Archives for posts with tag: Thanksgiving

Diana Lee

There are pale, grey days by the Pacific that remind one of home.  Thunder clouds over Catalina.   A huge rain over the ocean,  blasting the surface, then fierce sunshine through the clouds like so many celestial arc lights.

There are more storms forecast for next week.   Just as the house fills with Thanksgiving guests and I prepare to leave for NYC.  Early December shopping and once again…him.

Usually, at this time of year, the mountain is parched and brown but last summer was unseasonably wet.   Everything is dark green, richly hued, sweet-smelling earth abundant with as much wildlife as I ever saw.

Last night at 2am I passed three young, regal bucks on Rambla Pacifico.  Their velvet antlers and fearlessness making them all the more beautiful.  There is a huge owl that now roosts in the palm tree on the drive.

I know why he’s here, to eat the squirrels and rats.  The Little Dog killed a rat yesterday.  It had a beautiful pale grey coat and a long black tail that squirmed like a snake minutes after he snapped its neck.

I have been going to events.  Small talk with strangers…boring.

AFM.  GLADD.  Etc.  Why would I ever want to leave my mountain?  I meet bumptious gay men with nothing original to say.  Invisible people, terrified of being seen, identified, different.  Straight acting.  God, that bores me.  I wore a Derby.  They couldn’t even identify a Derby.  That thought it was a Bowler hat.

Then a beautiful boy arrives and turns everything upside down.  I can feel him beside me now.

Last night I cooked dinner and, as it may be the last time before I sell it, I powered up the huge Sylvie Fleury neon piece that hangs in the parlor.

Doesn’t it look beautiful?  CURIOUS!

Can you believe that Rachel Maddow, of all people, gets hate mail?  Hateful, terrible things.  Everyone who has ever been on TV gets hate mail.  Anonymous fools sitting at their computers, steeped in resentment, conspiring against the world.

Regis Philbin gets hate mail.

The storm is coming, there is nothing we can do except bring in the cushions, clear the drains, avoid falling rocks loosened by the deluge when we drive.

Can I tell you something?  I haven’t been here, to this blog…very recently, because I had other things I needed to write.  A film to finish, the essays to map, the novel is done with.

I met friends for dinner and ate far too regularly at Gjelina.  Breakfast, lunch and dinner.  I had meaningful assignations with beautiful men.  I walked the new road with the dog and did not fall down.

I removed the bulk of my blog archive because it was no longer appropriate to keep it there.  I kept the essays that seem to give you most pleasure.  Instead of writing this…I concentrated on other things.  The trash was put out on time, the Caster Oil Trees that grow by the spring were chopped down.  The trees that died last year must be felled and cut up for fire wood.

I travelled in convoy from one event to another and blended as much as I am able.

We are not expecting anything so inclement that our lives maybe risked.  The worst that could happen, after the heavy rain, is another slide.  That, my friends, is life on and off the mountain.

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