Everything But Mis-Matched Stockings

The microchip was the first clue. As I sat on the bench, straining every muscle in my right ear, the vet placed the call. Fifteen seconds later -- or an eternity -- Linda beamed.

"They say they have no idea whose Golden Retriever it might be."

Surprisingly, Albertsons provided the second hint. There, next to the cotton balls and shower gel, hung a matching green-and-paw-print leash and collar. Two bucks? Clearly a must-have.

But mostly, it was my 45-minute dog-walk that proved to be brilliantly karma-esque. Three porch-sitting peeps practically exclaimed: "Wow, you have your hands full!"

Yes, I do, I thought. And I'm loving every second.

Pippi and Oskar. Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?

Driving by Postcards

Jetting down the refreshingly empty 210, I tried to lift my heart toward the sky, tuck in the tummy and grip the steering wheel with two hands -- allowing the lower back to straighten and muscles from finger-tips to pink-painted-toes to guide me home.

Yoga.

One class and I'm an addict.

Turning onto Second Avenue, I slowed down for a white-clad jogger darting early-evening sprinklers. A few blocks ahead, Mr. Dad was playing catch in the front yard with Little Miss and Jr. And rounding the corner to my tree-lined street, I waved to the obsessive-garage-sale-guy, no doubt contemplating what treasures to part with on Saturday morning.

Picture perfect? Perhaps. But definitely a magical slice of Americana, glittering in the 75-degree dusk.

Good Luck With That

Everyone mis-steps.

But when the California Supreme Court rules in super-broad strokes that can only prompt quizzical interpretations on an already sensitive topic -- well, then not sure that deserves anything more than an immediate 'oops' on the part of those with law-like powers.

And in case you're not up on the latest legislative efforts, then consider this simple analogy.

Next time you're a sip away from the insanely unhealthy Chiantico, or splurging on a carton of Half-Baked, make sure nobody's watching. Before you know it, you might get sued for inadvertently encouraging someone else to follow in your dietary-caution-to-the-wind whim.

Makes sense right? Clearly we can't assume that people should take responsibility for their own predicaments. That would be way too easy.

Observations at 4am

1. Do-overs are clearly allowed.
2. If it makes you smile, repeat.
3. A little wine always helps the medicine go down.
4. Sleep is not over-rated.
5. But sometimes, giving up on snoozing is so worth it.
6. Never cease communicating.
7. Try to have music playing at all times.
8. Share funny stories.
9. Take an extra minute to hug your dog.
10. Evidently, the ice-cream drumstick business is booming.

Phew!

Now's definitely not the time to give up. But after Bush adroitly described what he's looking for in a potential Supreme Court nominee, it's slightly challenging to remain chill as a cucumber.

"....a fair-minded individual who represents the mainstream of American law and American values."

Um. Please define 'mainstream.'

In addition to promising to choose someone that we can be proud of, Mr. President also vowed:

"....will meet the highest standards of intellect, character and ability and will pledge to faithfully interpret the Constitution and laws of our country."

Yeah. 'Faithfully interpret' clearly being an operative phrase.

Time to start crossing fingers and holding thumbs.

Six Degrees of Blogs

Cat Stevens Yusuf Islam Andersson?

Kidding.

He did have a Swedish mother. And spent some time being idolized in the booming metropolis of Gavle.

But that's beside the point.

What's not, is the circular notion to all things.

A profound passion for the lyrical Harold & Maude drove an Element down Foothill, "Where Do The Children Play?" blasting from unsophisticated speakers, crackling, as the hand of a ONE-braceleted arm turned the volume knob east. A few whimsically-inspired digits later, there it was:

"It's not time to make a change,
Just relax,
take it easy.
You're still young, that's your fault,
There's so much you
have to know.
Find a girl, settle down,
If you want you can marry.
Look at me, I am old, but I'm happy.

I was once like you are
now, and I know that it's not easy,
To be calm when you've found something
going on.
But take your time, think a lot,
Why, think of everything
you've got.
For you will still be here tomorrow, but your dreams may not. "
-- (Father and Son)

The '70s clearly ruled.

Will someone ever say that about the '00s?

Ancient Swedish Wisdom

They were *always* awake by the time my sisters and I rolled out of bed.

The house would be completely silent. Until you reached the living room. There, on two separate bath towels my grandparents would be doing their morning gymnastics. The every-day regimen differed slightly, but consisted basically of a variety of what today's gurus might loosely define as yoga. Interspersed with jumping jacks and a plethora of runner's stretches.

The TV was never on. I think the radio may have been, but it was barely audible at best.

And so it went. Every morning. Between 6 and 7.

I randomly remembered this last night, as I was engaged in various stretches on my patio. Waiting for my eggs to cool so I could peel them, paused on one leg, trying not to topple, I vowed to continue their magical moments of bodily peace.

