We're being drenched by Spring rains here. This is the way you can tell that winter is over: instead of hard-sounding 'tapping' rains, the new rains have a soft muted sound, because the raindrops are splashing on the pannicles of leaves. And the world is suddenly lit by a green glow. There are flowers everywhere as well. I looked out my bedroom window this morning, and all of a sudden, there are deep pink camellias, white-pink apple blossoms and purple iris in the garden.
Gary and I watched 'Kitchen Stories' the other night, and Gary said to me, 'we are like those two guys.' hmmm...is this a compliment? But I can see that he is quite right. We live a simple life here, together, enjoying the quality of the light, the weather and what it brings. Enjoying the occasional friend or neighbor whose paths cross ours.
Gary still climbs up on the ladder onto the tops of our neighbors houses during rainstorms to unclog their gutters, to sweep the pooling rain off their flat roofs. He puts up shelves, changes light fixtures, gives building advice all over the neighborhood. He's at home with tools, has worked most of his life out-of-doors. He is, perhaps, an anomaly in intellectual Berkeley, but an appreciated one.
Gary's at home more now, since he retired, and he cleans the kitchen everyday, cooks, does laundry, vacuums. His energy has always been 'austere,' but now the house reflects his self-organization. I'm enjoying it. How did I get to be here? I think it's because my father was the same kind of man: a simple, very capable man, who could cook and sew for himself, as many sailors could in the past. Someone used to living in small, well-organized spaces: his cabin on ship, his room at home. My father used to read to me a Golden Storybook called 'The Ship-Shape Ship.' That's where I live now. Just Gary and me.