My next-door neighbor's daughter came knocking at my back door this afternoon.  She's a beautiful eighteen year old girl who is only vaguely aware of how attractive she has become.  Seemingly overnight, she metamorphosed from a chunky tomboy into a shapely goddess and, she hasn't yet learned how to work those assets to her best advantage.

Today, she stood at my door, trembling with fear.  She had been out jogging when a man accosted her with unwanted advances.  While he had not done anything that would be considered overtly threatening, he failed to heed her brush off and followed her home in his truck, chatting her up along the way.  She was terrified.

I doubt that this young man intended to scare her, I'm sure he just wanted a date.  He was, after all, in a company truck and he gave her his card.  He never considered the fact that from her vantage point he was intimidating. 

Here's how she saw him:  Jogging alone, she had already suffered unsolicited offers of a "ride" from occupants of two other vehicles.  She first noticed him when he drove past her from the opposite direction.  She observed that he doubled back and stopped just ahead of her.  Wearing dark glasses, a dew rag, long sleeves and gloves, he beckoned to her to engage her in conversation.  Now, most of us who have seen Silence of the Lambs, would have had bells clanging in our heads at this point.  But, he was in a well known company's truck which lends him some respectability so she politely responded to his request.

Here's how he saw her:  It's a lovely spring day and a young man's thoughts turn to love, especially when he sees a live woman of breedable age.  He's enchanted by her long supple legs as she jogs down the road so he whips a u-turn to have a second look.  Oh, yes, he must throw his hat into this ring he thinks. 

He lays his best lines on her and she responds tepidly.  He is, beyond all reason, encouraged by that little head telling him, "I like her".  Her responses to his advances grow more terse until finally she tries to terminate the encounter by moving on saying, "Have a nice day".  Lil' head says, "C'mon, dude, you just didn't try hard enough, I REALLY like her."  So, he drives along beside her, chatting her up, without a single thought (or care) of what she's thinking.

I love men, always have and I love attention from men.  However, there are situations where their attentions are not appreciated.  I will attempt to enumerate a few of those situations:

1.  NEVER accost a target when she is alone.  If she's in a group of women, you could try, but be careful as women emboldened by their sisters can be brutal.  By accost I mean don't whistle, don't speak to her, don't hang your head out the window.  If there is the slightest chance she may feel vulnerable, pretend you never even noticed her.  At most, you may wave and smile if SHE looks at YOU.

2.  Don't make contact, visual or verbal, with a target when she is in the company of a man.  He may look like her daddy but you never know.

3.  If you see a woman peeing in the bushes, do NOT acknowledge her existence, unless she asks you for a tissue. 

4.  Here's a tricky one; don't stop to help a woman whose car has broken down on the side of the road unless you have the wife and kids with you.  Also, make sure the wife's black eye is no longer obvious.  You may look like the most harmless geek on earth but we've seen Silence of the Lambs.    

5.  If you feel compelled to bend any of the previous four rules of engagement, be exceedingly cognizant of the signals the female is sending.  For most men that's very difficult when the pea brain below the belt is doing the thinking. 

Imagine yourself responding to the amorous advances of a gorilla who is twice as strong as you are.  That's how women think about men they don't know in situations where they are vulnerable. 

Mike installed the new Fox shock today so we felt compelled to take it out for a test ride.  I don't have any idea how long the 5th Element shock had not been working because I'm kind of clueless when it comes to subtleties in performance like that.  In addition to the rear shock being all but inoperable, the front fork had been set up way too stiff to suit me.

At first I couldn't tell much difference because we started off on the pavement but as soon as we hit the trail I realized what I had been missing.  It was on the warm side, and humid, which made the climb just short of miserable but as soon as we headed downhill it was all good. 

It's always fun to follow Mike down a technical trail because he always picks the perfect line.  I love it when he trims his speed just enough for me to stay with him and emulate his moves.  He's pure magic on a singletrack!  He boosts my confidence when he stops to wait for me and marvels at how close behind I was.  A couple of times my worn rear tire lost its grip in a tight turn but it wasn't catastrophic as the front tire held the line.  It was just enough to give me a little thrill.

