All both of you blog readers may have noticed I dropped off the planet for some time. There have been a lot of changes in my life lately. I am moving soon, and I suspect when everything settles down a bit I will pick up the blogging ball again.

In the mean time, I saw my good friend Stephen and his acting partner Jon's show, "Ten West" this weekend, while they were in Northern California. These guys are so good, they never fail to have people doubled over (laughing), and  the audience was hooting and hollering for more when they finished. I'm pretty awed by their talent, knowing how hard it is to pull off what they do. Anyway, go see them if you can.

I'm still doing my hikes and walks as metaphors, but rarely have time to write about it. This week, I went for my standby favorite, Tenessee Valley, with my friend Louis. We talked all the way down to the water, and then sat on the beach and talked some more. I forget how nourishing it is to be able to talk that way. I know we all walk our paths alone in the end, but sometimes the extra set of footprints beside me can help put the road in perspective. I hardly noticed the hills.

Today I had to pick up my car from the shop and because I didn't have time to exercise at any other time, I walked across the city to get it. Let's call it an urban hike. As I walked down this particular stretch of road, I marveled at the sheer numbers of day laborers. There were probably close to 75 men lining the road, as there are every day, waiting for a truck to stop and offer them a few dollars for some lifting/hauling/pulling/digging. The day laborers lay around like cattle bunched around the few trees lending shade. Not a car or truck in sight, they played cards, or napped, or chatted with the others. Laboring under the illusion of the American Dream.

 

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