Life of Wry

I’ve resisted the gluten thing on general principle for a long time. Firstly, I like wheat. I’ve been happily eating wheat my whole life. Probably every single day of my whole life. I mean, it’s wheat. Secondly, diet trends rub me the wrong way… for so many reasons. All the right reasons. Diet fads: boo.

I’d continue to resist gloooooten free (sorry for the drippy sarcasm), but desperate times call for desperate measures.

And, when Adele–the queen of health and nutrition–made such a compelling case yesterday for going gluten free, and assured me it will make a difference in my inflammation (Hi, I’m Kari, I am an inflammation sufferer.) (I think.), I decided it was worth a three month test.

Turns out, she’s not the only one who thinks eliminating wheat from one’s diet is the key to [many things, but especially] reducing, if not eliminating altogether, inflammation. If you go online, you’ll find more than a critical mass of knowledgable people who advocate it and websites that support it.

It just doesn’t seem smart to ignore the possibility it could work. (I’m the person who stepped into a -166 degree cryo chamber, believing that would be the key to reducing inflammation, remember? Gluten free seems maybe less traumatic… we’ll see.)

So…

Here are two things I’d bought last week that just happened to come in handy today — this, the first official, intentional gluten-free day of my life.

From Costco…

And from the Davis Food Coop…

Both were very yummy. I’m not hating this so far.

After a few trips back and forth across the fence along the southern boundary line of our property, and me running from room to room to catch a glimpse of him (as Jim, in his office, yells down the hall things like: Okay, now he’s running west along the fence, you should be able to see him in the living room!, followed by: Okay now he’s running east, try Peter’s room!), I finally nailed a shot.

I present you with Mr. Possum (as seen from my office):

Totally creeped out. I have yet to uncurl my toes.

Definitely not a possum person.

Postscript: After publishing this entry, Christine, a Facebook friend posted this picture on her wall and tagged me, as in… what’s not to love about a possum!

(And I admit, they are pretty cute.)

The caption read:

The opossum is not native to California but was introduced as a food animal from the East Coast around 1890 in Southern California and 1910 to San Jose. When originally brought here possums were kept in hutches and their meat was considered a delicacy. Later others were imported into California for their fur. Escaping possums found California a delightful place to live and breed. Possums are now thriving in all parts of California except the high Sierra and extreme desert. It is North America’s only marsupial. In pre-colonial years it mainly occupied southeastern states from the lower part of Pennsylvania to the Gulf of Mexico. It also inhabited portions of Eastern Mexico down to the Yucatan Peninsula. It has now spread to Canada in the north and eastern Colorado in the west as well as all along the Pacific seaboard. Opossums are the animal most likely to be brought into California’s wildlife rehab facilities.

Sally’s parents’ house in Calaveras county is still standing as over 65 thousand acres have burned around them.

I can’t even log onto the CalFire website. I imagine it’s jammed as people search for the latest news on a dozen or so fires burning all over the state. I’ve decided they’ll burn whether I’m updated or not, so I’m not going to add to the jam. Suffice to say, it’s a hot mother.

The surfaces inside our house are covered in a fine layer of ash from both the Butte and Valley fires. (Hmm, perhaps we shouldn’t leave the windows open at night with the whole house fan sucking cooler air in?)

Other stuff has been going on this weekend, but the fires burn in the background. The smell, the chest burn, the color of the air–all a sickening reminder.

Serena lost her bid to become the first person since 1988 to win four majors in a calendar year–quite a big deal in the tennis universe. But it’s still brown.

Peter pitched a LOVELY two innings at yesterday’s game against PG–six up, six down, three kays. But it’s still brown.

Janet came home from Australia and regaled us with stories; she is renewed and readier than ever to start a new phase of life. But it’s still brown.

Monica and Dror came for dinner, got a flat tire, unexpectedly stayed the night (as nobody–if you can imagine this–sells Nissan Leaf tires at 8:00pm on a Saturday night). But it’s still brown.

David returned from his year-long Compassion Tour full to the brim with love, gratitude and stories. But it’s still brown.

Taken out the window looking east while stuck behind a tractor on Road 102 on my way to the airport earlier this afternoon.

Brown.

Not to be dramatic, but California’s burning. The CalFire map of active fires is frightening. Hot, brittle, dusty from lack of moisture.. and the air is brown and smoky. Feels all end-timey around here. Not to be dramatic.

I just hate this.

The fire that is causing all the brown skies hereabouts is probably the big Butte fire… some 60,000+ acres, maybe 5-10% contained. Sally’s parents in Mountain Ranch are in the evacuation zone… evacuated yesterday. Holing up in Bear Valley. Awaiting news of their home… is it still standing? Has it been looted? Sickening either way.

We’re not affected directly by any of this, of course. But the anxiety is ever present–four years and counting. It’s the drought, it’s climate change, it’s the withering away of so much of California’s ecosystems. Unfathomably sad.

Feel like we’re living in a sci-fi movie about the end of the earth.

I (I’m not alone) am craving moist, wet, cool, nourishing… something, anything, in a deep, verdant green….

