Saying goodbye to Presentation High School and the end of the coronavirus 2019-2020 school year

California's state plant: Poison Oak

Nate and I recently backpacked the Skyline-to-the-Sea trail, an easy, well-marked, thirty-two mile route, from Castle Rock State Park to Waddell Beach, in Northern California. On the trail we saw a lot of: (1) poison oak, Toxicodendron diversilobum, and (2) hikers and backpackers who were aware of its presence, but could not identify it. That's probably because poison oak is a highly versatile and varied plant that can take advantage of many micro-climates and looks very different in each of them. For this reason it is hard to identify if you are not familiar with it. 

As someone who is highly sensitive to the oil produced by poison oak — I develop an oozy, itchy rash in the mere presence of its aerosolized droplets  — I am always on the lookout for it. My poison oak souvenir from Skyline-to-the-Sea was a pencil point-sized lesion on my forearm, but other hikers and backpackers had welts on their legs, arms, and faces and didn't know when or where they had been exposed. The rash can take several days to emerge after exposure.

In this post I'll identify poison oak and share several pictures from our trip so you know what to look for and how to avoid touching this plant the next time you are out on the trail. 

(All photos taken on the Skyline-to-the-Sea trail between Castle Rock State Park and Waddell beach April, 2019.)

Poison oak is a native woody plant that has a three-leafed or leafleted cluster at the end of each stem. The leaves are toothed, lobed, or scalloped at the edges. There is usually a red or black appearance to the stem where the leaves diverge. Poison oak is deciduous. In the fall its leaves turn bright red and fall off. 

The plant can appear as ground cover, a woody shrub, a vine, or a tree. Poison oak prefers full sun, but can grow in moist shady environments as well. Most hikers run into it because they are not looking for it in the shade or overhead. 

A vining example of poison oak, which is young, weeping, and not very sturdy. It has the traditional three leaves, which are bright green and shiny, with scalloped edges. You will often see large poison oak vines climbing tree trunks at the side of the road or the side of your trail.

A lush variety of poison oak living in the redwood understory where it is mostly shaded and wet. The leaves are larger and thinner here than one would see in the full sun varieties. Note the red dot-like appearance of the stem where the three leaves diverge. 

Another vining, tree-like example of poison oak. It blends in with other nearby tree branches and is very hardy. Note the moss growth. 

A low, sturdy, poison oak plant growing in tufts, almost like ground cover, from a crack in this boulder. The leaves are fairly small, thick, and glossy looking.

Poison oak thriving in full sun. Each individual woody stalk has several clusters of small, sturdy, reddish-tinged leaves.

Nate standing below a dense poison oak plant that looks like a small tree. Look at the density of those woody stems!

No poison oak here, but while searching for it, I stumbled upon this western rattlesnake, Crotalus oreganus.

I hope these pictures and descriptions will help you stay itch free!

Pete Dog 2004-2019

When I saw Pete for the first time he was in a kennel, with eight other littermates, at a dog shelter in New Jersey. He was humping one puppy while growling at another one, who was too close to the food dish. The rest of the puppies were nice, either licking at my hand or wagging their tails. 

My husband, Vic, and I were there to get a second dog to keep Bow, our restless first dog, company. We were told the puppies would not be up for adoption for another week. We thought that sounded fine, naively thinking that we would return with Bow to choose a puppy that met his approval. We agreed we'd take any puppy but Pete. 

When we came back a week later, all the puppies were gone or pending adoption except Pete, who was in his own kennel now, wide-eyed and panting. We brought him into a room with Bow. We just wanted to see what would happen. They could have cared less about each other, and Pete could have cared less about us, he checked every corner of the room, licking up any morsel of food he could find. We liked his self-assurance and cavalier attitude and said, why not, and took him home.

Pete, with his mouth open.

For the next few months, Pete terrorized our house. He pooped everywhere and was difficult to housetrain. He ate shit—his own, Bow's, whatever he could find on our walks. We had two trusting rats as pets at the time. Pete killed one of them and mangled the other so badly that I had to kill it. We learned that Pete was very sick, hosting several parasites, and visited the vet several times to purge him of one worm and then another. Each time the vet attached him to an IV and pumped him full of saline to combat severe dehydration. The vet told us Pete had a lot of spirit and that other dogs would be dead already. We felt lucky. But once Pete was healthy, his energy and destructive force redoubled.

