First Blogger Ever?

One morning while drinking coffee at a little neighborhood cafe on California St. I found a pile of children's books in a basket in a corner and discovered this page from one of my all time favorites. I had never quite wondered about the shape of a blogg before I read this . . . but then Dr. Seuss always could inspire one's imagination and spark one's creativity with his wonderful rhythms and words and illustrations that took us to places we'd never been, allowed us to see things we'd never seen, and perhaps  imagine something long before it might ever become a reality for everyone else, including the shape of a blogg . . .  and to think that I saw it on California Street.  Happy Birthday this week to the one and only Dr. Seuss!

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Where The Good Stuff Swims

Photograph by guest photographer Dennis Bayer

Writing on The Dock of The Bay

This morning seals and sea lions swim just off our float and  pelicans soar through the air. The herring are running and the eating is good. One seal looks our way before it submerges. Sometimes they simply drop below the surface; sometimes they do a serpentine dive, slick bodies glinting in the light, as they go below to where the good stuff swims. It's the same with writing. The good stuff is always below the surface. And when the writing's going well,  we plunge in and lose all track of time . . . and later wonder where the time went and where did the story we just wrote come from. . . I learn from my marine friends, though I've never attempted a serpentine submersion on my laptop! I learn from this time on the water, too, where houseboats reflect on the channel's glassy surface while I reflect on the smooth screen of this Mac. I count seven seals this morning. I sip my coffee. I learn that it's a good day not to be a herring. 

Flamingos of South Forty

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The Social Life of Water                                                                                                                                           by Tony Hoagland

All water is a part of other water.                                                                                                                     Cloud talks to lake; mist                                                                                                                                  speaks quietly to creek.

Lake says something back to cloud,                                                                                                                   and cloud listens.                                                                                                                                                    No water is lonely water.

All water is a part of other water.                                                                                                                       River rushes to reunite with ocean;                                                                                                                     tree drinks rain and sweats out dew;                                                                                                                  dew takes elevator into cloud;                                                                                                                         cloud marries puddle;                                                                                                                                                                                       puddle

has long conversation with lake about fjord;                                                                                                       fog sneaks up and murmurs insinuations to swamp;                                                                                    swamp makes needs known to marshland.                                                                                                                                  . . .  (excerpt)      

Flying Colors

Denizens of the Dock

 Neighbors Ryan and Stewart invited everyone on our dock to cruise the bay aboard their beautiful 100 year old ship, Mirene -  a lovely new year tradition.  We savored delicious food and drink and enjoyed soaring pelicans and fro…

 

Neighbors Ryan and Stewart invited everyone on our dock to cruise the bay aboard their beautiful 100 year old ship, Mirene -  a lovely new year tradition.  We savored delicious food and drink and enjoyed soaring pelicans and frolicking seals amidst the stunning views of where we call home. We were a neighborhood underway on a very special day; smiling in this new year aboard an amazing 64 foot former schooner, turned tug, savoring the generosity and warm friendship of fine neighbors. 

Where Will We Go

Writing on The Dock of The Bay

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Seymour was a ray of orange light in the sunrise of first day. He spread himself across the sky and over the deep blue bay, surrounded by other rays of light - Lady Red and Deep Purple, Big Pink and Touch of Grey, all part of something bigger, all coming from the same source - the rising & majestic burning orb called Sun. Birds soared on sea breeze currents. Solitary people watched from shore and small boats that bobbed in the water. One or two snapped photos. Another painted from an easel on the wharf. Seymour, who didn't consider himself photo or paint-a-genic, admired his tiny self and friends on the thick white canvas, though Big Pink seemed a bit much, and Touch of Grey hadn't made the painting at all. Typical. As Sun climbed the horizon, Seymour felt himself fading, receding into Bright Yellow and Vast Blue. He didn't know where he was going or when he would return, or if fog would crash the party next time, or if clouds and rain or lightning - which he loved like an outlaw cousin, would prevent him from appearing. He didn't worry. For he knew, someday he would return, once again spreading across the sky, lighting the world and the lives of those who pause and gaze, in moments suspended, ensconced in the feel and glow of color and light.