Instead… hot, harsh, dry, smoky.

I might be doing better in this game if it were connect three instead of connect four. As it is, Peter’s doing most of the winning.

Fall Ball season officially opened today. Wuhoo, wuhoo!

it will likely be Peter’s last fall season of baseball, at least playing with Davis High School… therefore it’s another last….the last first day of Fall Ball season. (I told you this might get weird.)

It was a crazy little scrimmage against Woodland, whom they slaughtered, which was totally expected. The umpire even ended a couple of the innings early because Davis had scored just too, too many runs. We stopped putting the score up on the scoreboard after the first inning–it just wasn’t necessary nor polite–but scorekeepers never really stop keeping score–we have books to keep, after all. Even with truncated innings, we still racked up 25 runs to zip.

Our guys looked really, really great.

Maybe the bigger news, though, was that it was 106-degrees at game time, give or take a degree. I am not kidding. Brutal.

Peter didn’t pitch today, but he did get an at-bat. And… bummer…. he was hit on the first pitch. Got a big bruise right next to his left scapula.  Many hoots from the dugout on that one.

The light got really lovely a little later in the game, this was around 6:30pm:

Here are my boothmates… my scoring mentor Dianna, and our second opinion guy Mark:

About to pass out from the heat, but couldn’t be happier.

And speaking of happy….

Too bad these guys aren’t having any fun. (That might be Eton to the right of Peter, Ray to his left, and he’s probably laughing at something Griffin said.)

With thanks to Wes for another in a fantastic series of candid dugout shots.

Sorry for this photo… not mine, horrible resolution… but I needed it.

So, I’m riding my bike into town this afternoon and pull up behind a guy at the corner of 5th and B, wearing tie-dye and loud sunglasses, on one of these. I actually do not know what it is, so I inquire. The conversation goes like this:

Me: What are you on?

Him: No response. 

Me (a bit louder): So.. what are you on?

Him: LSD!

Him (quickly): I’m kidding. I’M KIDDING, really. It’s a segway without a handle.

Me: That looks like it would be really hard to ride.

Him: Everyone thinks that. I tell them, “Yard by yard, life is hard. Inch by inch, life’s a cinch.”

Me (thinking.. what in the world is he talking about..!?): Meaning…

Him: Look, I didn’t just get on this thing, I had to learn to ride it. 

Me (thinking.. o k a y ..well, yeah, but…): Of course, sure, right.  

Him: I worked at it.

Me: Yes, I’m sure.  

Him: Took a long time to get as good as I am. 

Me: I rode a segway once and thought it was tricky.

Him: Oh! You know segways! You’re probably more of an expert than I am!

Me: I doubt that. I had my most awkward accident ever on a segway. 

Him: How’s that?

Me: I was at a dead stop, fell over, the segway fell on top of me and it was like trying to hang onto a very heavy, out-of-control power tool. It was gnarly. I got all cut up. 

Him: Whoaaa… I need to hear more about this.

Me (weaving left through traffic): This is my turn. I gotta go. Bye.

Handle-less segway man is last seen continuing down B Street waving over his head.

So….

As proof, here are a few shots taken in June 2011. It was Peter’s 13th birthday and he and I took a little road trip to LA to celebrate. The weekend was was so much fun–we stayed in a fancy downtown hotel, went to a Dodger game, walked down Hollywood Boulevard, stumbled upon Capital Records, drove up to Griffith Park Observatory, got a close up view of the Hollywood sign, ate at the Westwood In ‘n Out, attended a couple of family birthday parties. Lots of celebration.

But… segway riding was on the top of his list. So we rented a couple in Santa Monica and rode to Venice. It was great fun.. until it wasn’t.

Here is Peter on his segway before HIS spectacular, and sad, spill going too fast around too tight a corner…. and, darn (!), he was having so much fun, too!  He was so confident and full of 13-year old showboatedness before hitting that patch of sand on the bike path… my heart still aches for him.  He’d SO wanted to ride segways… after the fall, he SO never wanted to ride a segway again:

(But isn’t he sweet here? Looks so safe and benign…)

And here’s me on a segway before my very unspectacular fall:

And me after my sort of comedic battle with what felt like a combo buzzsaw-waterwiggle:

Not really ever planning on riding a segway again, with or without handles.

Posted without comment.

That said, the only thing good about this kind of weather in September is that it’s September, which means it can’t last for too much longer.

Any time now, El Nino.

I’m a little hard pressed to come up with blog post tonight. My excuse: been deep in trip blogging and have run out of steam….

But if you’re so inclined, shoot over to August 7 to see what I’ve been working on this evening!

Meanwhile, on a field not too far from here, a low-energy game of over-25s baseball is being played in the 90-degree heat to a very sparse crowd, sitting in small clusters under limited, late-afternoon shade. Alone in the announcer’s booth sits one Peter Frame, running the boards like a boss.

A bit ago, he texted his mom requesting she bring him a sandwich–footlong steak toasted with provolone, lettuce, tomatoes, extra red onions, banana peppers, chipotle and ranch.

Happy to oblige.