Dedicated to Linda

At the Mermaid Triathlon this morning, I wore a dark green swim cap. The colors (pink, lime green, a couple shades of blue) designate your age bracket, or whether you are a “Just for Fun” or “Mighty Mermaid” competitor. Each lucky contestant had her AGE written on the back of her left calf. Race number goes on your arm and on the back of your hand. A Velcro timing chip-thingy fits around an ankle. I was definitely not going to be mixed up with anyone else.

Interesting to stand on the bluff overlooking Seacliff Beach in the very early morning fog while a cute young guy uses his magic marker on your skin.

First in the water were the Mighty Mermaids who were going to do each segment TWO TIMES. That’s right, swim around the pier, crawl out of the water, run across the sand under the pier, and then jump back in and do it again.

When it was the turn of the dark green women I was pretty much over the fear of having a diarrhea attack in my wetsuit. I let all of the other dark green caps get in the ocean first. I lingered on the edge and then dove in. The pack of splashes moved inexorably further away from me. By the time I crawled out on the sand at the other side of the pier, I called out to the people on the beach, "I'm the last dark green cap out of the water!" "No, there is someone else behind you," someone said. But not for long. As I trudged across the sand, she passed me. Ta dah!

The bike portion was a breeze. The route is in my neighborhood. I know all the hills, all the bumpy spots in the road. I passed all sorts of people on the bike.

The run was another story. I sort of limp along and pretend to be running. It was probably painful to watch. In fact, race volunteers seemed to winch as they said, "Good job!" and "Almost there!" while I slowly passed by. I, however, was still smiling. Really. At that point it was so close to being OVER.

There were three other teachers from my school who completed the course this morning. We’re all wearing our Mermaid Triathlon t-shirts to school tomorrow. We rock!

The Last Frontier

Down in the basement, while changing a flat tire on my bike, I looked up and saw our old Alaska license plates. They hang in a place of honor near dusty tools that nobody uses.

Yep. We lived (and drove) in Alaska. Five whole years. We moved up there in 1980. We were happy recipients of the first ever "Permanent Fund Dividend." It's every Alaskan's itsy-bitsy annual share of the state's oil booty. Even my young daughter got a dividend. One thousand big ones that first year.

Alaska, thanks to presidential politics, is much on people's tongues. Today my favorite writer's dateline was Anchorage, AK. Maureen Dowd's column shows up in my little local paper on Mondays. I totally love her. I can picture her up there in Anchorage, wondering which t-shirt to buy. I bet she is staying in the Captian Cook Hotel. I stayed there a zillion times on the state's dime. I was an Alaska state employee, don't you know. But under different governors. I actually respected each of them. It would be different today.

Curse Cursive? Not Me

I assign cursive practice to my middle school students. You know, flowing script. Handwriting. Most of them grumble at this imposition. Why? Don't they want to be grownups some day?

I've conducted a highly scientific poll on the subject of cursive and its status as a necessity for success in the 21st Century. Results: people prefer to use their thumbs to compose. If you're not typing on miniscule keyboards, you're just not in touch. If you're a twenty-something, you likely eschew pen and pencil altogether.

I'm a throwback. Get used to it.

Alyosha Love Licks

There's nothing like the adoration of a pit bull. Alyosha always greets me enthusiatically, wiggling and hopping all around. She seems to forget that she's not a puppy, that she's a senior citizen. Her golden years have not diminished her admiration of grandma. That's me. Grandma of the grand dog. And proud of it.

Bike Ride Home

One of the many things I love about my job in Watsonville is my bike ride home to Aptos. Car pool mate Anne picks me up in the morning and I toss my bike in the back of her car. After I've had enough of being a conscientious teacher-lady all day, I change into lycra and hop on my bike.

My route home runs primarily along Freedom Blvd. Within a few minutes I've left the burbs and am cruising in the country. I pass apple orchards and berries growing in perfect rows. I pass a small lake. I pass moo-cows and horsies. I watch the seasonal changes, colors, blossoms, harvesting, and am amazed at how lucky I am to be able to do this.

When I peddle into my own driveway I ring the silly bell on my bike handlebars. Suzzie dog knows the signal and meets me at the gate. Time for a shower and a glass of wine.

Life's a Stage

One of the great things about living near my alma matter is the stuff that matters that happens there. Example: UC Santa Cruz hosts Shakespeare Santa Cruz’s summer season. I experienced two shows this past week. I don’t want to simply use the see verb and say I saw two shows. That is not what live theatre is all about. One experiences live theatre. Like Jimi Hendrix. Are you experienced?

In the company of my dear book group friends, I experienced Burn This by Lanford Wilson. Picture the perfect NYC artist’s loft. Tall windows and ceiling, exposed pipes and wires, an expanse of scruffy hard wood floors. Place your feet on those floors and let your mind mosey on back to the 1980’s. Talk about a trip down memory lane. Here I am watching a show about a dancer on a stage on which I performed as a dancer. (True! I was a dance major at UCSC.) To top it off, the set looks remarkably like the Chelsea apartment in which I have spent truly quality time.

For last night’s performance the theatre was transformed into a street in front of a church in Leipzig, Germany, circa 1700. Itamar Moses, the author of Bach at Leipzig is only 30 years old and really, really cute. (If you don't believe me, check out his photo in the playbill.) The play is a goofy comedy complete with sword fights, a gay guy, and rapid fire entrances and exits perfectly timed with the silly jokes. One fundamental thing you must understand about this show: all the musicians in Germany were called either Georg or Johann. Another fundamental: it is based on a true story.

If you’re seriously serious, click on over to the Wall Street Journal review of the Shakespeare Santa Cruz season: http://online.wsj.com/article/SB121876098005742875.html?mod=googlenews_wsj

Also, enjoy the New York Times piece about Itamar, which includes this:
Question: “How come you get to hang out with Tom Stoppard?"
Answer:“I think I'm just that charming." http://www.nytimes.com/2005/11/06/theater/newsandfeatures/06zino.html?_r=1&oref=slogin