​If I were a painter, I could capture the moment. A young woman, a mother perhaps, perhaps younger, slight, wearing a flowered shirtwaist dress. She is leaning against a fencepost and her feet are hidden by the dry grasses. The perspective is distant, the figure suggested, her dress and hair pulled hard to one side by the wind. She seems to be bracing against the fence, against the sudden gust. She has one hand in her hair, forgetting her skirt.
 
On the other side of the frame, a man sits on a concrete step in front of a dilapidated structure, perhaps an old tool shed. He is long-limbed, lean, wearing blue jeans, a leather jacket, and cowboy boots. He holds his hat, which he was wearing a moment ago, against his long slim legs, stretched out in front of him. A longish piece of his hair, dark with a slight wave, perhaps uncombed, perhaps mussed by the hat, lifts in the wind. He is darkly handsome, a Western man, concentrating, squinting, as he stares at the girl. His gaze is unflinching, razor sharp, penetrating her secrets. His lips part.
 
Enjoy this moment for it catches the essence, the seductive stare, the girl, conscious of being watched. Nothing more passes between them, just the acknowledgement of her prettiness, his desire, her thrill to be seen that way for one brief moment out of an ordinary day of work.
 
Now superimpose the Gas-a-mat on St. Francis Drive, a Subaru, not a fencepost, and Sam Shepard the actor, famous, handsome, knowing it, waiting on the step outside the carwash. The year? Possibly 1986, the windy month of March. I was that young mother holding my hair instead of my skirt while I pumped my gas. He got a glimpse of my stockinged legs, and his lips parted.
 
Sam Shepard, dead at 73 in the summer of 2017. Thanks for the thrill.
 

I recently heard a TED Talk about choosing one new thing to do every day for 30 days. This was a self-improvement exercise. The idea was to pick something simple you’ve always wanted to try, say play the ukulele, and try it out for 15 minutes every day. To further simplify, the month would coincide with the calendar month. Since it’s now the middle of July, I figure I’m off the hook until August 1. I have a few ideas:
 
READ A POEM
 
I should read poetry, I know, I’m a writer after all. People read poems to me all the time and I admire them a lot. But I never seem to get all the way through one of those long ones in the New Yorker by myself. This would definitely improve me.
 
PRACTICE A CLASSICAL PIECE ON THE PIANO
 
How about one of those Chopin Nocturnes I once took a crack at? I’d start out not knowing it much at all, so the playing through might take a very long time at first, and be really really bad. I might get frustrated and it might be hard and it might hurt the ears of those I live with: cats and humans, both. Plus my piano needs tuning.
 
I think I’ll save this one for the winter.
 
TAKE A PHOTOGRAPH
 
My friend, Linda Durham, a discriminating person with an artistic eye, suggests not all the pictures should be “nice.” How about some ugly drying flowers, or bugs, or the inside of my laundry basket? I would, of course, need to post these on my Instagram account. And that means liking a bunch of pictures other people posted so they will like me back.
 
MORNING PAGES OR WRITING PRACTICE
 
Julia Cameron invented Morning Pages—three pages, long-hand first thing in the morning, no self-criticism or editing as you go. Natalie Goldberg invented Writing Practice, kind of the same, only you do it in cafes and any time of the day. The rule is, if the A-bomb goes off, you don’t stop writing. Not even if the waiter comes over to take your order. I’ve done both of these and it certainly keeps the words flowing whether on a personal topic or some fiction backstory. I have notebooks full of these scribblings and have never gotten around to reading any of it, let alone typing it into the computer.
 
TYPE IN MORNING PAGES
 
OK, so I could start sorting through all that crap, and create documents, editing as I type. A lot of work and I promise to do it someday. Or perhaps I’ll just leave these notebooks to my grandchildren.
 
OTHER GOOD HABITS LIKE Exercising, Eating Right, Flossing, Meditating, or Going to bed early
 
OK, I will, later, after the movie’s over.
 
MAYBE A BAD HABIT
 
A could play a game of Spider Solitaire (addictive, can’t play only one), or watch a bad TV show like my 600 Pound Life, or Hoarders, or What Not to Wear. I could eat a bowl of ice cream, or have a martini every day. I could take up smoking.
 
A BLOG A DAY
 
Here’s the one I’m settling on. A bit ambitious, but appeals somehow, as I always was overambitious. I can do it first thing in the morning, or after work in the evening while drinking wine (oh-oh). I could write 30 of them this weekend and then post them one-by-one, or I could dive off the deep end on August 1.  Maybe I could just post a picture, or write a single paragraph by way of simplification.  I could write about the news, my opinions, my dreams, post an old story that never got published. The benefits are many: I would have to give up being so OBSESSIVE about details and perfection. I could get people interested in my blog (maybe). I could become adept at posting, avoiding those typical mistakes that I’ve made before where I replaced my website picture with one of Melania Trump.
 
I would make Art Tucker happy.
 