Tomorrow Sally's coming up with her new Cannondale so we're gonna shred those trails.  Mountain biker chicks gone wild!

I got an invitation to friendship & subscription today from someone who, in his words, had been lurking on my site.  I perused his site to determine if he was subscription worthy and was tickled pink to find, not only was his site worthwhile, his recommendations were also right up my alley.  What a day brightener to have two new subscriptions that I didn't even have to hunt for.  Thanks Owbert! 

I took the town bike up to the vacant land I own, because the county claims that I owe them for some weed abatement that I had paid a neighbor boy to do.  They provided me with a photo of the area that they claim I neglected to clear, so my intention was to determine if their photo was actually of my land.  I didn't need the trailer but it was hooked up and I was too lazy to remove it, so I pulled it up the hill just for the extra exercise. 

I examined the entire north border of my property and couldn't replicate the view in the photo the county had taken.

It was such a beautiful spring day!  I decided to pedal up the dirt trail that you can see behind the bike, even though the town bike isn't really set up for off road riding and the trailer has a tendency to flip over if I run a wheel up over a rock.  The trail meandered through the rocks and brush and eventually turned towards the houses that sit at the front of these huge lots.  Not wanting to arouse the ire of the land owners (or tenants), I set off cross country knowing I would eventually intersect another trail.

This would have been a lot of fun on my mountain bike.

The going got a bit rough and I had to get off and walk because I didn't want to flip the trailer.  Eventually, I did encounter the trail again but not before I had several new punctures and scratches on my arms and legs. 

One of the things they don't tell you about getting old is that your skin gets really fragile.  Well, I'm here to tell you. 

Here's a picture of domestic tranquility, Mike having afternoon tea on the porch.  The basket under the bench is a bed for one of our stray cats, DB (short for Dolly's Brother).

Don't you just love the screen door he built?  He's so clever!  Is it bad form to suggest you visit his site if you want to see more of his work?  He's Luthierman here on Xanga.  I named him that because he makes such beautiful guitars.

For the education of you folks who have never been unemployed I thought I'd paint a picture for you of a typical day.

First off I read email and respond to Xanga comments while still in my jammies.  Oops, I mean my crotchless teddy.  I'm trying to broaden my readership here.  Maybe I make breakfast for Mike (if he's nice to me) and sometimes, if he's been extra good, I make his lunch too.  Once he's out the door I go outside for a shower.  Today it was raining a little but not hard enough to get my towel too wet.  At least it was warm enough outside to shave my legs without shaving off the goose bumps.

Then it's off to the gym.  I chat up a few of my friends, ogle the young trainer guys, run a couple of miles, lift some weights and finish with some yoga.  Ah, now I feel really good! 

I needed to get a baby shower gift for my cousin's son's baby, due in March, so I drove across town, to Target where they're registered.  Yes, I drove the car instead of the bike.  It was raining and I'd just done my hair. 

It looks like the bad economy hasn't hit the Hispanic population, I was almost the only white person in the store.  There was one white woman with her mother.  They both had greasy hair and bad haircuts.  They were buying Saint Patrick's Day happy crap. 

I like shopping with Hispanics; they make me look tall.  And thin.  You know you're poor when the prices at Target seem high.  (She sighs remembering when she shopped at Nordstrom.)  I looked at yoga mats but decided $30 was too much to spend when I can just layer my thin one over one of the extra fragrant ones they have at the college. 

In no hurry to get home to Judge Judy and Dr. Phil, I browsed, marveling at all the stuff that people evidently need.  Ironically, the selection of truly practical things is very slim.  I was looking for some small glass bowls with covers suitable for heating/cooking in the microwave since I read there may be some health concerns over plastic.  There were none but they had a lovely asparagus steamer.  Who in the *!# has room to store an asparagus steamer?  Oh, yeah, those folks with the 4,000 square foot homes that are in foreclosure, that's who.