We were renting a house, then, in a quiet wooded area in Berkeley Heights, New Jersey. Pete gnawed on the window sills, drywall, and siding. He tugged on exposed cords. He dug huge holes in the yard. He ate every rodent he could find and had diarrhea weekly. He barked at neighbors and snapped at children who approached too quickly. He was mean to Bow. Left unsupervised and out of his crate for mere minutes, Pete destroyed his surroundings. He tore up our books, shoes, rugs, furniture, and his own bed. It always happened so fast. Chew toys lasted mere seconds. 

Each time Vic and I asked, Should we give Pete away? Should we ditch him at the side of the road?

Our friends told us, Pete is such a good boy. We countered, You want him?

Nobody did.

Pete and Vic in the Wind River Range, WY.

But there was another dimension to Pete, after the first few months when he was no longer ill. As long as we were right with him, Pete obeyed. He became house-trained. He stayed when we told him to, and went to his crate to sleep. He rarely whined. Unlike Bow, he didn't run away. We could take him on long hikes off leash, on leash, with a backpack or without, and he would press forward, wide-eyed, panting, and perfect.

Pete loved us and the food we gave him. He would do anything for it. And so we were tricked, sort of, into loving him and his full-on, fierce dogginess. Pete could be wild and terrible, but also sweet and loving with Vic and me. And so we kept him and loved him and thought, We just need to wait until he's not a puppy anymore.

We waited for seven years.

Pete being the best listener on the trail.

On a snowy Sunday we were playing fetch in our new backyard in Maryland. This was a usual activity for Pete. He loved to leap and twist in the air and catch a ball at the apex of its arc. We tossed the ball over and over again, and when we were tired we stopped. It wasn't until later that day that we realized something was wrong.

The doctor told us that Pete had ruptured two discs in his spine. He explained that it had happened with such explosive force that Pete had wrecked his back, his spine, and may never regain the use of his rear legs, bladder, or bowels again. But after that, the same doctor performed a hemilaminectomy on Pete, and our boy slowly recovered. It took many months of physical therapy and patience, mostly provided by Vic, but Pete walked and then bunny-hopped, and eventually ran again and we felt like the luckiest humans to still have our dog. 

Vic, working on Pete's flexibility and muscle tone.

The Pete who survived that experience was slower in body, but not in mind. He remained spunky and his goals remained the same: to play fetch, a slower form, anyway, and to eat as much shit as he could get away with. His mania seemed to subside. Pete was less of an asshole to Bow and to people in general. 

That remained Pete's normal for about four more years. He survived Vic's cancer and helped me survive it. He survived a cross-country move to California and accepted Nate as my new partner. He survived Bow becoming hooked on human feces in San Francisco. He survived my pregnancy and the birth of our little human, even though he was not happy about it. And he and Nate became companions and allies, especially in the kitchen, where Pete's food drive and Nate's propensity to shower the floor with crumbs aligned. 

Nate and Pete snuggling on the couch.

Over the last several years, Pete morphed into a slow, sweet dog who woke up for food, rubs, and cuddles. After Bow died, Pete discovered that my daughter was a reliable source of dropped food and his position toward her softened. He was sweet to her and allowed her to share his bed with him when she needed some soft fur to snuggle into. I hope her memories of him have formed enough to last.

Two years ago Pete started wearing an all-day diaper because he couldn't feel his need to pee anymore. He stopped playing fetch and could barely make it around the block on our walks, but he never lost his lust for dog or cat shit. If he managed to grab a morsel on a walk, it would throw his bowels out of whack for days, but he didn't care. The smell of his own shit in the house didn't seem to bother him: poop snacks have always been his favorite. With every new ailment we'd say, Maybe this is it? Every time we'd leave we wondered whether Pete would be alive upon our return, but he kept going, at an imperceptibly slower pace, until this weekend, when he didn't.

Pete shares his bed.

Pete and Bow taught me how to love in many ways, and taught me what it means to be in charge of the pack. I remember times in my life when I didn't have a dog and I was a miserable human. 

Vic's father told me, "I'm a better person with a dog." 

I'm not sure I am, but I know I'm my full self with a dog in my life.

I know Pete is gone because crumbs are starting to accumulate in the kitchen like tiny monuments. And in this moment, I'm not sure what to do except remember him, share him, and pass that love on to my daughter. 

Here's to you, Pete. You were the best dog.

Climate shift

Did you read the UN's Climate report? I did. And I had to sit down after reading it because it felt like a punch to the gut.

