So
I was walking to the downtown farmers’ market Saturday, pushing my
cart. It’s about a mile, and about half-way there I spotted a
nice-looking soft-blue office chair at a yard sale. I had recently come
to the conclusion that I needed an office to write the Malvina book in,
because there’s so much stuff to sort and keep track of. So I tried out
the chair and it worked, mostly, and it was $5. I gave the guy the five
to hold it while I went home for my car. He pointed out that the chair
would look cute with the hot pink computer desk he was also selling. He
was right, but the desk was smaller than I’d pictured for my office.
“There’s
a story about this desk,” he said. Of course, I wanted to hear it.
“This desk has really sturdy wheels. I got it in Oakland, brought it
home on BART [Bay Area Rapid Transit] and rollerbladed home pushing it
in front of me.” I told him I’d think about it, pushed my cart home, and
cleared out a little space in the garage. By the time I got back with
the car, I wanted the desk. But I have a Prius, and the desk didn’t fit.
We put in the chair, I paid for the desk, and said I’d be back to roll
it home, but just then my next-door neighbor came by walking his dog.
“Hey Kurt, could you roll this desk home for me?” “Sure.” So now I have a
desk and a chair, $15 total. I want an office to fall in my lap just as
easily, but so far, no luck. Later, Kurt, with a grin, asked to be
mentioned in the acknowledgments of the book. “With a little photo,” I
said, because he is cute, but he may have to settle for a blog thank-you.
The farmers’ market is in full apricot mode right now; my favorites are the Royal Blenheims (a picture
is worth a thousand...actually, what you want is a taste). I think this
is the kind we picked from the tree in our back yard on Potrero Hill,
like little alien cheeks with freckles and a blush. I don’t remember
which kind the neighbor’s tree had when I was about ten, living on Grant
Street, but I do remember the heavenly feeling of sitting in the tree
in the evening, looking at an apricot sunset over the Golden Gate and
reaching out my hand for a ripe one. Now, we’ve had a little run of hot
weather and peach season is starting. I remembered being at the market
at the beginning of strawberry season and hearing one of the musicians
say, “I’m waiting for the Campanile to chime to get a C.” I’d heard of
using the dial tone for an A, but never thought about the UC campus bell
tower as a tuning fork.
Here are some leftovers from New York:
Susan had three Bokov
assemblages on her walls. We wanted the fish made of a tire tread, one
of her friends took a smaller piece, but the third, large and heavy, was
unclaimed. The day before we left, one of her neighbors was helping us
sort and pack, and we told her about the Bokov. “My nephew collects
them,” she said. Bingo! Now they’ll all have good homes.
We put “I Will Not Die an Unlived Life” by Dawna Markova in the program we printed for Susan’s memorial.
While
we were drinking espresso at an outdoor table at Reggio’s, a silver
Lincoln went by with the license plate: VIOLIN. I love Berkeley but I
miss Greenwich Village. Sitting outside drinking espresso here, at
Trieste or Jimmy Bean’s, the coffee is just as good but no sfogliatelli,
and the passing scene is not as interesting. On the other hand: more
likely to run into friends.
©2007 by Nancy Schimmel
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
ART, POETRY, APRICOTS