I shouldn't be so sarcastic because I truly love my little house with the Taj Mahal bathroom. 

Back home, I watched an Indian film called Water.  What a day brightener!  It's about widows in India who have three choices when their husbands die:  Be cremated with him (that would be my first choice); marry his younger brother (hmm, some young stuff, that might not be too bad) or go live with other widows in a convent like place where you have to beg for a living.  For the older women it's bad enough but some widows are as young as seven years old and they can never remarry.  It was so tragic, I bawled like a baby at the end.  Great film!

Finally, I forced myself to make some phone calls.  My rear shock is blown up and needs to be rebuilt.  The county is hitting me up for weed abatement fees again after I paid a kid to clear them.  Mom needs a dental appointment.  All give me an excuse to procrastinate on doing my income taxes.

And then it was happy hour.  Yay!

http://www.theweek.com/article/index/93165/Salma_Hayeks_generous_breast

I read that Selma Hayek generously breast-fed another woman's son on an international flight.  (Can you imagine the bragging rights that kid will have in high school?  "Yeah, I sucked Selma Hayek's tits.")  I surmised that the baby's own mother was unable to produce enough milk for him, probably because one get's so dehydrated on a long flight. 

I'm sure there will be all kinds of outcry from folks who are so smitten with women's breasts that they think it's an outrage that they are wasted on feeding infants.  Then there will be the people who will be chagrinned that she shared her bounty with a stranger's child.  "Eww, what about the germs?!?!?" they will say, in their fake concern for the infant's health.  Yeah, let's ignore the detrimental effects of dehydration and starvation which are immediate and inevitable.

Every person on that flight should thank Ms. Hayek for soothing that baby and preserving their sanity.  But they probably won't.  It's much more fun to take her down a notch by criticizing her basic humanity. 

Change of subject:  If you're interested in travel writing, the book I'm currently reading (on loan from my sister Babs430) is just plain wonderful.  Written by Tanya Shaffer, it's about her travels in Ghana as a volunteer.  Don't worry, it's not about some naive do-gooder, it's just her way of making an intimate acquaintance with the locals and traveling on the cheap. 

I so admire women who have the courage to explore the world and immerse themselves in the discomforts and dangers of the unknown.  Dervla Murphy is another author of great stories of exploration.  (Her best, in my opinion, is Full Tilt - Dunkirk to Delhi by Bicycle) 

One of their most courageous feats is the act of leaving their loved ones behind.  They know that all relationships require tending and every neglected one we leave behind is endangered.  Yet, they trust that the bonds can be restored upon their return, or replaced if not.  As much as I like to travel, I will never have that kind of courage.

As we age we notice certain changes happening to our bodies.  When we're kids, those changes are welcome, exciting and slow to materialize.  Guys, remember when you graduated to big boy, pull-up pants from diapers?  Girls, how about when you first noticed you had more than just nipples on your bony little chest?  Gosh, I couldn't wait to look twenty-one!

Well, somewhere along the line, probably when I attained legal drinking age, the thrill of physical maturation evaporated.  Then I learned to take pleasure in intellectual and emotional growth.  But now I've come to the stage in life where even that part of aging may have lost its luster.

I had my bi-monthly color weave and haircut today.  I've always had dark blond/brown hair that turned blonde in the summer and returned to dirty-looking dark roots in the winter.  So, I do what any woman does who was born to be blonde, I lighten it.  Recently nature has been doing its own weave, not exactly blonde but I'm not one to complain about a little detail like that.  I'm actually looking forward to having enough silver to quit the lightening process altogether.

After my hair was all blonde and fluffy, I went to the gym where I donned my cutest gym outfit.  My vainglorious self image was futher enhanced by one of the trainers who commented on how cute I looked.  I ran 2.5 miles in just under 28 minutes and then did some gentle stretching to loosen up for my yoga class.  I was feeling damn good.

