Clouds playing leapfrog across the sky. Today (which will be yesterday by the time I post this) is a brunch day. It was 10:30 by the time I went down to the kitchen to eat breakfast. Why so late? Because I woke up at 10:04. Why so late? Because I stayed up to 4 a.m. doing some gratis work for my high school class alumni scholarship fundraiser , and okay, I kept falling asleep on the documentary The Botany of Desire . (P.S. If you click that link, it will take you to Amazon. Just saying.) The parts I did see were quite interesting. Did you know that apples originated in Borat land, and that Johnny Appleseed dressed like a beggar but was some smart cookie of a business guy, and that the first apples in America were too sour to eat but perfect mash for getting drunk? I also woke up to learn a bit about marijuana. Naturally, it can grow to seven feet or more. I didn't know that. Because folks have been furtively growing marijuana indoors, a new species was created so that the plant doe

Ding dong. "Who can that be?" asked the husband, not getting up from his desk. I scrambled up from mine and down the stairs.  I hoped it wasn't another salesperson from the carpet cleaning or bug zapping service. I also didn't want to get down there and find someone clutching slick campaign material to give me. I doubt it was religious people. They rarely show up around dinner time. Aw, gee. I hoped it wasn't anyone we knew. The husband and I bought hot dogs at the Farmers Market for dinner. There was only enough for the mama and us. Our front door was open. I saw a young man on the other side of the security gate. "Hello," I called, as I walked down the last few steps. "Hello," he said, pressing his face into the gate. I love that security gate. I can see the people on the other side of it, but they can't see me. I'm just a voice behind it. "What do you want?" He stepped back quickly. "I couldn't tell where you were.

"What's with all these Hollister tee shirts?" That's the kind of question folks would ask me when they learned I was from Hollister, California. "I was standing behind this gal wearing a sweatshirt that said Hollister on it. 'Hey, I'm from Hollister, too?' She looked at me like I was some kind of perv." That's the kind of story I would hear from local folks (or folks who used to live here) about their first encounters with the Hollister line of clothing sold by Abercrombie and Fitch. Most of you, dear readers, most likely know that the Hollister clothes sold in stores nationwide popularize a fabricated beach town called Hollister, California. It would be funny if it weren't for the fact that a few years ago, Abercrombie and Fitch came through our very real town and told small business owners to stop selling any and all clothing that have Hollister printed on it. If they continued,  the corporation would sue the small business owners

When I was being ambitious last week, I planned for Tuesdays to be the post-a-list-of-things day. All because I posted the list of fellow WordCount Blogathoners.  Now here I am several hours before my imposed posting deadline with no desire to think about putting a list of something together. Oh, well. The rules I make for myself are not set in concrete. I can be flexible. That's my lesson for me this moment. It's a lesson I need to reinforce every so often; otherwise, I'll miss so much. Like this evening, actually yesterday evening. As I was dumping a bowl of green waste into the compost bin, a bit of yellow caught my eye. The first sunflower of the year was opening up. It was a volunteer growing in a pot of another plant that had volunteered on its own. Flexibility. Of course I had to run inside for my camera. Flexibility.  After taking a photo of the sunflower, I looked around the backyard and saw other wonders. Flexibility. Looking at the photos I took, I realize that

The plan was to make potato salad the other night. I had a bunch of mini Yukon Gold potatoes from the organic farm stand. And, the summer-like weather that night just called for having potato salad for dinner. So, I washed and scrubbed the potatoes  and put them on the stove to cook. I set the heat to medium so I could forget about them for half an hour. By the time I took them off the stove, I didn't feel link mincing and dicing the other ingredients. I didn't think about doing all that while the potatoes were boiling. Playing Jungle Jewels on Facebook was just so urgent, you know.  Sooooo, I made mashed potatoes. Didn't even take off the peelings. Here you go. My top-off-the-head recipe for Suddenly Mashed Potatoes . Dump potatoes into bowl.  Add the last of the martini olives and their juice. (In my recipe, it was about 4 olives and a 1/4 cup of liquid.) Add about 1/3 to 1/2 cup of plain yogurt. Add about 3 tablespoons of butter or whatever you use in its place. Mash. Ma

The Mama's Vegetable Garden in 2009 The weather was so glorious last week that the Mama started planting her vegetable garden. She was very happy to be playing in the dirt again, after being cooped up in the house during the rainy and cold days. To read more about the gardening Mama, click here . Happy Mother's Day to you and your Mamas! This is how the Mama's garden looks today. Soon bean and squash vines will be climbing up these wires again. The Mama threw these bean seeds in the ground about two weeks ago. The first artichoke of the season! Those are all volunteer apricot tree saplings. No idea how that happened. The Mama at Work

The Husband. . . and the Me As you can see, the husband's and my hair (hairs?) are now back to being normally short. Click here to see our original state of baldness. As for that bald oval spot on the side of my head, it's almost hidden now without me even trying. But then I wasn't even trying when I didn't have enough hair to cover it. Check it out. That there is a natural comb-over. Any bets on how long the husband's and my hair (hairs?) will get by next January? Or, whose hair will be the longest? 

