The Mourning Doves August 5, 2016

Though this blog is an account of life at Pi (not “Life of Pi”), I’d like to insert a little commentary about my alternate universe – San Francisco – where amid the grit, fog, traffic, cacophony of languages, and unbridled construction there too lies nature.  My neighborhood, tucked into the northeastern slope of the Sutro Forest, is home to a coyote family, for example.  Of course the raccoons and squirrels are rampant, and my back “yard” (more accurately imagined as a “cliff”) has been host to a possum, not to mention many types of butterflies, both majestic and delicate, and birds, from the noisy parrots of Telegraph Hill, who flock here routinely, to the emerald hummingbirds.

My current pleasure is a pair of mourning doves, who have taken residence in the wisteria above my kitchen window, made lush by this year’s rains and fed by an underground creek.  Though the doves are a constant presence, it didn’t occur to me that a nest was in progress until I finally put two and two together.  The back stairs to the garage were strewn with little twigs, which I had originally assumed were detritus from the wind (we have a lot of that in San Francisco, too!).  But I soon realized that the industrious couple was attempting to fashion a nest, and it wasn’t going too well.  Initially, when the nest was quite sketchy, one of the eggs slipped through to the supporting wood below.  I picked it up and gently tucked it back in.

Now the nest is thick, with two small white eggs (apparently the mourning doves can produce six broods a year) and one of the parents patiently incubating them.  Last night it rained and I noticed the bird is still is covered in droplets.  I quietly hoist the blinds and open the bedroom windows to get a better look from above.  Perhaps next week, on my return to the city, I will see a pair of squabs, begging to be fed.

The Mouse August 1, 2016

After the sad tale of the fawn, I had to deal with the formidable cleanup.  There was blood and guts splattered on the floor, walls, windows, and drapes.  So I geared up yesterday and 3 hours later, following a sequence of scrubbing with detergent, then bleach, and washing the large draperies in my new fabulous galvanized washtub (how lucky that I had purchased it!) and drying them in the bright sun, my studio seemed to be more or less back in order.

But as I began the detox effort, one kind of crazy correlation caught my notice:  on each fawn splatter (for lack of a better word) on the floor, there lay a single little mouse poop.  There were no mice droppings anywhere else.  (Though I didn’t count them or figure out the density, my gut told me that the correlation had to be statistically significant.)  It was as if some little mouse (and generally I don’t even have mice!) came through and tried to counteract the smell with its own scent.

Now that the place is clean, I see no more evidence of a mouse, and I hope it stays that way.  There is only so much mammalian drama I can take!

Late in the day, I went out to look at the fawn’s carcass, and indeed there was almost nothing left.  All that remained, inexplicably, were two beautiful hooves, one from a front leg, and the other from the back, positioned exactly where Casey had laid the unfortunate creature a few days before. 

The Bookstore August 1, 2016

It had never occurred to me to own a bookstore.  In fact, it had never occurred to me to own a business of any kind.  But when the owners of Point Reyes Books announced that they were going to move on to other pursuits after 14 years and were looking for buyers, I thought to myself, “What an extraordinary opportunity!”

Because a bookstore comes very close to being the person that I am – the world of ideas and of stories.  How I love to hunker down with a good book.  When I was a girl, I spent hours on the front porch, under the shade, rocking back and forth in a springy black metal chair, sniffing at the pink geraniums, inhaling the green of cut grass, huddled against the stone façade of our house during late afternoon thunderstorms – all with library book in hand.  Our family did not own very many books, but my mother was a voracious reader, and there were few greater pleasures for me than going to the library with her and coming away with a half-dozen books, all in their plastic sheathes, with their little manila papers listing their lifetime of due dates, and that classic library-book odor. 

I digress.  I suggested to my niece Molly that I purchase the bookstore and that she manage it – and I got a mini-flurry of enthusiastic email responses.  So she and her husband, my sister who lives near them in Minneapolis, and I all wrote to the owners, expressing our interest and letting them know a little bit about us. 

Some of my friends are quite enthusiastic about the idea – “This is the perfect path for you!” or perhaps even a little envious – “I’ve always wanted to own a bookstore!” they might say.  Others think I am out of my mind.  At this point I’m not quite sure what to think about the whole idea.  But I do know that “Books fall open, we fall in.”  That lives can be enriched and even changed by reading.  And that this particular independent bookstore fills a need in this community, which I love being a part of.

At the end of the day, it was an opportunity that I, in conjunction with my extended family, needed to explore.  Today I met with the owners, who told me that they actually have a different team in mind.  But we certainly hit it off and I was impressed with what they had to say.  So we’ll see how this plays out.  Keep tuned!