The aforementioned trainer was working with a client nearby and telling her it was okay to vocalize her discomfort.  She said, "Feel free to groan  bit".  She pointed to the guy next to me on the mat and said, "He often goes 'rawr' when he's straining".  "I'm just grateful when I don't fart!" I confided. 

So, when I headed for the locker room to shower, I had a sense of well being.  I pulled off my sweaty clothes, standing on my workout towel, and removed the lock from my locker.  I opened the door to find the locker was empty.

This gym isn't fancy, in fact, it isn't even clean.  But, in spite of all the signs warning one NOT to leave valuables in the lockers, I had placed my purse (including car keys and cell phone) in the locker.  I don't normally do this but today I was especially blonde.

With my mind churning about how I would get home, how I would contact my bank, credit card company, DMV, etc. I put my now COLD and WET clothes back on and traipsed out to the front desk to use their phone.  There, to my relief, were Charlie and Ernie, old friends who I knew would help me get home to retrieve the spare car key.

The man at the desk was sympathetic as he pulled out a pad of forms used to report incidences of theft.  He sadly admitted that this was not an isolated incident.  When I showed him my sturdy lock, he got a puzzled look on his face.  He said, "Are you sure it was your locker?" 

I said "Of course, here's my key in my lock."  Duh, did he think I was blonde, or what?

"No, are you sure you put your lock on YOUR locker?" he asked patiently.

Oh, dear.  Now I'm experiencing mixed emotions:  Hope, that he's onto something; Fear, that I'm going to look like a complete fool; and doubt in my own competency.  As luck would have it, my things were still safely nestled in the locker next to the one I had put my lock on, completely unmolested. 

Ah, my faith in the basic goodness of my fellow woman was restored and my sense of wellbeing as well.  You see, I may be blonde but I have GOOD Karma.  Don'tcha know, 'tis better to be lucky than skilled? 

We woke up to a lovely cold, wet day with nothing to do.  Actually we had lots to do but decided to do the fun things first. 

First on the thrill agenda was three mile lope around the neighborhood...

Under brooding clouds and a disapproving crow I trotted out towards the wash (aka the Santa Ana River) ahead of Mike who doesn't seem to require as much of a slow warm up as I do. 

The electric plant steams in the west and Larry's equipment lies at rest.

A rock weir box stands as a reminder that this area was once covered with orange groves.

I passed under the flight path of the Redlands airport as a pilot took off in the uphill direction...kind of odd.

Mike caught up with me and we jogged up the levy together until we reached the two-track that brings us back to the orange grove.

At the fence I paused to photograph someone's personal trash dump

A bee keeper's empty hives, stored at the side of the trail, must have been painted with leftover paint from his daughter's bedroom.

And last, as promised to Michel, photos of my winter/spring garden...

The newly prepared bed awaiting planting.

The nectarine tree in bloom.

And the remnants of the summer/fall garden.

The bush center front is a radish that I left in hoping it would provide seed.  It's now the size of a huge beet and is beginning to blossom.  Next to it is a volunteer dill, behind that bib lettuce, romaine lettuce, arugula and a couple of tomato plants that just keep producing tomatoes even though the plants look on the verge of death.

I thinned and transplanted strawberries in the mud today.  It was painful to have to dig out plants that were already blossoming but it was my own fault for having procrastinated so long.

It's starting to look a little grim on the employment scene.  The last time I was between opportunities work just kinda found me.  A friend needed temp help in his medical office while his office manager was on medical leave, then a friend of his called me to cover for his front office girl while she was indisposed.  One thing just led to another and sooner than I would have liked, I was back working full time.

This time feels different.  Nobody is ringing me asking if I would condescend to grace their office with my expertise.  Even Mike hasn't offered me any serious work, unless you call grinding epoxy off the back of marble tiles for $15/hr serious.

Thank goodness I have a little put away for a rainy day and Mike still has a backlog of jobs waiting.  That said, he let the homeowner chisel him down about 30% on the job he's doing now rather than let it go to Jesus (that's Haysoos to you gringos). 

