Teen Tech Triage

The "?" on the tiny file folder in the center of our iMac's screen was an obituary: the hard drive had mysteriously -- and permanently -- died.

Sellers of computer extended warranties, beware. We use ours. Almost nothing on our iMac is original, except the screen. Now, though, we're out of warranty. The estimate? $300.

Our 16-year-old broke the news by cell phone, on his way to Fry's.



By mid-day, he'd installed a new 500GB hard drive and an extra GB of RAM. Total cost: $120.

Surprised? Don't be.

There were early clues.

Peripheral Vision

I found the mice, PS/2 connection relics, buried under a snarl of computer memorabilia in our garage.






We've been riding the technology wave since our 1994 Micron purchase, a 150mHz Pentium with 32MB of DRAM and 1GB of storage. Periodically, we upgrade, ditching outdated CPU's, Jethro-sized monitors, and anemic printers. But we always keep cords and cables and small peripherals.

You never know, right?



But ... now we do.

New systems come complete. Plug connections change. Peripherals turn obsolete.

We've never pulled anything out of the box except to untangle and re-organize.

Until today.

Summertime Mooz

It's summertime, but the living is not so easy: No rain in sight. Skyline tinged with wildfire haze. Our calves sold at market a month early because food is running low.











And now the summer shift -- from over the hills to here, by the old barn and the drying creek. A long walk. And for what?














Standing here, our new zone looks pretty lush, right?

Take a step back. Let's focus on the bigger picture. --------->





If it stays this dry all summer long, what are we going to eat in August ...




... digital greens?

Cardinal Quotes

Johnny Dawkins didn’t waste the home court advantage.


Asked at last night’s Stanford alumni event about Landry Fields, Dawkins told this story:

Fields got passionate one practice about play, angry with himself. Afterwards, he apologized. No need, I said. If we all play with that passion and desire, the team will be great.

“Good things can happen with good emotions.”

The alums loved that, particularly since Dawkins had already shared his feelings about his new job:





“Every day I wake up, there is no one any happier to be the Stanford head coach.”

Cutting to the Chase

I go to bed, worried. By the time I get up, Danny will be on the bus, bound for Northern Wisconsin. Manito-wish is a traditional YMCA camp, complete with canoe trip. Ipods and cell phones? Not part of the program. Check them at the gate.

Could prove challenging. And not just for Danny. Camp really might be like the old days: Moms write. Kids don't.

My wake up call is a text message. Looks like Danny has made friends on the bus.








By 9:15 a.m. I'm at Ace ... no longer focused on radio silence.

Parting Shots

You can tell it's the "on the way" to camp photo because everything is clean, even the duffle. Danny's off on the first leg of the journey -- his grandmother's house in Illinois.

I looked at the digital photos tonight -- 3 seemingly identical ones.

Then I saw the woman in the black car.

She sees, then takes a better look.










I do that sometimes, watch families taking pictures. Conjures up home movies in my mind.

If only the lady had rolled down her window and shared: "Don't worry. He'll be fine. Mine survived." 

Real World Disney

Watching these two Arabian barn-mates romp during their rein-free Sunday playdate made all those improbable Disney animal movies seem ... well ... possible.




There was the short beginning.








The long, action-packed middle.











And even a sappy ending.







I loved every minute of it.

I like those classic Disney flicks, too. You pretty much know that things are going to work out. Good wins. Love conquers. Friends triumph. It's animated food for the soul, right?





The problem is this: Eventually they kick you out of the theater,
and then it's back to reality.

Choosing Green

8:47 a.m., and Marlene, who got here before 7 to beat the heat, is sweating.


Welcome to Rossmoor Community Garden, where this passionate gardener turned condo owner cultivates every inch of her 520 square foot plot, including the path that cuts through it.

Marlene harvests vegetables to save, to savor, and to share.  "Zucchinis are in," she'll put on the box. "Help yourself."


Tired and ready for home, Marlene eyes the sun. This squelcher may force her face to the fan, she says. Air conditioning bloats her bill.

"I'd rather travel." 

Nice choice.

Inspiration Point

These are the final moments of the first Excel in Basketball Camp of the summer and Frank Allocco, Sr., is about to hold court in the gym, leading off the awards ceremony.

It's been a great week, he says. Lots of good effort. Strong skill practice.



Life lessons, really. Being determined. Working hard. Showing respect. It all matters. But ... this experience, he warns, will mean nothing, if it ends here.

