book virus, and some other things

I caught the virus from brooksmoses. It goes:

Grab the nearest book.
Open the book to page 23.
Find the fifth sentence.
Post the text of the sentence in your journal, along with these instructions.

Used only for certain taxa included in Index of Rare and Endangered Plants of California(CNPS). some of which have been accorded such legal status by the state of California.

Okay, now what? We know that Brooks has a technical book close to hand, and I have ( oh come on, guess before you peek )

But we knew that already.

Things I want to remember from this weekend.

I've never been lost in the woods before. The thing about it was that it was dark, and we missed a turning in the path, and ended up in a lot of brush. We weren't very lost: not far from the road, which was a very main road indeed. And the night was balmy and without excessive moisture, and as soon as dawn broke, if we had gotten stuck, we could have seen exactly where the road was. And the wildlife in that forest is mostly harmless (there might be a mountain lion, but not in the forest where we were, more over in land that is both more open -- in the sense of less trees -- and more secret. There are certainly raccoons and coyotes, which might have caused trouble for the dog, but not us). So a night in the forest was not unthinkable and one of us who is not me did think it. So we saw a light in the general direction of the road, and followed it through some very rasty underbrush including brambles and some trappy thickets of saplings -- and apparently no poison oak as I'm no itchier than usual -- and came out on the road maybe 1/4 or 1/2 a mile above where our car was. We were lost for about half an hour.

We've never done this before. We've gotten caught by darkness before, but we've never missed the path before. And it was my fault we were so late on the path: I am terribly out of shape from not teaching and from sitting in front of the computer being about to write real soon now after I read this one more blog -- not from sitting in front of the computer writing: though I feel as if I have been productive, it's a minority of my time that it takes in the actual writing -- because once I start writing it goes quite fast and then suddenly, like when I drink alcohol, I just can't do that anymore, even though I know exactly what comes next. I should be like other people, who do that important procrastination while they are cleaning the house or walking the dog or something. Also I should work harder at extending the time before the stoppage.

Resolutions: to work up a sweat every day: to make a mushroom-and-wildflower backpack with a flashlight, waterbottle, and knife (for the mushrooms, silly, not to survive with) and paper bags for the mushrooms too: to carry my phone on walks like this, so if we ever do get lost again we can have comforting sips of water and call home to tell the kids to put the soup on and not wait, we might be a while.


We went to see the Mayan exhibit. I need to remember the figure of God L, who is just like the Judas figure in the stories in the Tedlock book. I don't know what to do with a deity who smokes thin cigars, dresses up nice, and has a lot of wealth, and lives underground, but it seems important somehow. And the other thing I need to remember is how gorgeous the representational art is, and that I saw not a suggestion of human sacrifice, though the royalty were doing all sorts of nondangerous things to themselves to make themselves bleed. And the surprising protective clothing of the ball players. And the mysterious "eccentric flints" which are strange squiggles of flint, or chert, and I think one was obsidian, all points and wiggles and edges, and buried under statues and architectural features.

And there's a baby possum under the dishwasher. There's been entirely too much wildlife around our house, riling up the dog, being shadows in the night, eating the fruit that's still on the trees (well, they're welcome to that, I can't reach it). The nice fellow went into the kitchen and said he saw a rat, and called the dog -- who likes to think she is a mighty hunter -- and said, "no, it's a baby possum," and tried to sic the dog on the possum anyway, but the dog was clumsy and the possum holed up under the dishwasher. And now we have to leave the dog-and-cat door open all night so it can leave when it decides we've forgotten about it.

My neighbor's house was destroyed by possums nesting in the walls.

My father is on a grand quest to unravel the tangled threads of provenance for all the music in the world, though he wouldn't put it like that. He just says "Look at this, listen to this, did you know about this?" And there's something very profound in the connections he's finding. He turns 76 on Saturday but I visited him today because we'll be at a band review on that day.