Mike is one of those skilled craftsmen who have been all but pushed to extinction by the influx of cheap labor from south of the border.  He's never short of work however, because he has a clientele who not only appreciates his meticulous attention to detail, but is willing to pay for it. 

Early on in this job he ran into complications that were clearly going to extend the job way longer than his bid had allowed.  He normally works only on a time and materials basis but made an exception because the client is really good looking.  Seriously, she's a friend from the gym and is a nice girl AND she's beautiful.  But I digress.

So, when he encountered said impediment to his making craftsman wages, and was wracking his brain to find a solution to the problem which would allow him to at least make minimum wage, I suggested he ask himself, "What would Jesus do?".  (Again, that's pronounced Haysoos for the sake of the joke). 

It remains to be seen whether he makes a living wage on this job but I know for a fact, the customer will be pleased with the job when it's finished and five years from now, when she decides to redecorate the palace, he will be cursing himself for laying a marble floor that would have lasted a lifetime.

My heart goes out to those folks out there who have lost their jobs and need to find other employment fast.  Kenwats, Queenie, and others whose blogs I read, are so obviously talented that I'm sure they will find something even when they are competing against 113 other applicants for a $15 an hour job.  (Queenie, if you didn't get hired on the spot, they're idiots.)

The important thing to remember is that we are not less valuable than when we were gainfully employed.  We aren't less intelligent, less witty, less loveable, less sexy or even less happy, just because we are less wealthy.  If we are healthy and loved, we can succeed at life.  (Kenwats, quit smoking!!!!  You're too brilliant to do self-destructive shit like that.)

Oh, dear, I shouldn't drink wine at the keyboard.  Please forgive me.

Caution:  Do not play this video if explicit sexual content is offensive to you. 

The monstrous $825 billion stimulus bill that our new administration is pushing began moving through Congress this week.  It includes among other things, $30 billion for bridges and highways, $50 million for the National Endowment for the Arts, $400 million for global warming research, $2 billion in child care subsidies, $252 billion in Medicaid payments and other entitlement programs, but nothing to fund purchases of contraceptives through Medicaid.  That's a nod to bipartisan politics.

I may be naive when it comes to economics but when it comes to stimulus, now that's my field of expertise.  It would seem to me that any stimulus program should include funding for contraception.  Don'cha think it's a little short sighted to have folks makin' babies they can't afford in these hard economic times.  The cost of family planning is negligible when compared to the cost of raising a passel of kids.

Today I attended the wedding of a couple who each had been married three times previously.  It was a wonderful party, good food, plenty of potable wine, an awesome cake, and best of all, a short ceremony. 

One would think that after taking vows three times before, they could have recited them from memory, but at their age (both pushing 60) the memory isn't that good.  The minister dictated the vows in two or three word segments so they had little difficulty repeating them and since the reverend had the names written down, he could remind them of each other's names. 

The celebration was held on the patio at the groom's home, which is situated in a lovely orange grove in the foothills, and it was a warm, clear afternoon.  The organist failed to show up so the groom played the wedding march on his electric guitar accompanied by his base player/best man as the blushing bride joined him at the altar.  After the refreshingly short but tender ceremony, the bride joined the ensemble shaking her gourds (go ahead, I meant you to have that visual image) in rhythm with the two guitarists as the groom sang.  The audience was captivated.  Or is that a captive audience? 

At any rate, I was more than a little envious of the optimism of these two lovers who, after suffering the dissolution of three previous unions, still could believe that this time it would last forever.  They pledged their troth for no other reason than a fervent desire to commit themselves to each other for the rest of their lives.  Well, that and perhaps for the sake of any children that might result from the union. 

On the way home Mike was rather quiet and I asked him what he was thinking.  He said he was composing our wedding vows in his head.  Nonplussed, I asked him to share his thoughts but all he would divulge is that our guests would be scandalized.  After living together in sin for sixteen years I can't imagine how we could scandalize anyone unless we had my sister join us.  She's an excellent housekeeper so I certainly wouldn't object.