Ms. Emmy jumped at the very loud explosion that detonated somewhere in the distance (the Fourth of July is approaching), but I figured better firecrackers, albeit very large firecrackers, than the three extended series of gun shots I've heard over this last week and a half. Just some folks shooting into the lake, one suspects, but who is shooting and from where and in what direction? You don't hear or read about these things the next morning unless someone's been shot or killed in an unusually colorful and newsworthy manner. Here in Oakland.

A friend mentioned in passing she'd been checking for places to land: one in Oregon, one in Nevada, one in Arizona. I'm thinking: I'm sitting here nattering in my pampered existence and she (you hear no carping from her) is out there not only looking, but seriously looking, as in, you know, actually intending to do it. How does it happen that I know so many women of determination and substance? I mentioned my plan to drive up the coast next month and checking one or two smaller towns for condominiums. She didn't smirk (it's hard to smirk in an email) but I winced as I wrote it.

Then again how does anyone make any of life's “big” decisions? We talked over beer about it last night. Was the move made at the drop of a hat (somebody else's hat on somebody else's head dropped in the dark down the street when we weren't looking?) any more or less important than a move made with studied intent and preparation? I don't know. I'm not sure I categorize them when I look back. Maybe I should. Then again, maybe I should lose ten pounds and stop drinking sake and coffee (and eating donuts).

Stop.

Yes, yes. I think the photograph at the top becomes more interesting, by the way, if you click on the logo below it.