After reading the report, my husband and I said, what steps can we take now, right this minute, to reduce our carbon footprint? And I'm urging you and your families to do the same. Our sacrifice is urgent and necessary. We are facing a global threat, not unlike a world war. If this were a world war, what sacrifices would we be asked to make? I'm willing to ration my use of gasoline and travel and meat to keep our planet habitable. Think about what small sacrifices and then larger ones you are willing to make and then make them. 

Start here.

Although my husband and I are continually working to reduce our carbon footprint, the more pointed measures we will begin to take, like cutting our plane and car travel, will be difficult adjustments. And no matter what steps we do take in our home -- reducing meat consumption, growing our own food, buying food that is grown locally and organically, drying laundry on a clothes-line, taking 3 minute showers -- our carbon footprint will not shrink much, even when cutting travel, if the US does not take responsibility as a nation for its carbon emissions. Our civilization has become  dependent upon burning fossil fuels for energy. We must stop burning fossil fuels if we hope to preserve that civilization.  

We want to leave a world for generations of humans to grapple with for thousands of years to come. Please tell your congressional representative that this is a priority for all of us, for our survival.

Castle Rock:

is nearby. 

is full of people and poison oak.

does have beautiful views. 

does smell of warm pine sap in the sun.

does allow my toddler to scramble up and down paths semi-independently ...

... and then pass out on my back.

Home Depot Christmas tree

When I purchased this tree from Home Depot in 2000, part of the appeal was that I could keep it stored and decorated year-round and just haul it out for the holidays. When I read that an artificial tree would only be considered environmentally friendly if it were used for at least 15 years (turns out it's 20), I was all in. 

In 2014, when I moved from Maryland to California, the fully decorated tree came with me. When we arrived, my soon-to-be husband, who had never experienced the tree, said we didn’t have room for it in our apartment and should sell it. I said, no way. We unpacked it, and with only five glass ball ornaments broken, he agreed the tree should stay. 

I’m really proud of this tree. It’s my favorite part of the whole Christmas deal. I hope you all have a similar talisman against the weirdness of the season.

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and Peace, friends. Sending love and hope for humanity, and this tree, in the new year. 

Bow dog

Our old Bow died today. 

His sweet and tender dotage - with Vic, with me, with Nell - eclipsed his crazed, marauding youth. He turned out to be the best companion, snuggler, bear sniffer, and Cheerio eater around. We miss him and will continue to keep him with us always. 

Thank you to Didi Guse for illegally adopting him because she knew we belonged together in my apartment. 

Thank you to the doctors who saved his life when he was two by removing a box of unused tampons from him stomach, describing the mass as the tangled innards of a melon-sized baseball, and asking me if I wanted to see it. Of course I did.

Thank you to Vic for repeatedly threatening to throw Bow against the wall or drop him off in a Walmart parking lot, but never doing so. 

Thank you to Nate for adopting Bow as your own.

Thank you to everyone who let Bow lick your ears, or stare deeply into your eyes, or whack you with his tail in greeting. 

Thank you Bow for imprinting on so many people's lives. Thank you Bow for loving Vic even when Pete was afraid to. Thank you Bow for saving me again and again by waking me up in the morning and telling me you needed me. Thank you Bow for taking me outside and keeping me there for hours at a time, listening, looking, smelling. 

Thank you for sharing your life with us, Bow Bow.

My two year old daughter, Nell, says, "Bow Bow? Bow Bow, come!" I tell her, "Bow can't come. He's dead." and she cries. I don't think she knows what it means exactly, but maybe when the "sealed river rock" cremation package I purchased at the vet is delivered home (what was I thinking?), that will be a starting point to the conversation. 

4th of July with yellow jacket

On the 4th of July I was stung by a wasp, a yellow jacket, while watching our town parade. I saw her crawl up my pant leg, but I waited to retrieve her, hoping she would turn around and find her way out on her own. Instead, as the fabric became tighter around my leg, she wedged herself and stung me. Ouch! The pain registered as a splinter jab and then bloomed into a prickling sensation that traveled across my leg and lingered for thirty minutes. Luckily, I'm not allergic to wasp stings, like so many people are, and that was the extent of the damage.

Yellow jackets are aggressive. They'll liquify just about anything to feed their young. Here is a photo of yellow jackets feeding on a sphinx moth in my neighbor's yard. 

 And building a new nest across the street.

Linked is some light reading on yellow jackets and other social wasps from California's IPM program. 
Yellow jackets beware, I'm keeping a sharp eye out and I won't hesitate to smack the next one of that lands on me!