My dad didn't advise me much when I was growing up. When he did, they were humdingers, and usually they were one-liners.  For instance, on the day of my senior prom, he told me rather placidly, and unexpectedly, "Don't go f***ing around." The idea hadn't even entered my mind.  And, when I was attending community college, Daddy pronounced suddenly in his usual unruffled way to me, "Don't be a hippie." Nothing more. Probably the most profound guidance Daddy gave me was when, as a teenager, I decided to check out different churches. Not because I was looking for a church to join but because I was curious about how different churches worshiped. I didn't know that Daddy had noticed what I was doing. Even if he had, I didn't think he would've cared since we were not avid churchgoers. But before I went on my fourth Sunday outing, Daddy said, calmly, as always, "I don't want you going to any other church as long as I'm alive." H

What a ditz I am! What a dope! I could blame it on my  progressive lenses that give me trouble finding the  sweet spot in which to read my computer screen. Yeah, I can blame my glasses. No personal responsibility here for reading $.045 as 45 cents instead of 4 1/2 cents. What a big difference that is! Last month, I contracted to write three articles for a reputable publisher based on $.045 per word, which I read as 45 cents a word. I would've been none the wiser if I hadn't received an e-mail yesterday from the editor seeking writers to complete a few  rush articles. He wrote that the pay would be the usual "4 1/2 cents per word." What? I quickly looked up the initial query I received and my contract. The wording was "$.045 per word." Such a dumbo, I am. Sigh . Now I could turn my frown upside down by saying that 4 1/2 cents per word is better than the zero cents per word I give myself for blog posts. Four and a half cents is better than nothing, right? So

I learned recently that the Pulitzer people give out an annual prize for criticism. The mama would win one if she was a journalist, or if the prize was for the most, best, and consistent criticizer around.  That doesn't sound good, does it? On a positive note, she is less critical than she was in our younger days. That could be because I am just as less critical about her. Ah, the joys of this daughter-and-mother relationship. I digress, as bloggers are sometimes meant to do. According to the Pulitzer Prizes Web site, the winners in the criticism category are awarded for their " distinguished criticism." In other words, they have written in print or online acclaimed, celebrated, esteemed, respected, important, and influential words of assessment, appraisal, judgement, disapproval, condemnation, and/or censure. Imagine. Some winning critics have offered their opinions about movies, books, music, art, architecture, or media. Others have commented about social, cultural, ec

Whoo-hoo! It's the fourth day of the  2010 WordCount Blogathon, and look, you're reading my fourth post for the month. Today, I thought you might enjoy checking out some blogs of the other participants in the blogathon. So, here you go: Rebecca I. Allen   356 No More   A journey from couch to fit. Christa Avampato  Christa in New York   Curating a Creative Life. Anjuli   bhulbhulaiyan   A complicated entanglement of zigzag pathways. Joan Lambert Bailey   PopcornHomestead   Gardening, place and my life in Tokyo. Karen Bannan   Natural as Possible Mom   Because natural isn’t always possible—or easy. t.a. barnhart  Left Coast Foodie   Damn, that’s good: a foodie blog by someone who knows what he’s doing. June Bell   Enough is enough!   Advice and support. Athena l. Borozon  Altar Valley Daily Orb   The Desert Rat Dialogues. Jane Boursaw   Film Gecko   Cool movie news and reviews. Alisa Bowman   Project Happily Ever After   Marriage advice from a recovering divorce daydre

Pancit, which I pronounce as pawn-sit , is a Filipino noodle dish. Until I was an adult, I thought pancit was made only with translucent mung bean noodles. Then I learned that many Filipinos make pancit with rice noodles or wheat noodles. It was a rude awakening for me. Still, to this day, I make pancit with clear mung bean noodles, the way the mama showed me. Always will. Preparing pancit isn't difficult, just labor intensive, especially if you want to add a variety of vegetables to it.  While growing up, the mama cooked pancit for parties or other special occasions. After I got married, the mama would make a huge pot full of pancit so that I could take leftovers home to stick in my freezer.  Now that the husband and I are living with the mama, I like to make pancit for her now and then. Like all my recipes, many of the ingredients vary each time I prepare pancit. The ingredient that stays the same is mung bean noodles. You can find it at any Asian market or at the Asian section i

New Mexico Clouds Three autumns ago, the husband and I traveled through New Mexico. One of things that awed me were the fat, fluffy clouds that danced across the long expanse of deep blue sky. I hadn't seen these kinds of clouds since I was a kid  500 years ago. I don't know if it's because, as an adult, I was living in the foggy and (when the fog burned off) smoggy Bay Area. Still, there were no clouds to speak when the husband and I moved to my hometown, away from the fog but not the smog. When I saw the clouds in New Mexico, I didn't know how much I missed the sight of them. Since the trip, we have been seeing New Mexico clouds moving across the sky, especially when the area is about to get a good rain, or after one. I like to think the clouds followed us back home. Do you see that terrier laying on his back? Clouds kissing?   Anyone else see a skull up there?

I'm not much of a joiner. Then something happens. Maybe the wind changes direction, or perhaps I blink and a lapse in judgment occurs, and I do hop on a bandwagon. Like now. I registered myself for a blogathon—a marathon of blog posting, that is. Every day in May, I'll be posting something because I signed up for the 2010 WordCount Blogathon. This is an annual thing put on by Michelle Rafter, the owner of WordCount, a blog about digital freelancing. She started the blogathon as a way to motivate herself to "post consistently" and to do it with company. To read more about the 2010 WordCount Blogathon, check out this link . So, here I am with my first post. Can I think up something to post everyday for the next 30 days?  Will I miss a day or two because I've forgotten? Shall my slacker self balk at the discipline? Stay tuned.