THE WORRY
 
What if after a few months I picked up all kinds of new habits. What if I felt compelled to do everything every day, as the months built up. Here’s what a Typical day would look like:
 
Get up early
Write morning pages
Type morning pages into computer
Practice Chopin Nocturne
Have a Martini
Play a game of Spider Solitaire, OK play Spider for 2 hours.
Do 5 Salutations to the Sun
Take a selfie of me doing Sun Salutation and post it on Instagram
Browse Instagram for 45 minutes
Have another Martini
Eat some Kale
Eat some Ice Cream
Watch TV
Read a bedtime poem while flossing
Go to bed early

The other morning I looked out my bedroom window and saw a coyote eating a rabbit. I don't like coyotes because I have cats for pets, and have lost a number of them to the predator that roams freely in our neighborhood. However, this particular morning, Rufus and Dexter were safely inside, so I watched with fascination. I grabbed my phone and started taking pictures. After awhile, the coyote became aware of me ....

Or perhaps he became aware of another presence ...

A bobcat came to check out the feast, and the coyote retreated.
Bobcats represent the attributes of Awareness and Strategy, Clear Vision in Dark Places, Vigilance and Patience. They are known as solitary creatures. But hold on .....

 Another one appeared! 
Beautiful and wild, a privilege to see.
I take this as a sign, that we are together, protected, powerful and patient. Thank you to the animals who showed themselves to us and who crossed our path one morning.

In my grandfather’s memoir, The Adventures of an Ultra-Crepidarian, he writes about me, his third-born grandchild: “Her interests are many and her talents appear to be abundant. One of her most conspicuous characteristics appears to be an uncanny ability to think of something that she needs very much and which is thus to be purchased on Thursday night shopping tours to the marts of trade in Livermore.”

For the 18 months that Gram and Gramps lived in my hometown of Livermore, California, we went to the downtown toy store which was open late on Thursday nights. Gramps would say, “Anything you want,” and I would pick out a toy or a rock collection or a science set. All the while my mother was in the background suggesting I didn’t need whatever it was, and that I should go easy, i.e. get something less extravagant or better yet, nothing at all.

What stuck for me was the lovely sense that I could have whatever I wanted, and that Gramps was capable and willing to get it for me. This has influenced me my whole life. I like being generous and expansive in nature. I like giving. Gabe, our son, an only child, has a sense to this day of gentle entitlement. He is never demanding or greedy, just knows if he wants or needs something within my power to give, I will give it to him, whether it be a musical accessory, a beach vacation for the family, a used car, some new shoes, or a little cash.

Now that I have grandchildren of my own, my spoiling has reached new proportions, and Sadie, my oldest, is starting to catch on. She knows whenever we get together, we will go to the toy story and she can choose two things. She recently said, “Grandma, let’s go shopping and get two pair of shoes!” An early Christmas when she was only one and a half, I had purchased a tiny pair of Tom’s in her size. They were sparkly black. She came out and found them under the tree and put them on immediately. When her Daddy got up she pointed to her feet and said, “Shoes!” (Watch out Daddy!)

Gramps goes on to write, “It has always been a cherished belief of the author that there is a point of satiety both for individuals and communities of individuals. In fact he has introduced this thesis into learned books on the subject of marginal utility, which is the term used by economists when they discuss the theory of one’s desires. But his faith in the proposition has been somewhat shaken by Laura Lynn, who is unquestionably a very pretty young lady with an abundance of imagination.”

On a recent trip to California, Sadie suggested we go to the toy store. She chose a children’s resale store on Sunset Avenue. I borrowed the family car, and following instructions, got there. Sadie was good as gold, as we walked to the light and crossed the busy street to reach the store. Inside, I was surprised. Used stuff, not many toys.

There was a display case at the front of the store and Sadie, after saying she thought she’d get a doll, pointed to an antique baby doll and said, “I want that one.” 

The doll was the old hard-shelled kind with moveable eyelids and faded baby clothes. “It’s $50,” said the clerk.

A vision of Sadie’s room flashed before my eyes. Small and crammed full of toys and clothes and books, the latest ones near the edge of the pile. I’m thinking my $50 doll will get lost in there. So I said no.

“But you’re Grandma,” said Sadie.

There ensued a discussion of money, the fact that on our last toy excursion in Santa Fe, we bought a new doll (Barbie-ish, not on the parent-approved toy list) another toy, and two things for Gemma, Sadie’s little sister, all for the price of this one doll. Sadie, ever business-like, quickly found a nice hand-made rag doll and a puzzle. I got out of there for $7 plus change.

And a load of guilt. 

On the way home, we traveled around the block to avoid a U-turn in traffic and somehow got royally lost. Sadie fell asleep in her car seat as I wandered farther and farther away from home. At one point I saw downtown LA rising in front of me and realized I was way off course. So I consulted Siri. Another learning adventure including phone calls to Gabe and Holly and eventual mastery of my device and safe return home. Gabe came out and carried Sadie and her doll upstairs and that was that.

I’m still wondering if I can find that store again and purchase that antique doll. Sadie’s birthday is coming right up.