Best part? The mug of honey water that always signalled the end of the routine & official start of the day. I'm thinking I may have to stick with coffee for now. But then again, I'm no sage 70-year-old.

Don't Walk and Chew Gum

Turns out people who feel compelled to chat on their phones while maneuvering in traffic, are more likely to find themselves tangled up in fender-benders.

Makes sense.

Super-trickster to make it through the day without multi-tasking. Conference calls & email. Folding laundry & brushing your teeth (yes, it's possible.) Jogging & dancing to iTunes (also quite do-able.)

So last night, when Oskar was just laying on the back steps of the patio, I was intrigued. Motionless for at least 30 minutes, he gazed out into the yard. His ears would pique ever-so-slightly to listen for cars and my neighbor's chitter-chatter -- but otherwise he didn't move a muscle.

An hour later, there we sat. My lovely lab and I. Taking it all in. Just sitting. Not reading, or whispering. Not over-analyzing or planning. We just were. Immobilized. And incredibly happy about nothing in particular.

Heavenly.

Pippi Was On To Something

My 'hood springs to life on Trash Day.

Friendly -- albeit stinky -- garbage guys boisterously pick their way through discarded couches, lopsided cans and pounds and pounds of cut grass. Night-crawlers get a head start, ravaging whatever's left outside by midnight before the sun decides to wake. And anything with wings clearly considers Wednesday mornings to be reason alone to chirp extra brightly.

Then there's the guy with the savage-looking Boxer. Actually, I think the dog is harmless, it's the heavy metal collar with daggers that's a little off-putting.

I thought he was my neighbor at first. The fact that he gingerly traversed the lawn across the street, let his dog pee on a shrub and then casually rambled over to the trash was pretty much a dead-give-away. Wrong.

His house is a few blocks away. But every week, as his Boxer peruses appealing cracks in the sidewalk, he makes his way from house-to-house with an enormous plastic bag. By the time he's done, it's filled with cans. Coke. Sunkist. Coors Light. He's apparently not so picky.

Bizarre? Slightly. Appealing? Completely.

Quirky rules.

Two Point Five Minutes

Evidently, I shop speedily.

• Dixie peach juice
• Organic OJ
• Two percent milk
• Compressed rawhide dog bones

"Wow, that was fast," said the always-chipper TJ-clerk.

"Yeah, just trying to get home as quickly as possible," I replied, punching in my four secret digits.

"Nice. A woman with a plan. I like that."

Small-talk aside, that's quite a statement. Not sure the 20-year-old behind the register realized what he was saying. Call it an epiphany or just regurgitating the decidedly obvious: people like people who know what they are doing.

So what are you waiting for? Go.

"Ma'am, You Need To Sit Down"

Completely understand the need for policies, rules -- even regulations. Anyone who's skimmed a history book can recite examples of chaos and madness (not counting the Boston Tea Party; that was far too fabulous to discount) erupting under times of distress.

But seriously. This?

" ... a policy of attrition that would impose more enforcement pressure on the border and at the workplace and also demand proof of citizenship at all the checkpoints of modern life .... getting a driver's license, opening a bank account ... and obtaining government services of any kind."

Mark Krikorian, executive director for the super-conservative Center for Immigration Studies proposed the above.

Imagining a world where bureaucrats and paper-pushing admins behind dated desktops control the reigns of the basics of American life is not only insanely frightening, but also, sadly, testament to the working minds of too many factions who make our laws.

So much for democracy.

Compromise Creep

It's necessary. Not sure it makes the world go round, but it certainly takes the edge off.

But as with timing souffles and presenting the perfect poached egg -- nuances are key. And a little stoicism followed by a healthy dose of self acknowledgement never hurt anyone.

CNN quoted Katie Holmes' Scientological hanger-on, a Ms. Rodriguez, amicably filling in for America's adorable girl next door during an apparent loss of words:

"You adore him."

The rosy-cheeked brunette just couldn't find the words to describe her love. Which certainly is magical. But tossing out everything you've ever known -- and replacing it with someone else's convictions -- just seems plain wrong.

Lights, Camera

Think it, speak it, be it.

Bagging groceries, applying mascara or contemplating inventing the world's tiniest eraser -- doesn't really matter.

What does?

• passion
• positivity
• pondering

And most of all, remembering the old truism: all the world's a stage.

I'm fairly certain you don't want to be left out of the curtain call through infinity. But if you do, then at least be convincingly compelling.

Resilience

Life always seems to find a way to go on.

Amidst the chaos, confusion and chasms of terror, Londoners remained in motion. Blankets were shared. Bottled water, distributed. And little tins of mints were passed through a stationary subway car.

