Setting: On a late Spring Friday afternoon, two 12-year old cousins are standing on the BART train platform in El Cerrito, a small city across the bay from San Francisco.   “The pony-tail lady in jeans and pink sweater," I said to my cousin who was a few months older than me. Whenever we’re in a public place, Sydney and I like to play a game of guessing what people are. “A dancer. Maybe a ballerina,” Twelve-year old Sydney said, gazing down the BART train platform. "See the old man with the silver cane behind her." “A retired guy from the government.” “The girl in overalls with a brown leather backpack.”  “Easy. College student, probably UC Berkeley." Sydney lowered her voice and said, "I've got one for you, Jeannie. The tall guy with the bald head and the blond ponytail." “Where?” “Behind you.” I squatted down and pretended to tie my shoe as I glanced at the man wearing a grayish-green raincoat, the belt hanging to the ground. He

Today was watering-the-flowers morning, so Tilda-Hilda and I didn't go out for a ride. Maybe later if I can fix the twist in her tire, which makes her go bump, bump, bump. I didn't think much of it until I looked it up online. Experts say it's not a good idea to ride with a warped tire. The descriptions about what may cause a twisted tire reminds me of panties riding up. Poor Tilda-Hilda! If I can't fix her tire, then she's going to the bike shop tomorrow. Watering the Plants Our county finally imposed restrictions on water use for landscaping during the drought. I think it ought to stay in place even after the drought is over. But, that rant is for another post. Currently, everyone is allowed two days a week to water landscaping, which for us is Wednesday and Sunday. We water everything by hand. It takes longer, but it's more efficient and saves on water. So we think. Because the Mama has a tough time of managing the hose, without spilling water all ov

Tilda-Hilda and I wandered on back roads today. Doesn't that look like a chicken or a bunny up ahead of us? I think it's a chicken, because I was listening to the cluck of chickens around us. We also came across an orchard nymph. I was thirsty and rolled to a stop beneath some shade. As I sipped water, I turned to look at the orchard. Voila. There she was. Be sure to look up the tree to see the nymph's face.

I'm linking up with the Weekend in Black and White . Come along with me to check out B&W photos by participants from around the world.

Tilda-Hilda met Wally Whale, Junior on this morning's ride. I don't know what the name is of the little fellow behind Wally, Junior. How about Inka Dinka Doo? Speaking of which, I could go for some Jimmy Durante right now. How about you?

My Alphabe Thursday theme—Places I've Been The Husband and I stopped in Baker, California fifteen years ago around this time of the year. Baker is a small town located at the point where Interstate 15 and California State Route 127 meet. Highway 127 takes you to Death Valley National Park, while Interstate 15 heads to Las Vegas. Each place extreme in its own way. We were heading back home from Las Vegas, which was our first visit there together. Talk about surrealism. Las Vegas, that is. But, that's for another day. Baker is in the Mojave Desert. It's known for having the tallest thermometer in the world—134 feet high.  The electric sign was built in the early 1990s to memorialize when Death Valley recorded 134 degrees Fahrenheit on July 10, 1913. You've heard the saying, "It's so hot you could fry an egg on a sidewalk." Standing next to the thermometer is a sculpture of a pan of fried eggs. How appropriate. Alphabe Thursday i

Tilda-Hilda and I didn't go out yesterday. Too much to do. By mid-afternoon, I stopped stressing myself about not going out for a ride. I was moving around a lot, which I told myself was what counted. This morning, Tilda-Hilda and I pedaled up and down the hills for 34 minutes. Pretty good for us. See you tomorrow.