Herself: Taking care of her dings and dents. Thursday: Doc’s office, renewed a med, had a mole removed….which will keep me out of the water a week, got a reference to the hand doc as two fingers are triggering (sticking in place) on my right hand, came over the hill and saw the fogs. Friday: rode the stationary bike for half an hou and did leg lifts. Hurt today, worked Cancer Society. Only one single donation. It was very sad. Today very hot inland so will stay in the fogs at the coast till dinner with the Feasters.
Reading: Rosemary Kirstein’s The Language of Power. It’s one of the best series on any of my shelves, but the author writes her strong heroine’s story very slowly. Planet colonization, divided government, treachery, magic, and logic all faced calmly by a group of tenacious women explorers. Exceptionally well written.
Balance: Coming back to Kirstein’s world.
Since I have never lived on this side of the point, seeing this wall of fog has been a rarity for me. Startling and unexpected. It’s magical to see this wall of wet air creep to the top of our point of land then slowly let its fingers of grey out into the sunshine.
“Oh, look at the fog,” I cried grabbing my camera while himself drove.
My little point and shoot wasn’t powerful enough to see the fog details from Mission Hills, so we drove closer. Out on Shelter Island, a man-made island created from dredging the bay bottom for the bigger ships, we found ourselves right on the edges. In and out it moved.
We could also see far to the south. In a pincher movement, the ground fogs were doing an end run at the end of the bay leaving us in a pool of sunshine.
One childhood memory is of my mother driving on the freeway in Chula Vista while my father walked ahead to make sure we were still on the road. Another of my father hanging out the open driver’s side door attempting to see the lines on the street. This last week, the fogs of home have let us see across the street. Though I cannot see the trees beyond the buildings and the sounds of cars and planes are muted, I can see the old military housing.
We repeatedly stopped as we left the island to capture the fogs from different angles. To the South, to the West again from the boat launch basin, and once just to snap the birds all over one sad boat. Drive by shooting at its best.