A 25 year old woman alcoholic was released from jail last night. She stepped out drunk in front of a train this morning and was killed. Her boyfriend killed himself a year ago; she wanted to join him. Co-workers referred her for involuntary treatment when she booked in drunk, and again when released 5 days later. No beds the first time, and didn't meet criteria the second. My co-workers liked her and are adrift now. And a man died at the E&T. He was detained, sent to the hospital for COPD and sent back. Two hours later he was dead.

Nancy ground the gears, then geared up too high; the big diesel engine started to falter. Her legs were shaking and she felt sick to her stomach. She geared down and brought the truck to a halt. The union call out had been to drive a pick up truck for the porta- potty crew. And that was a stretch, but one she thought she could manage. She hadn't driven a car for 10 years and wasn't the best driver even then. Still, how hard could it be, to drive a pick up truck on gravel roads used only by construction crews.

The other Teamster on her crew was livid when she showed up and proved to be so feeble. He'd driven rigs all his life and was not going to drive the flat bed and cement truck while she got the pick up. She hadn't thought this through before she raised her hand in the union hall. She hadn't considered the feelings of the real Teamsters she'd work with, men who'd made a life of driving the big rigs. She didn't blame him for being angry. She had a good paying job she couldn't do well and was on a lark.

Why oh why? Why did I sleep so late? Why am I a slug? Why can't I think of story ideas? Why can't I keep a tidy house? Why is my yard such a mess? Why do I back into projects instead of meeting them head on. The curse of procrastination. And just how will I spend the evening hours if not drinking wine and reading? Yoga. If I can just come home, walk Viva, get out the mat, and lay on it. I can play the chants, light candles, and place a flower close by. And start to stretch.

Finally the yard is starting to shape up after 10 years of hesitant attempts to create a statement. Now it's more about me identifying plants I like and getting plants that will work when they're on sale. The front needs another tree and 3 hinoki cedars, and 3-6 bamboos for the side yard, and to move the hydrangea climber to where the soon-to-be-defunct pyracantha is. Then add day lilies, peonies and dahlias. The climbing roses on either side of the front window are starting to clamber up their trellis, and the crab apple and paper bark maple are healthy.

The scrawny little man I saw in booking and cleared for PR release, made it to his mothers for coffee. He is a thin fifty year old with flyway shoulder length gray hair and big warts on the bridge of his nose and in corner of one eye. His focus is on getting out of jail, and hustling up a cigarette. The group home he lives in didn't give him his daily spending money. Probably forgot in the excitement created when he pinned a staff member to the wall with his hand on her throat, and the quick police response.

06 OK. I came home, poured a glass of wine, got Viva a bone and took my computer to the back ard to writer. How cool is that? Didn't write long, just a few minutes. Worked on my first 1500 word short short story. It's based on a true life experience of almost 30 years ago. Vivace is now on my lap, and it's starting to get chilly. There's a slight breeze and the chimes I gave to mom and dad occasionally ring. Uh oh. A drop of rain . Or bird poop. Either way it's time to go in.

Up late. It's 0929 and I'm just showered . Blended the costo coffee with the PCC and I put in too much of the cosco, which is an organic Columbian and has a bitter taste and is in the high notes. I prefer the low ones., as I prefer and alto or bass sax to tenor. I woke up wanting to write. And meditate. Probably because today is going to be a short day for me - going to Claire's foe Nao's birthday celebration. Claire's family takes up too much of my time. Will not stay late, as have books to read, beads ot embroider and plates to make. Plus the usual yard and house work

My room is cluttered and dusty with dirty underwear and shoes strewn across the floor. A long weekend with a paint brush, dye and some new art work could transform it into a room I love. I like it as it is, now, but I want my soul to go Ah Ha, when I come into it. I want my soul feel this at-homeness when I come into my house. Read that living in a small space is an opportunity to pare down ones belonging to what is essential and loved. My soul likes this concept. It dances to it.

I am lying propped up against the pillow in bed. Vivace snuggles next to my right foot. One curtain at the slider is pulled open. It is a grey day with a slight breeze. A forlorn fusia bobs in the breeze as do the yellow green feathery branches of the young maple. The maple is starting to hide my view of the hot tub, which is good. I see the hose and a coiled extension cord, both of which need to be put away. White petunia blossoms are visible in their cedar hanging basket, which sits next to the fence.

