Imaginary Times

It's a quiet Saturday, with Julia already in Phoenix for the start of her trip down the Grand Canyon on Monday; Aidan at work; and Dylan staying with me, watching some of his favorite TV shows and movies.

When wondering how Julia's trip is going, I will just have to use my imagination. They don't take their cellphones on the raft down the Colorado (too wet) so she will be out of communication the whole time.

Among the things we bought the other day were waterproof, light-weight pants and a floppy hat to protect against the relentless sun. She also (as I mentioned earlier) needed a waterproof camera, which used to be common at stores like Walgreen's, but no longer are, as Walgreen's has completely abandoned the photo business.

So how did we find one?

The Internet. I have an Amazon Prime account, which allows us to locate things and get them delivered overnight. I think it costs $100 a year. But the kids and grandkids add up to 12 birthdays a year, not to mention all the school supplies and other purchases needed by people still growing.

So it actually makes financial sense for me to be able to shop this way.

In this case, she found a camera on her iPhone as I was driving her to Bernal and she ordered it on a laptop, while talking to me via our phones back at my office, after our lunch hour excursion was over.

The old brick-n-mortar era no longer works for me anyway, since I am working all the time. This week I missed some work, not feeling very well. I think I had some sort of flu. The symptoms reappeared overnight, so I am being very cautious today, not exerting myself.

And as much as I wish I could trade texts and get iPhone photos from Julia during her adventure, I'm fully capable of using my imagination instead.

Imagination is, of course, the main tool of the fictionist. Although I've written a ton of fiction, I've published very little. Non-fiction writers like investigative reporters use our imagination to help envision patterns in data and other source materials.

Here is an example. Years ago, old wooden pier after old wooden pier burned down. It was as regular as the fog. Every time, the fires were called "suspicious" in origin, but no one was ever arrested. The people who owned the piers were politically well-connected, and what went up after the ashes were gone were modern developments worth millions of dollars.

As far as I know, no one ever solved the mystery of those fires, but for me, in my imagination, I could kinda see what was happening there. San Francisco was an exceptionally corrupt city in that era, and in some ways it still is. Some of the same players remain, quite elderly now and very rich.

Maybe I should have written a novel about it?

That never occurred to me.

***

Today, feeling a bit weak still, I am missing a birthday party for grandson Luca. This is his "friends' party." I'll get another chance closer to his birthday in a couple of weeks when we have his family celebration. I'll no doubt order his presents over the Internet.

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Adventure Time

Today I used my lunch hour to take my youngest shopping for clothes and supplies for her upcoming two-week adventure at the Grand Canyon. We got what she needed via a combination of a brick-n-mortar store (REI) and my Amazon Prime account.

She leaves early Saturday for Phoenix and then the bus ride to the place where they will go down into the canyon. She is part of a non-profit program that helps sight-impaired youth have experiences they might otherwise never have, in this case a long rafting trip down the Colorado River.

I've visited the canyon twice and it is one of the most memorable sights (obviously) anyone could ever hope to see. I'm excited for Julia and can't wait to hear her stories/see her pictures when she returns.

One of our purchases today was a waterproof camera.

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The High Notes

Note to Self: Sometimes a bird song in my back yard sounds exactly like a land-line message on the newly functioning telephone in my bedroom. All I can pick up are the high notes.

Today I am pretty sure it is the bird singing to me and not any unwanted land-line caller.

I've been ill the past few days. Stayed home from work yesterday, went in there today but came back at noon. It is probably just a passing thing, I hope. Or maybe the accumulation of a life's illnesses, who knows, and therefore predictable by now. Either way, I am fine to write.

But at my age it's time, finally, to think of the big picture. How I have been conducting myself over the decades? One thing I realized in this context is that I have always been willing to step in for those I love and help them handle their money, their taxes, their investments -- all of that capitalistic stuff.

Why?

Because from a young age I was told I was good at math, and in America, being good at math means being good with money. Plus my Scottish grandfather told me to keep every penny I might find on the street. I found lots of pennies.

I do not think I am very good with money in any modern sense rather than knowing how to save it. Saving is easy -- you just don't spend it.

Americans spend their money here and there, willy-nilly. They do not bother to check their bank balance or to see whether charging their credit card is a bad idea. (It usually is.) That's because we are still the richest people on earth.

But at this rate we will not always be. You cannot afford to spend what you do not have.

How can I teach my children these important lessons? That is what I am podering today. I have a few ideas.

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Routines Large and Small

For whatever set of reasons I did not sleep well last night. Sometimes when the kids stay over, as they did last night, I have trouble sleeping because I am worrying about them being out late, or they make a lot of noise through the wall separating my bedroom and the living room, where our new TV is still quite the object of attention.

But last night no one was out too late, and they didn't make very much noise, so my insomnia was a bit more mystifying.

Then again, some nights are just like that.

This morning I got up, prepared for work, and drove Dylan to his job -- camp counselor for "tech camp" at Synergy School.

Then I grabbed Aidan's car keys and moved his car in front of our house. That began the familiar cat-and-mouse game we play withe the parking cops. They come by every hour, chalk the car tires, come back an hour later, and we've moved the car (hopefully).

If we get it wrong, that's a $76 ticket.

It's expensive to live in this city!

As I tried to walk to work, I realized that losing a night's sleep had sapped me and I returned home and called in sick. It's called a PTO day at KQED. I have worked lightly at home all day and also helped get Aidan's financial aid information up to date. Actually, I just talked -- Connie and Aidan did the work.

We owed U-Montana three forms and I believe they now are all on the way.

The bureaucratic details surrounding college finances and financial aid are bewildering. I used to be able to navigate this kind of thing seamlessly, but there days I find I have little energy and less confidence I can do so. For those reasons it is good the others can learn how to step in and help. The days are past when I need to feel the responsibility to do all of this stuff, right?

Julia and Aidan have spent most of today watching some sort of British crime series on TV -- it is nice to see how the two of them have built a closeness despite the age difference. But, after all, they are the two headed off away from home this fall -- him back to Missoula, her on to Napa.

Dylan appears to be set on staying here for a gap year.

Now it is late in the afternoon, I am still not feeling very well and I am glad I made the PTO decision. Aidan will eventually go off to see his GF; Julia will take Lyft home to her Mom's. I'm hoping for a better sleep tonight, so I can return to my job tomorrow.

***

For the first time in years, I seem to be feeling a need to once again blog on a regular basis. I'm getting back to the little insights, day in and day out, that enrich my own understanding of the world around me.

Details matter. A butterfly lifting off from Milkweed, a child riding a new bike, and old woman seeking cans for recycling. Whatever my eyes can see my fingers can type.

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Our Shared Fates

The fireworks went on around here late into last night; I think I fell asleep a bit before midnight when they stopped. Just now, on a walk around the neighborhood, a little girl of Middle Eastern descent, probably 8, asked me "Did you a have a nice Fourth of July?"

She is the oldest of three kids in the family that operates my nearest corner store. One of the really nice things about San Francisco is our many corner stores. Mom & Pop operations, every one of them.

Years ago, when this girl was much younger, I took a family photo for them and printed it out. They did not have a camera of their own back then. They were so thrilled to have a photo of themselves.

It often strikes me how much like my own (immigrant) life their lives are. We are all first-generation Americans.

Both of my marriages were to long-time American families, blue-bloods I think they are called. My ex-wives had history in this country, not all of it pretty.

But all of us, whoever we are, want to be seen in this life. Maybe that is what makes cameras such powerful tools. They capture us, or at least a likeness of us. That brings me back to yesterday's post about my ex-GF. She loved to be photographed, here, there, anywhere.

That is another story.

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