cindy, andy, dennis, emmy

Made a ritual of afternoon trips to the local Chinese place. Have been going there on and off for years. But now I take my place there, every day, in a chair, at a table, facing in toward that kitchen and all that industry. The wild yelps from the counter persons to the cooks. Through it all, they smile, and in the slower times they take a table together and eat bountiful bowls of vegetables and rice with their chopsticks..

After years of going there, I finally learned the names of the restaurant staff: Cindy, Andy, Dennis, Emmy. It's with knowing their names that I feel more connected to them. It was a simple gesture to make. Far be it from me to be so foolish as to "teach the world to sing in perfect harmony," but knowing some one's name is a bridge of sorts. Yet, with intimacy, comes problems I know so well.

My average visit to the Golden Star is no more than fifteen minutes. In. Eat. Out. The food is delicious and my hosts are accommodating. I am satisfied with this.

thought I heard a knock

Was asleep with the cats. No radio, no music. Jerked my head up for I thought I heard a knock. I despise door knockers, particularly unannounced door knockers.
Why? What do you fear?
Have an image of an old ice cream man; wrinkled face; dressed all in white with a black bow tie; he carries a large net with a long pole handle.
Dog catcher?
So I crept to the window, moved the blinds askew to see who might be on the porch- no one there. Back to bed, laying there with that resounding knocking, playing over and over, and my heart racing..
It's ok. Maybe the wind blew, tapped a tree against the house.
There's no reason for anyone to knock on my door. I've paid my taxes. All communication is done by wire. My intimacy is with animals. My avoidance serves as repellent, and works very well.
So don't worry. No one will come. Just sleep now. Everything is ok.
The wind blew, tapped a tree against the house. Ok?

girls help cook the chinese food, good, no girls only men, no good

I've experimented with the Chinese restaurants and I'm learning new things. I've always looked for a "ramshackle, shoddy" facade to signal that there's good food waiting for me. So, strip malls have nothing to offer. One must venture into an "urban enterprise zone, the inner city, a ghetto-" one must smell the fumes of cars and buses and see the grime adorning signs to find good cooking. Beyond this criteria, I didn't think I had anything new to learn but for the misfortune of trying a new, "ungrimy" place not far from where I live..

When I entered the restaurant, I was alarmed by the conspicuous absence of women. This gave me a "bad feeling." I'm accustomed to seeing at least one or two gals tending to the woks and greeting customers. And as strange as it sounds, give me a youthful Chinese gal with a grease-splattered apron- along with the usual black hair and white, white skin.. the rudimentary English- this is very sexy to me; and I'll expand on this in the privacy of my mind... But I ordered my food in this "all male" place and not to my surprise, there was a "harshness" to my dinner. It needed softening from the female touch. Yes, it gets a little mysterious to ponder the renderings of heart and soul on a meal. But there was a palpable "something missing" in this experience and I ate hastily and hurried away, disappointed .

So, it's with great care that I'll continue to seek a variety of new experiences with the food Chinese; and once I identify a restaurant as suitable for entry, I will pause at the counter and look about the place. Only when I see the smiling eyes, the warm countenance of the ladies there, will my heart be happily served.
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why i don't live in my truck

I was desperate for her love and suffered for her indifference. I offered a plan which she, in effect, refused: I would give up my apartment, she would house and care for my cats, and I would work, provide the income for her and our cats' living expenses; all the while I would sleep in my truck and only stop home once a week to visit my cats. I thought she would agree to this since it would afford her much space as my once-a-week visit could hardly be seen as an intrusion given all I would be doing for her. But then she asked "what I would do" when she got back on her feet and no longer needed assistance from me. It was her way of saying," Well, when I get a new job you'll have to get your cats and find a new place of your own." All she had to say was, "I don't love you anymore-" and say this, she eventually did.