You have to need success, not just want it.





"Someone somewhere is practicing when you're not. And when you meet, they will win."

Summer Prep

At first glance, today's De La Salle High School bookstore sifter almost gets lost in this textbook bar graph.

Tomorrow she may be easier to spot. The columns are shifting -- down and over and sometimes out.






LIke these, standing at attention, awaiting shipping orders.

I first noticed the textbooks last July, during another of my sons' Excel in Basketball camp sessions. By then, the stacks had become individual portions, used books peppered with new, served up on cafeteria tables like so many turkey dinners, waiting.

Who, I wonder, will remember to give thanks?

The Inside Story

"Consciously sedated" during this morning's Upper GI endoscopy, I can't gross you out with details because I don't remember them. Here's what I do know: The East Bay Endosurgery experience comes with an unexpected view.


300 Frank Ogawa Plaza, originally opened in 1913 as Kahn's Department Store and later home to Liberty Stores, was resurrected after 1989 earthquake damage. It reopened in 1999 as a honeycomb of commerce -- stores, offices, coffee shop, and more.

The net result is an Oakland architectural gem, a worthy end destination in its own right. No appointment required.

Eagle Sighting

It wasn't until I'd passed its perch on a postage-stamp yard along Pleasant Hill Road that I took in this golden eagle's full magnitude.


I doubled-back, camera in hand.

Just to prove I wasn't making it up.

I've been telling the story all day, struggling for the right adjective -- enormous, behemoth, colossal. Maybe Herculean. Possibly, prodigious. 

Turns out, it didn't matter. Once I showed the picture, people got it. Some laughed. Others nodded. A few grimaced.

Apparently, it's a familiar tale. This version just happens to have an eagle in it.

Off the Court

From the Saint Mary's College cross, you can see for miles. I knew it would take my son's mind off the disappointing basketball tournament. And it did -- he and his father debated Tiger's knee surgery, whether he'd drop out of the Open, even though he's in the lead.

Turning to leave, Jamie stopped short, squinting towards Bollinger Canyon.

"Wow," he said.







Having trouble seeing what Jamie spied? I did. Let me zoom in.

A sport court.

"It's in Cal colors. And ... they have a putting green, too." Then he smiled. "That's hella sick."

Between Games

Snagged on the lip of an otherwise tranquil fountain on the Saint Mary's College campus was a dark feather. I spied it on a self-guided tour between today's High School Basketball Shootout games.

I marveled at the feather's ability to hold on, or was it the fountain's unwillingness to let go? Or perhaps just algae, interfering.

I have no idea how long the feather has been stuck or where it will be in the morning, when games begin again. If the feather's gone, though, I will miss it.

Trouble is always interesting.

One Thing New

Try. See. Taste. Read. Learn. You pick the verb.

It's my current life plan: One thing new, something different every day.


This morning, my walking partner and I turned right instead of left, away from the usual bike path and towards the land in Hunsaker Canyon now owned by East Bay Regional. I was up here months ago and knew we'd see the old barn.




Today there was a new trail, fresh ATV tracks leading through shaded woods.





And we found bones ... femurs, ribs, a vertebrae.

Explored unfamiliar trail. Spied unlucky cow. New enough.

The Big Ball Pick-Up

It's another chance to ditch the stuff I hide in the shed, under beds and up the attic stairs. But first I have to walk Big Pick-up Purgatory laps, naked clutter exposed by the curb. Again.

Cars slow. Kids peruse. Walkers snicker. 

Everyone sees what. But they want to know more: when, where, and how. And for God's sake -- why.  

Sons, resident coach, re-gifters. You guess -- how did we jump from one ball in 1993 to 47 castaways in 2008?

 

I just say, "Check out Theresa's pile, what's up with those mops?"

Grandma Lulu

Grandma Lulu is ninety-three. Living 3000 miles apart, we've been telephone family for decades. Then calls started getting shorter, less personal, chats that started with, "It's Robin, Ellouise's daughter."

"I know," Lulu would always say, but I couldn't tell for sure.

I accepted my changing role: Telemarketer of family love. Station break in a Medicare nursing room sitcom. Voice in the shadows.

Now Lulu's hands can't steady the phone to her ear. So I leave messages. Each "I love you" might mean Goodbye.


A ninety-three word conversation? It's a lost luxury.