Bloggy Monster

I just finished squeezing a good amount of orange juice. The oranges themselves hail from Orange County. Orange County Juice! Ah-yummmmm, lip-smack-smack-smack. Every time I visit my parents in OC, I always drive back to my Salt Lake place with at least one box of oranges picked from their yard. And I hardly dent the trees; they carry so much fruit. After the Christmas holiday, I drove back with three boxes and inundated my friends with orange greetings.

I like February. I see it as a big splash of red right in the middle of winter. All around town I like seeing the shades of red and pink that emerge. So invigorating. And I think Valentine’s Day is kind of intriguing. I’ve never celebrated Valentine’s with anyone special, but I’m not pessimistic about it. I rather think it’s a succulent eye-feast with the deep blood colors and dramatic hues.

This past November was a magical one. November is like October, but more dead. In an enlivening way. There is more of the “autumn muskiness” in the air. The trees of November are more naked, their branches looking like gothic cathedral spires. The sun’s angle falls lower and lower, making afternoon/evening walks scrumptiously surreal.

October was a mighty month. A surreal month. A beautiful month.

And it gave me an honor that will make me smile for quite some time: playing the organ with the Pacific Symphony in their “Halloween Spooktacular” children/family concert at the Renée and Henry Segerstrom Concert Hall, Orange County Performing Arts Center.

A bit o’ happy news – I’m melanoma-free after my six-month check up last week. So I won’t be turning into a ghost any time soon. I want to tell everyone to GO GET YOUR MOLES CHECKED, so you don’t turn into ghosties either.

No, I didn’t lose him. I never knew him. But I know his music, and that’s why I call him “My Dead Boyfriend.”

Today is the deathday of Ralph Vaughan Williams. The 50th anniversary of his death. Happy Deathday to you, Ralph! He was born October 12, 1872 and died August 26, 1958. I was born 100 years too late. He was a kind, fine English gentleman and couldn’t stand when anyone pronounced his name “Ralllllllph.” It’s pronounced “Rafe” like “safe.”

My bicycle – Bianca, She-Goblin of Might – and I had quite an adventure this past Saturday. Well, misadventure, really.

She’s been my trusty mountain bike since 1997 (beautiful autumn-orange-and-black-colored) and we’ve never taken a tumble … until a little wasp decided to fly down my shirt as I flew down the canyon on Saturday.