What was lost was perhaps my last chance to live in an automobile. Something I had thought of doing for some time. And of course the immediate benefit of so doing would have been to eliminate a large portion of day-to-day living expenses. All the inconveniences that would have been associated with such a venture I could have transcended. Portable toilet, sponge baths, radio, warm blankets- what else does one need, really? I could've set up a lantern to read and I would be set. But this will never happen..

For the same reason I can't live in my van, I can't take a vacation: I have seven cats. And in retrospect, I couldn't have been away from them for six days a week at any time, and certainly not for one day now. Cat sitters? No. There is no one I could trust to watch my cats. It takes a trained eye to be a cat caretaker and I wouldn't let anyone other than myself be responsible for the well-being of my cats. No, I will never live in a truck, and I will never leave home for more than 12 hours. But I accept what most would consider as limitations- and don't feel limited at all.

I cannot imagine not having a cat family. As all cats eventually die, there are more who need a home. I will never be without cats. I will never be without the joy of having cats. No cat has ever caused me sadness. They give to me. I give to them. Many people wouldn't understand this. But that's ok.

laundromat

I remember my first time. It really was a rite of passage. Sitting there, independently, the machine spinning and me just staring at it's contents in revolution. And it was back then that I developed the laundry habits I have to this day (never fold clothes, stuff clothes in bag, go home).
Back then it seemed easier to find a laundromat that was not overrun with people, whereas today I have to be at one no later than 6AM to be alone. I'm not suggesting that people overtly do things to bother me when I'm there (the prototypical child runner who can't stop doing laps and screaming while the Mom seems powerless to control him or her).

I never thought I would want my own machines at home, for they take up space. I guess I still don't want a washer and dryer. I just want an environment that is becoming more difficult to find. I have a general dislike for having to "share space" with anyone (except for my cats who clean their own coats, by the way).

It's not unthinkable that I may revert to washing my stuff in buckets at home. This is something I have done before on a small scale. If I had the means maybe I would just discard things that are dirty but I don't like shopping for clothes (shopping in general has necessitated adjustments).

There is a 24- hour laundromat I know of whose location I would never disclose. Now some homeless sleep there so the ambiance is gone. Besides, It's over a half hour drive from my apartment.

The decline of everything is rampant ; creativity must be brought to make chores more enjoyable. And it always comes down to people- increasingly, their invasion of my space is more bothersome- to some degree, I will bleach them out. The use of chemicals offers some relief.

light bulb

Bulb in the vestibule burnt out. Walk up the stairs in the dark. It's light in the kitchen. Find a new bulb, down the darkened stairway, screw it in with skill. The blossoming of light about and I walk back up, then look down at everything bright and I just can't believe it; I just can't believe it that we have such wonderful things like light bulbs, tooth paste, nail clippers, radios, television, victrolas you don't have to crank (so they're not Victrolas anymore).

I am satisfied with the bulb, thank you, General Electric- this old-fashioned light bulb is delightful; your engineers can retire. Some things need not be improved upon. Done.

late for garbage

Often the custom is to haul the cans to the curb the night prior to "garbage day." That would be the easy way. Instead I play a little game, guessing that I will always awake in time to do this chore early in the morning. Some days I'm alerted to the roaring diesel of the truck as it makes it pass down an intersecting street and I can run out, get the cans curbside, and- while I'm out there- feed and give fresh water to the feral cats who wait by the shed for me.

I didn't wake up in time this morning. Was weighed down by a bad dream, the contents of which I can't recall. When I did look out the window I saw cans down the street, upside down and on their sides, and felt dejected for a moment.

The cats by the shed have been fed and the radio plays talk. It's rare that a dream slips by me thru which I'll always sift thru. I have to accept that the unconscious process was likely orderly enough, served it's purpose, and just let this be for now..

On Sunday night, most neighbors will dutifully take their garbage out for the next pick up day which is Monday morning. And I will wake up in time for sure. And accumulated stuff will go and I'll be free of it. For now, I feel a little tense. But soon enough, I will feel better.