I should go see Margaret today and not make Claire hobble there on her sore foot. Am tired, though, and want a day with no social interaction. Tomorrow will be hectic. Have to get my chin hairs zapped, and the tree man is coming to cut down the pine at the side of the house. So today is my only day to have the solitude I need before going back to the jail. Making sure I get this is taking good care of myself. It is still easier to take care of others and relegate me to the dust bin.

Monday at 5:56 am.. coffee. Dishwasher unloaded. Yawning. Didn't go to bed until 1130 as was reading the Hacienda, by Lisa St. Aubin de Teran. It is her memoirs of 8 years she spent living on her mentally ill husband's sugar estate in Venezuela. A remarkable book. She is an amazing woman, to have lived as she did for so long. And she did make the lives of la gente live on. It is a testimony to their poverty, suffering. I certainly don't understand life any better having written it, but I felt steeped in its mystery, pathos and beauty.

She is ten and is already over 5' tall, and chunky. Her mother lets her eat lots of sugar, refined foods, and soda. And she loves food- talking about it, fixing it, eating it. She is already a gourmand. She has lovely hazel eyes which says show flecks of blue when she wears that color. Her dark brown hair is thick and luxuriant. And her smile is open and impish. Emily is a lovely, warm, and intelligent child. Her interests include food, music, science, books and anything funny or ghoulish. She likes to search through her host's cupboards and closets.

I mouthed off and have been reprimanded. Yesterday I told one of the supervisors at Comprehensive that it is odd they are coming in now to see people who aren't mentally ill, and we can't get them in to see the ones that are. They are seeing anyone they can now because money is attached to it. It doesn't matter if the person really needs MH treatment. So he toldhis boss who told my boss that I was being rude. I didn't get in a lotof trouble. And I received no sanctions. Political correctness is difficult and mostly counter-productive.

Ricardo crawled up the steel netting that keeps people from leaping off the upper tier, and threw himself to the cement floor. He is wailing and crying that he's shattered his legs and broke his back and is in terrible pain. The nurse examining him determines that he may have fractured a foot, but the ambulance is called to take him to the hospital to be checked out. He has a history of suicide attempts in jail but seemed so much more stable this booking that I felt comfortable moving him to level 2 MH housing the 1st of June.

Another suicide attempt, and it looks like this one my be fatal. The ER has called the fellow's family to get there ASAP. He booked in this morning on a Robbery 1 charge. Said he didn't want to go to court. When they returned his cell mate from court he was hanging from a ceiling fixture, a strip of sheet wrapped around his neck. His feet were blue. Jail nurses did CPR until the medics arrived. He was breathing when he left. People who really want to die, kill themselves with little fuss and no warning. They just do it.

How foolish plans are. We could all be dead tomorrow. Yet without plans I get nothing done and am depressed and adrift. So, the plans are good as long as I keep flexible. And with a good attitude life is good no matter what unless true disaster strikes. So, cultivating health and a good attitude are more important than making money. I have enough now if I am prudent. It is OK to quit the jail when I can find/create work that pays the bills, upkeep on the house and for a bit of travel. Wow. I feel free already.

Two old white tee-shirts, artfully twisted with rubber bands, sank into the hot, deep purple dye. Ten year old Emily at first carefully stirred them, and then more exuberantly, so that droplets of dye flung up and out onto the grass. The sun was warm, and the dogs happy to have company outside. A fly buzzed by, and a squirrel scampered through the laurel hedge. Later, eating strawberries and cherries, cherry juice splattered onto the old white shirt she was wearing. We decided to stamp a design on it from bitten into berries. It was fun, but not pretty.

"So you thought that was fun.- "I did.- "Really fun or just fun.- "Really fun. I liked it a lot. Especially the fast part.- "You did pretty good -only stepped on my toes once.- "And who says there's no hope for motor morons?- "You are living proof there is hope.- "Don't call me a motor moron.- "Me? Never. If I remember, it is you who refers to yourself that way.- "Maybe we should try it again. The better I do the nicer I'll be to myself.- "Hmmm. Sounds like a worthy endeavor. And enjoyable, too.- "All right, then. Let's dance.-

Tis the last day of spring, 2006. Am drinking wine. A breeze is chilling me down. Viva is on my lap, his nose red and a bit swollen. He's lucky the bitch Evie didn't bite it right off. And I know he'll stick it through the fence again. Ricardo came back from the hospital today. Within two hours he removed the 4 ace bandages holding his fractured legs together. And he won't get them back. He may end up deformed, but God damm it, he won't die on our watch. Poor pitiful cretin. And he can be so charming. Sad.