"I don't plan to change anything," promised one recently evacuated passenger.

And that's just it. Across the globe nations mobilized, airport security tripled and local politicians clamored for quotable snippets.

The Windy City's reps prevailed with their Midwestern no-nonsense logic, advising its peeps: "If you see something, say something."

Support that.

But pretty please, consider pausing a moment to think, before pointing a finger. For all the bravery and patience exhibited by the UK's populace, it's the scared silly blindness that is the most frightening:

"Yeah, mate, where I am everyone looks like an Al Qaeda terrorist!"

Let's not go there.

House on Mango Street

It's suspended quite elaborately just to the right of the kitchen door, a few steps from the unusually green pool. About the size of a hard-cover bestseller, the white-painted shelf is impossible not to miss from the sidewalk.

The first time I spotted the add-on, the honorary plate in the center hosted a brilliantly-hued papaya. A few days later, a grapefruit. And this morning what appeared to be a collection of kumquats. The fruits vary, but the ornamental Shiva is always the same: a glossy enamel red creation covered in gold specks.

The power of projectivity. Hoping. Willing.

Something so centurious-ly old, must work.

Instead of convincing yourself that what you most desire is unusually attainable, try a simple day of believing it will happen. Or just open your eyes. And yes, I'm talking to you.

49 Hot Dogs In 12 Minutes

Of all things American, it's the bizarro that appeal most. Offbeat, eccentric -- call it what you may -- but to fake-ey foreigners like me, it's what keeps us coming back. Clearly, others have similar convictions.

"Hallo, are you from America?" said the British, robust and Burger-King-scarfing brunette in 37J.

"Yes, I live in LA," I replied, declining her french fry dunked-in-honey-mustard offering.

"We're going to get our boobs done."

Brilliant. But not nearly as fabulous as 27-year-old Takeru Kobayashi of Coney Island, who in addition to weighing in at a slight 144 pounds, shoved copious amounts of beef into his mouth to take home the illustrious title for the fifth straight year.

It's so good to be home.

La Familia

Two-and-a-half million people cannot live without their BlackBerry. These "crack-berry-heads" (blame the LA Times for that one), are functionally impaired without their plastic best friend. From grocery shopping to Saturday beach days and sushi nights -- the little device is toted, trusted and transported.

Fitting, then, that I'm about to fly far, far away. To a land of fresh fish, Campari & Tonic and pre-dinner cheese plates.

The only thing I plan on staring at are golf balls and books.

And possibly a 10pm-sunset or two.

So, be nice. Back just in time for the fireworks.

Home Invasion

Ants and I have an understanding. Roaming free in the backyard is perfectly fine, and on especially warm days, the DMZ extends onto the patio. Confusion abounds, and sometimes I find a straggler or two in the kitchen or behind the couch. But by the time I've gingerly placed the little guys outside in the grass, we're usually on the same page.

Same goes for spiders. Daddy long-legs. Roly-polies. Pretty much anything minus roaches and mosquitoes.

Apparently, word travels fast in Insect Kingdom, because this morning when Oskar and I innocently decided to stroll around the 'hood, we practically bumped into a wasp nest. On my front door.

So I'm thinking I should revisit my policy. I'm all for sharing my miniature house. But not so sure about welcoming things that sting.

Bumps

On a scale of 1-10, turbulence gets a zero. The only reason it's not relegated to the -3 category, is because it's related to clouds. And no matter how insane the flight, it's tricky -- if not outright impossible -- to be too harsh on something that's fundamentally so close to the sun.

Despite the ups and down and almost-coffee-spills, the keys to focused traveling are, clearly, words and songs. Books and music. Stories and tunes.

And if you're ever en route from DC to Seattle, the following will block out *almost* everything that's happening outside your teensy, tiny window.

• "Under and Alone" by William Queen
• "The Devil in the White City" by Erik Larson
• "Rebels" -- Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers
• "Excuse Me While I Break My Own Heart" -- Whiskeytown
• "Here Comes Your Man" -- Pixies
• "Going Back to Louisiana" -- Kim Carson
• "Built to Last" -- Grateful Dead

Top 10 At the Fairmont

1. The slippers are tied together with blue, silk ribbon
2. Complimentary copy of Saveur
3. In-room thermostat is brilliantly tuned
4. Coffee pot brews one perfect cup (just add a little less water)
5. Pillows: plump, plush, paramount
6. There's actually an ottoman
7. Shampoo and conditioner in non-fakey bottles -- it's a girlie thing
8. Ultra-thin, super-warm, down duvet
9. Walking distance to Dupont Circle
10. Eggwhite frittata with goat cheese and roasted red peppers

ps. Clearly neglected to mention that they've gotten me delightfully confused with royalty: the suite is magical.