Monday, August 13, 2007
Someone got the boy a set of scented pens, similar to the scented pens I had at about the same age (4). Of course, he loves them. I remember my introduction to such pens. It happened hanging out at a neighbor's house in Petaluma one afternoon. Amazement and delight were in no short supply. Soon after, a second-hand set found it's way into my possession. I kept those delicious markers until only the licorice one had any scent at all left, and they left only the vaguest of marks on paper. I truly loved them. You can see the pen marks under his nose. The boy took the photo of Sissy watching me about to sniff the pen with no assistance. I was impressed with how he framed it, he shoots like a natural. Those pens bring back memories, crispy, well-preserved snapshots of life at 1020 B Street in Petaluma, in my dark little room at the front of the old red Victorian with white trim, thin oriental rug kicking up dust at the drop of, well, anything.
Killed the Tour de Max Sunday, all 7,000 feet of it. Felt good. Stunning scenery. Six hours in the saddle, 12 mph average speed, 38 mph max speed, blooming grueling. Hope to do it again next year, faster.