Who Dunnit?

Sue McGinty, who wrote the mystery novel, "Murder in Los Lobos," involving dead people and sewers (heh-heh) has another novel out, "Murder at Cuyamaca Beach," with any resemblance between Cuyamaca and Cayucos being purely intentional. (Don't know if an expensive joint-cities sewer upgrade will be involved in the plot.)  She'll be having a book-signing party from 1-3 p.m. Sunday, Nov 21 at Coalesce Bookstore in Morrow Bay, at 845 Main St.  You can check out her website http://www.suemcginty.com%20/

Who's Doinit Too 

Remember, Nov. 29, Monday, starting at 6 pm. there will be a Rates & Charges Workshop at the Los Osos Junior High auditorium.  From 6-7 staff members will be there to answer questions and from 7 pm. it's likely that we'll have a soothing PaavoTalk, probably followed by selected written questions.  You have until Dec 14 to file any protest votes.(Tuesday, Dec 14, 9 a.m. the BOS will officially have counted the ballots and will vote to accept the rates and charges.)

And How Could I Forget?

Sunday, Nov. 28, at the beautiful Congregation Beth David on Los Osos Valley Road (near Foothill Blvd.), the fabulous Cafe Musique! The performance starts at 3 pm.  Tickets are $18 in advance, $20 at the door.  Call 544-0760 for ticket.  And visit their website at www.cafemusique.org. 

This is such a fabulous group. And the venue couldn't be more beautiful (the temple is a stunning "green building" that's just a joy to be in.)  The group has a new CD and will be performing some of their new numbers.  Perfect ending to the Turkey Day holiday.

Your Sunday Poem

This by Charles Wright, from the July 15, 2010 New York Review of Books.

Crystal Declension

Well, two things are certain –

                        the sun will rise and the sun will set.

Most everything else is up for grabs.

It’s back on its way down now

As a mother moose and her twin calves

Step lightly, lightly

                          across the creek through the understory

And half-lit grasses,

Then disappear in a clutch of willow bushes.

                                                          If one, anyone,

Could walk through his own life as delicately, as sure,

As she did, all wreckage, all deadfall,

Would stay sun-lit, and ring like crystal among the trees.

Dots, Dots, Dots

Ron Crawford at www.sewerwatch.blogspot.com is busy once again connecting dots.I suspect that boy grew up with Erector sets and pick-up sticks and Lincoln Logs as his only toys.  Oh, and Battleship. Hip bone connected to the . . .

Please Go Away, Thank You

There can be no greater proof of former President George Bush's grotesque narcissism than this:  In his new book he claims that the most memorably hurtful thing that happened during his entire presidency is when Kayne West dissed him.

That's like the child who fire-bombs his house, killing everyone in it, and when he's found standing next to the burning rubble and dead bodies, whines about getting a small lock of his hair singed. 

Shut up, George.  And go away.  Forever.  

Oh, Now, THAT's Something I Can't Wait To See 

Earmarks, we got earmarks.  Tea Partiers arriving in the K-Street Swamp (aka Wholly Owned Corporate Congress) are revved up and already talking about getting rid of earmarks.  Eee-haw!  Dump them evil earmarks!  When, suddenly, eerrrrkkkkk, the old-time K-Street Swampers (Wholly Owned Old-Time Republican Congresspeople and Senators, with Wholly Owned Old Time Democratic Congressfolks waiting in the wings) are having an attack of the Vagues.  Well, er, we'll have to take a look at that, well certainly, it's something to consider, uh, we'll have to debate that. Translation: Oh, that'll never happen.

Poor Partiers.  Lambs to Slaughter, put there by Low Information voters who don't have a clue how their government works, let alone how Corporate Congress works. 

Get rid of earmarks.  Sure.  Right. 

This country's political system is built on lies: We the People lie to ourselves and then elect representatives who will tell us the lies we want to hear.  Then we send them to Washington to pretend to do the things we lied about wanting to get done, and (surprise?) when they don't get done, we get angry, put on Tri-corner hats, strap guns to our hips and start babbling about the Constitution and "Freedom."  

Sunday Photos

October’s bright blue weather came in November this year.  The Roger’s Red grape vines weren’t to be caught napping, however.  They had started turning color early, after the summer-with-no-summer, thinking fall had arrived.  This was a lucky break because when the sky suddenly turned cobalt and crystal blue, they were ready for their shot, Mr. DeMille.

  

I had hung a hummingbird feeder high on the fence in Kifane’s Corner.  There may be several breeding pairs now; one pair guarding the feeder in the front yard, and this pair working the feeders in the back.  Even the bees have found this source of rich sugars and aren’t put off by the bee guard at each opening.  I suspect they patiently slurp up whatever the hummer has dribbled from his long tongue.  The ants soon got the word and a long line of them trooped up the fence post until I redrew the insecticide chalk deadline, which stopped them dead.  Enough with the anty moochers.

And then, sitting in my preposterous yellow Adirondack chair, under a patio umbrella, I peruse the sad nonsense of the daily newspaper and wait for the thrum of wings and the insistent screech – astonishing for the ferocious loudness from such a small body.  The hummers have come for their sweet sustenance.