particularly affectionate behavior since puppyhood, and on the larger couch. Don's spot is the love seat, and would only be large enough for both of them if Don were a skinny 7-year-old or Buckwheat was a bichon frise. (I coulda said "toy poodle," but that's so passe!) But I'm glad they're not....though Don could stand to be skinnier. And, yes Don, me, too.

But that reminds me. If I have only one complaint about having this wonderful pet, it would be the fact that we can't responsibly get new living room furniture. It would be a waste! But what a small price to pay for the love of a dog. Especially this one, about whom Don kiddingly remarks,"Mom and I sure like you lots, Buckwheat. We're not quite sure why...." Well, as most pet owners know, it's a quality called UNCONDITIONAL LOVE. Dogs have completely mastered that aspect of high spiritual consciousness, so it's like living with an angel. An angel with fur. And that fur is all over the place!