Movie Theaters In The Same Boat As 1931“Start the friggin’ movie,” I shouted at the movie screen.It was ten minutes after the posted start time and advertising still filled the theater, one of fourteen at the suburban shopping center multiplex. On my way home from the valley, I was staying overnight at a nearby hotel and as a special treat had eagerly looked forward to seeing “The Boys in the Boat” on the big screen. Based on Daniel James Brown’s page-turning book, the movie recounts the story of the University of Washington’s rowing team that beat the Nazis for a gold medal in the 1936 Summer Olympics.A few minutes later, the screen went blank, and I braced myself for previews of coming attractions. I dread these loud, obnoxious clichés that tease movies I’ll never watch. The trailers have a similar rhythm, starting quiet, with sound and images languid at first, and then the cuts get shorter, more violent and the music louder and

Every Dog Will Have His DayAll the world’s a stage, so it’s said, and what an ironic place to encounter real-life drama than at that very famous West Coast thespian venue, which let's call Ye Olde Shakespeare Festival.It’s been years since I’ve attended a live musical, so for a mini-vacation, I chose the 1990s musical sensation “Rent,” which I hadn’t previously seen. After a three-hour drive and checking into the hotel, I walked downtown for a café latte and some street-side people watching. With that activity checked off, I headed to an OSF map kiosk to locate the stage for that night’s show. Tied to a stanchion was a happy-looking German Shepard, lazing away in the shade. After I found the theater on the map, I stepped away and that’s when I felt the dog bite my right ankle. That chomp came from out of nowhere.Startled, and glancing around, I found the shepard’s scruffy owner. “Does he have rabies shots?&rdq

The Buzz on the New SeasonSummer has finally appeared in California’s Outback—reluctantly, though, with rain showers that kept falling during the month of June. In June, the first mosquito was swatted and the annual burn permit obtained from the state forestry department. But now, July has rolled in and is slowly torching the landscape. Bring on the hotdogs!Mosquitoes and sage brush stand as sign posts for the high desert. There’s not much to do about the bugs—except dumping out containers with standing water. Once the ground dries out, the sage clearing can start, with about a month of burning until the forestry service suspends the permits. One can spend a whole summer killing mosquitoes and sage and not have much to show for the effort. Both the bugs and brush are profuse and prolific: likely candidates to survive a nuclear winter—and summer.Until late May, there are no mosquitoes, so you can take an early morning walk or evening stroll and not be bothe

My butt still hurts. The injury is, let’s face it, my own fault. One shouldn’t blatantly harass Mother Nature. Yes, I was mad. There was a rabbit in my garden! It’s spring up here in NorCal so nothing important is sprouting in my twenty-by-twenty fenced-off area. And yes, I had left the gate open as one of its hinges was damaged—a basic invitation for any critter to enter therein and chow down. But there was a rabbit in my garden! A visceral human instinct took over: Kill the Wabbit! Well, not really harm it, just harass it.Let me set the scene: With my coffee cup in one hand and my walking stick in the other, I had just completed a leisurely stroll around the property—only the second walk of the season since the snow finally stopped. Bodie, the ranch’s Chief Security Officer, accompanied me along to make his round of snuffly inspections. Approaching the fenced garden, I spied a panel of wire mesh that had come undone, and made the repair—and t

Feel-good shopping—online or otherwise.Living in the boondocks, it’s hard not to panic when you’re down to the last scoops of a hard-to-find coffee blend: organic, decaf, water-processed. In fact, if one were to walk into that starry-eyed coffee chain, you couldn’t order this specialty for your vanilla-carmel soy macchiato latte. It’s that difficult to find—especially here in no-frills North State. Fortunately, this particular blend is available from my favorite online retailer. As a standby to carry me through if I run out, I have on the shelf an organic, carbon-dioxide processed decaf instant coffee—but it’s not the same experience. And isn’t that what it’s all about in these socially-conscious and connected Twenties— what it feels like?As I’ve been busy shopping lately, I found myself reflecting on the places that take my money—and the experiences they offer in return—tactile, virtual or otherwise

Here’s Mud In Your EyeAfter the deluge, the mud.Up here in no-frills North State, we residents get an extra-helping of dirt so sticky, it should be patented. In its own unique way, mud is an extra dimension—and the fifth element: There’s Earth, Fire, Water, Wind—and an admixture two: Mud.All those years ago before streets were paved, Downieville and other little Mother Lode burgs were replete with boardwalks, and quaintly, some still exist. In Old Sacramento, they laid down cobblestones in the new little city growing by the side of the Sacramento River. Some of that paving still exists, too.It’s interesting to consider the impact lowly mud can have on man’s activities. Mud can be good exercise. When it starts to rain, that’s the time for ditch maintenance. I go around the property looking to see where the water flows, where it’s blocked and open the channels that get clogged with mud. There’s the small seasonal rivulet that feeds

Rattlesnake ButteRain here in the mountains adds drama to the day. Far from city crowds, the weather is a major happening—entertainment. The weather changes the face of the day. Clouds move lower, boxing in the landscape, and the horizons contract: Local hills disappear. Distant mountains vanish. Rattlesnake Butte, right across the road, is swirled in dews and damps. Soon the landscape is wrapped in a gray blanket. A security blanket. Cozy. Perfect time for brewing a cup of tea.In wet season, our Warm Springs Valley gets a nice drenching every three weeks or so, steady for a few hours. In the late summer, say September, when the rain finally arrives after the dry season, the storm is short, fast, makes you scramble to cover up things that shouldn’t get wet, and falls on a grateful landscape. As the rain disperses, the sun slowly reappears, warming the countryside. The sagebrush steams fresh, pungent and peppery, energizing the air and the body. Makes you shout: “It&

Aging in Place—with My DogAs pills go, it’s tiny. It’s orange. It makes you pee a lot: It’s the water pill. The official name is hydroclorothiazide.My sister has the same 25-milligram prescription. One morning at her house, I spied the pill in a little tray on the kitchen counter.“You take this, too.” I said. “That’s funny.”“It makes me get up at night,” she lamented.“Me, too.” I replied.But when I rouse out of bed at zero dark thirty, I’m not the one going potty. It’s my dog, Bodie. He’s on that pill. Me, I’m just along as chaperone.Bodie is a Jack Russell Terrier-Chihuahua. In 2010 when I adopted him from Happy Tails (which dealt mainly in cats, but don’t tell him that), his estimated age was two years. Currently, in human-to-doggie years, he’s 66: The same age as his caretaker. I could say “dad,” which is true as status goes, but—in a bit of inevitable