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Posted October 16, 2010


Every year back at school in the fall, it's the same thing - write the ol' What I Did Last Summer Essay so here goes:

I'd been hanging out at San Francisco's Pier 40 and it was about time he asked me out. I'd been coming to this posh dog park for awhile now and there had always been a connection. The effect I had on him sorta made him wobble out of his orbit like a planet without a sun. I guess you could say we were a good match because my mind was analytical and his pictorial. I guess you could have also said I was blinded by love's rays and he could visualize the entire scheme of things while being sucked through a black hole.

Anyway, our moms had the same purple pooper bag dispensers attached to our leashes which was sorta like them calling each other up in their hey-day to make sure they wore the same color uniform potato sacks to school on the same chemistry lab test dates. Puke green. Never knew when frog guts might splatter. I've heard it said that imitation is the finest form of flattery. So I assumed it was all dog destiny.

And too, I think it was because I'm a sittin-on-the-dock-of-the-bay kind of gal who likes to stare at water with a weird tendency to jump. (Which would have been fatal since I can't swim and would sink like a rock so I always braced myself against a light post.) Whatever. He was attracted to a girl who could focus.

But never mind because lookout! Here came the two-timing fraternal twins looking for T.R.O.U.B.L. E. I could set my digital Timex by their pier patrols. As if their mom had never been fined 500 big ones for leaving a surprise hidden in the grass. I figured their posturing was all a ruse to get my attention and cause a big stink.


They'd always been bossy, territorial, and right as rain, and one was never seen without the other. But hey, I was pretty sassy and could express my dominance and throw my weight around when I had a need to. That's why they tagged me with bulldog. But never a bully. Always a southern belle.

Now, let me clue you in - Mr. Scotty was of a different breed. I had the utmost respect for him because it must have been exhausting trying to look that starchy just for a stroll around the neighborhood hoping to catch a glimpse of the Giants baseball team. He really needed to let his tail down. Every now and then at least. I'm just relieved he left his kilt closeted the day this picture was snapped. For some reason his pleats just never hung straight. Sometimes it's just best to keep life simple. But that's just my informed opinion.

And his infatuation with the Giants, well, I realized that the Giants were a hot item but not the end all, be all, wherewithal, unless the condo could be mortgaged to get tickets with a visual of the dugout. I personally enjoyed noting who was chewing what.

Location, location, location.

Changes everything.

Frankly, I'd rather keep my money and watch up close and personal on the T.V. screen with dog treats and dip within reach.

But just watching the Scotsman was great practice for writing character description...his mug could have stood a close shave while his inky jet black hair hung like wirebrush bristles searching for a hubcap as he stood like a soldier inspecting the aroma from the bacon I'd just begged off the cafe owner down the street....

I think I penned too many he pronouns in there and got tsunamied away with the adjectives but if you, too, are pictorial - you got the picture.

So quantum leaping from my tangent and back to Ramblin' Man - yeah, that's his name. He finally worked up some nerve to take me to Alioto's which served Italian seafood even though the Alioto family was Sicilian and was on the 10 best first date restaurants' list and they'd contributed a few politicians to the local pot just to keep things stirred up.

Which was excellent - the pot - since I was not an aficionado of Rice-A-Roni. I ordered up clam chowder, half a lobster, four prawns and a hunk of sour dough bread. Just for grins, they threw in a midget corn on the cob. Wouldn't you know they brought the main dish in what looked like my great-granny Josie's bunion soaking pan. However, I thought the lemon slice added culinary contrast.

We ended our date by hanging off the side of the Trolley - the fog-wind pinning our ears flat against our heads - and trying to nuzzle amidst the wet gray shroud by the time we chugged up Nob Hill. I must say, it was a dog-day date night for sure and one to scrapbook.

Who knows. Only time will tell. I'm kinda into floppy ears AND curly hair. Until then I'll be content to take a cruise in great-granny Josie's sail boat and make sure to wear a life jacket. Instead of chasing-rabbit-dreams, of late I've been having a lot of recurring treading water scenarios .

I gotta run and change my Facebook status to "In a relationship" unless Mark Zuckerburg has messed with all of the settings again. Until the next adventure - WUF WUF!

Photo credit - Peyton



Just wanted to let you know, i visited your website and it was awesome. I love the pictures and blog about using pictures when writing. Normally, God puts a picture in my mind as i'm driving then have to pull over and jot it down. Thank you for your blog. Anyway, just wanted to let you know i really enjoyed your site. Have a Blessed Day, Brenda



Thanks for writing Brenda, and glad you enjoyed the article and my website. And yes, isn't it fun to co-create with God! I was once driving down the road listening to a Jill Briscoe tape and was so inspired that when it ended, God gave me an entire poem and I, too, had to pull over on the side of the road and jot it down! Songs also come to me that way. I've learned to drive without the radio and it's then lyrics of my own spring forth. Carrying a hand held recorder now while I'm in the car is even better. I can keep driving and transfer the idea/poem/song when I reach my destination. Good luck with your writing!

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