Since Molly the Cat came into our lives, I did not know that: Cats snore. Cats sleep on their backs with their arms and legs splayed out. Yeah, just like a drunken person. Cats like to have something to eat after having been brushed. Cats don't necessarily know how nor inclined to say meow to their humans. Molly the Cat chirrups when she talks to us. Cats will wait until you clean up their litter box, then jump into it immediately and do their thing. I always thank Molly the Cat for doing it before I throw the poop bag away. Cats will suddenly race around the house after something that only they can see. They run so fast, you think you can see lines of action, such as those drawn in cartoons, extending from them as they shoot down the hallway and take the corner almost in mid air. Cats will pretend to wait for your permission to go explore that dark corner between the couches just to make you feel that you are the boss. Ha! Cats are even pickier eaters than the Mama. W

A photo I shot in 1976 in San Benito County where I was born and grew up "You've come a long way," a fellow editor had said to me (out of the blue I might add) as three of us co-workers were eating lunch on a lovely Saturday afternoon (it could've been Sunday, but does it really matter)  many years ago. If I had been quick on my feet, or just less shy, I would've retorted, "You came further." She, after all, had migrated from Chicago to San Francisco, while my hometown was less than a 100 miles away. But, she wasn't talking about distance. She was referring to the fact that my parents were "uneducated" immigrants from an impoverished country who did not have a grasp on the English language, and who were only able to "achieve" farm jobs in the United States. As if all that would make a difference on their ability to do well in a new world or for their daughter to complete college and become a —gasp—professional. After al

Ping. She looked up from her bowl. As she swallowed her bite, she gazed at a shadow in front of her. She turned to inspect the world behind her. She slowly peered beyond me for the source of the sound, and, possibly, the shadow. Feeling safe, she went back to her nightly snack. Ping. She stopped in mid-bite and turned quickly again. Her head slightly moved as she scanned the room. I thought I saw a faint light scamper through the darkness of the nearby kitchen. I shivered. "Ah, Molly, you're scaring me." Molly the Cat did not reassure me. She didn't even acknowledge me. She took one last glance around the room, then turned and ate one more morsel of food. "I'm going to bed." I said, shaking off my spooky thoughts. Molly the Cat followed me down the hall. As I went left to go up the stairs, she went right into the dark kitchen to do whatever she does at night, while the rest of us sleep soundly, oblivious to her grand adventures—and to vis

I've been dragging my fingers across the keyboard right now, and pressing the delete button a lot. I just don't feel like writing. So, why try, you may ask. It's not like my boss will scold me if I don't offer something up to the blog today. Well, yes, the boss will scold me. The boss is me. When I started Don't be a Hippie , I committed myself to publishing a post every Tuesday and Thursday. A job commitment is a commitment, regardless of whether it's to myself or to someone else for a fee. Blogging wasn't always like that for me. It was mostly comme çi, comme ça.  But, a few years ago, I went through a rather bad bout of what I shall just call writer's block. I used the delete button and stared at a blank computer screen more than quite a lot, and that's saying it mildly. The only way to keep that from happening again is for me to meet my self-imposed deadlines. It truly helped that I made myself do a daily post for one year on my Take 2

Several years ago, a bicycle repair guy asked the Husband and me, "Do you do everything together?" "Almost," one of us, and possibly both, said. "Both your bikes had a broken spoke in the rear wheel at the same spot," said the bicycle repair guy, shaking his head in what seemed like disbelief that that was possible. The husband and I have been pretty much with each other 24/7 for the past 13 years. It works. We've started walking for exercise again. We each follow our own pace, which means the husband is usually hundreds of feet ahead of me. Every so often he circles back to see how I'm doing, especially when I've lagged behind because I've stopped to take photos. © 2012 Su-sieee! Mac. All rights reserved.