Naked toes

It was warm enough this afternoon that after my bike ride to Winters, I put on capris, a T-shirt under a long-sleeved shirt, and, mon Dieu! pulled my sandals out of the closet and put 'em on. (This was followed hastily by a quick-and-dirty application of toenail polish so we could look our best.)


Walked downtown feeling springy. By 5 p.m., though, the air was chilly again and I swapped the T-shirt for a turtleneck and the sandals for warm socks. Still, sandals are right up there with blossoms and robins as harbingers of spring. That, and Spring Training, which trumps them all and begins just 3-1/2 days from now.

Pomposity or ignorance? You make the call . . .

Back at the Center for Mind and Brain this afternoon to participate in another experiment. Before the experiment began, I filled out and signed a couple of forms, including a consent form. A sign posted in the lab reads: "Steps to consent a subject." I nearly wept.

Oncle Gordo's Bag of Treeks

One of the first Sunday comics I remember reading was "Gordo," drawn by a man named Gus Arriola. Gordo was a Mexican. He had a nephew, Pepito, a dog named Señor Dog, a donkey and probably some other critters. He was big and fat, he wore a sombrero, and he got himself into situations that even a 6-year-old like me found funny, predicaments or being annoyed with Pepito that always brought forth an "Ay, carramba!"

Gordo's best prop was his "bag of treeks," a very large Santa Claus-like sack. I can't remember anything of what was actually in it. But what I do remember is that when the summer I was 6 years old and my family set out from San Diego to drive to my grandmother's house in Lincoln, Nebraska, my mother produced her version of Oncle Gordo's bag of treeks. In a big bag (clearly labled "Oncle Gordo's Bag of Treeks") were games, coloring books, small toys, maybe Lifesavers or some gum. Every morning, as we started out on another day of driving, Mom would open the bag and pull something out for us.

Gus Arriola died this past Saturday; he was 90 years old. I haven't seen a "Gordo" comic strip in probably 50 years, but I've never forgotten Oncle Gordo and his bag of treeks or my mom's whimsical, affectionate, and clever way to keep two little girls amused on a long car trip.

Super Tuesday aftermath

[N.B. This was written last night as an e-mail to the E Street caucus . . . ]

I worked the polls all day, got home about 9:40. My precint had 226 votes cast (Phil was one of 'em), not exactly a huge turnout but a lot of Absent Voters, too. So, the votes are in . . . I voted for Barack, having meditated, thought, prayed about it. Hillary seems to have taken California, good for her. I know Dorothy is pleased, and maybe Phil and Linda, too . . . maybe others? I'm not displeased, no matter who the Dems nominate will be strong. Look to beating McCain, since he appears to be the front-runner and the likely Republican candidate.

I'm blathering . . . long day . . . but momentum and attitude are everything; sometimes, with enough attitude, you don't even need momentum.

Let's work for change, no matter who brings it home.

Flinging into spring

Spring has its official start when the vernal equinox rolls around, this year ca. March 20, but try telling that to this precocious stunner up on 10th Street . . .

The bees had discovered it before I did; when I took this picture, I could hear their buzzing. Maybe if you look closely, you can see them . . .