Summer solstice. A fine day. Next year I would like to take it off and celebrate the turnings of the heavens. Even though science understands what's going on, it is still mysterious and wonderous. And now we head back towards the dark. I have no trouble imagining the dark cold days of winter, but in them I can' imagine this: sitting outside at 8:22 in the evening, drinking a glass of Fume Blanc, Viva chewing on a nice fat bone under my chair. The stress of work melts away. My body and mind begin to find a semblance of balance.

What would it be like to sell this house and move to Belize? I'd have enough money to purchase a beach front lot (35-40000), which would be a good investment. And I could afford to build a place on it - a 1000 sg. ft place with 2 bedrooms and covered porches for 70,000 more. How cool is that? I would in essence be trading this for that but that would be paid for. Living in a gated community has never been a goal, but would it really be any weirder than living on Orcas St in 650 sg ft??

The prep work for the first work project of the day is complete. It's good the days are long because it's already 5 pm. The little iron outdoor table is drying. It's been sanded, brushed and washed and is almost ready to be sprayed with Rustoleum metallic paint. I like the taupe color - and it will have a bit of texture to it. If I hate it I can get another color and re-paint it. The next project is to paint the half of a 40's vanity I use as an occasional table. Dark blue, red or forest green?

An old interview with Kris Kristofferson was on NPR the other day. He talked about how he imagined himself into the life he has. He's a short guy yet played football; he doesn't have much musical talent, but is a successful singer/songwriter. He's a bad actor who has been in some successful films. What he is, though, is very intelligent. I think he went to Yale. Anyway, it was a throwback for me to the idea of positive thinking. Somewhere along the way I lost the idea. Now that I've found it again, can I claim it as my own?

Erin told a funny story about one of the inmates - a retarded fellow named Mike. He's been in jail for a month; the misguided misdemeanor court judge is trying to teach him a lesson. More and more Mike talks about how God is going to take him to be with his dead girlfriend on his birthday, which is next week. Anyway, Erin is done with rounds. Mike bangs and yells that he needs to see her again. "I'm not going to rape or murder you, I just want to tell you something." Ah, the joys of twisted dark humor.

The roofers came today. They worked all day in the hot sun and drank most of the water I bought for them - selzer, plain, flavored - 7 or 8 bottles in all, and some large. Need to get more for them for tomorrow. They said sugar messes them up in the hot weather. I ran into the boss man, at Claire's neighbors. He's a cutie pie. A man's man with blight blue eyes and a disarming smile. Its's going to cost 500 more than I expected due to problems with the sub roof. At least it will be done right.

The new roof is ugly. The color should be called tar-paper black rather than midnight black. I suspect I wouldn't like anything I picked and that I will get used to this. The crew did a great job cleaning up the mess. And only a few flower heads are ruined - the stems and flower heads turned an evil brown as though sprayed with something very toxic. And they aren't together - just a few random blighted flowers. The stuff the roofers work with must be nasty. The two drank most of the iced bottled water I left for them.

Shit. Just erased what I wrote about the difficulty of adjusting to the heat of these past few day. People are irritable and a little whacked. There's been an increase in murder and domestic violence. If it lasted we'd probably adjust to the sweat all over out bodies, the never ending thirst, sleepless nights, and the refrigerated commercial buildings. Too bad more of the earth isn't temperate. As it is the majority of us blast through the earth's resources trying to create temperate lives in the hot and cool climes of the world. I like this better than the original.

Too much to do. Running always running. Not enough down time. Not enough time to sit and noodle. Ah, Noodling. Perhaps my best thing to do. To sit in bed with a cup of coffee, not trying to write, not reading, just sitting there propped against the pillows thinking. Not big thoughts, or important thoughts, nor orderly thoughts. Ideas comes and go and memories and day dreams and such. It is my best time of day. And when I have a long weekend with no commitments I can noodle for hours. Anytime I want. Luxury. Better than money. Much so.

The girls are here. Wonderful. Having such a good time. So fun to be with them. Being around beautiful young people is a treat. And I don't get so jealous, anymore, of their youth. There was a gorgeous young woman on the ferry yesterday. With streaked blond hair in two French braids, wearing white wraparound sun glasses. She looked like Uma Thurman and was wearing white. And she drove a cherry red 1960's chevy impala convertible, it's top down. Everyone who passed by her stared, gazing longer than is polite. And she was oblivious to all. Protected by her beauty.