Back to School

     At the high school where I teach, about 1% of the students and 7% of the faculty are reading Gar. Do we assign too much homework, or are adults really the backbone of the YA market? No conclusions can be drawn from this limited data set.

        

If you hear someone shouting in the halls, "Hey, kids! Forget about your homework. Read Gar!" It wasn't me. 

Gar

Gar, the first book in my YA science fiction trilogy is now available! 

For fifteen years, Gar lived in a river outside the town of Ada, South Carolina. He can morph into any creature, but he doesn’t know what he’s doing on Earth.

Then he befriends Nell and Simon Baker and with their help, learns to fit into the human world. But soon eerie, inexplicable things start happening in Ada.

Inside an old lunchbox, Gar discovers detailed notes that may offer a clue to what is going on. He and his two friends track down the writer, Ben McIntyre. Ben has insights into a strange meteor strike that just might explain Gar’s existence.

As the young people work to understand the otherworldly happenings in Ada, two things become clear: the meteor strike wasn’t an accident, and time is running out to figure out what caused it.

If you would like to read some of Gar's backstory, take a look at excerpts from earlier drafts by clicking on the "Gar extension" label listed at the right of this post. Thank you for your support everyone. Enjoy!

Sweeney Ridge, always cool

     San Francisco was warmer than I anticipated this summer, but the Sweeney Ridge recreation area, about twenty minutes south of the city, regularly provided the dogs and me with a cool, foggy, micro climate to hike in.

      Listen to that wind!

Eucalyptus trees as seen hiking up from the parking area.

Bow and Pete stop to look and listen. 

Clouds roll past providing a spot of sun.

More clouds near the crest.

Bow behavior

In the afternoon, Bow wants to be fed. He wakes, looks for me,

locates me, and stretches. 

If I haven't immediately paid attention to him, he grabs something nearby, like a pillow, and shakes it until I say, "Bow,"

at which point he calms down and waits a little longer for dinner.

City fauna: an inquiry

     On our daily walks, the dogs and I encounter some of San Francisco's most abundant fauna: rats and pigeons, hummingbirds and honeybees. The dogs wait patiently while I watch these animals carry out some routine task - like this honeybee foraging for passion flower nectar.

      Lately, we've also come across a number of animals who seem to have fallen out of their routine. For example, this young rat who followed us for half a block in broad daylight. 

     Or this gull we saw earlier in the week, who had lost its ability to fly and got crushed by an oncoming car. 

     These anecdotal encounters lead me to speculate about cause. Poisons? Drought? Water availability with more toxins that are also more concentrated? Who is studying these problems? If you know, please share! :)

All Hail the Bicycle!

Bicycles! 

The Smithsonian!

Bike safety! (Um, lady on the left.)

Crystal Springs

The Crystal Springs Reservoir is part of San Francisco's water supply system. Signs near the reservoir explain that the water, originating in Yosemite NP as part of the Hetch Hetchy watershed, travels 167 miles across three fault lines to arrive at its destination.

The reservoir can be seen at a distance from a well maintained recreational trail that runs beside it to the east. 

I spent the afternoon walking the Sawyer Camp segment of the trail. Warblers, newly fledged wrens, lizards, fish, dragonflies, and damselflies could be seen and heard along the trail (besides joggers and bikers).

Well-placed information stations help to educate anyone who wants to learn more about the water's: origins, transportation, and treatment. 
It's nice to walk next to where your water comes from.

Romance novel scene: fair and approximate

     Lately, if I want a good laugh, I read a romance novel. No, I haven't read Fifty Shades of Grey, and I doubt I'll see the movie, but I have read, and will sometimes read aloud, books written by Diana Palmer (Will of Steel), Nicholas Sparks (Safe Haven), or J.R. Ward (Lover Eternal), as my partner and friends can attest. I laugh until I cry. It's not the romance that's so goddamn funny, it's the messy prose, the misshapen story, the overblown setting, or the painfully stereotyped characters that keep me reading and guffawing. I want to make it clear that these stories bring me true, B-movie variety, joy. I recommend you try a page or two of any of the books above. 
     So, given the pleasure I derive from these reads, I thought I'd try my hand. I hope this romance novel-style scene makes you chuckle. 

     Imitation meet flattery. Fan fiction: generic romance!

     Tabitha sat in a lacquered booth at the back of the Applebee's waiting for her date, Witt, to arrive. She nervously eyed the front door. Why did I let Stacy talk me into this? I haven't been on a date in forever. Ugh. What kind of name is Witt anyway?

     The waitress came over. "Can I get you something to drink?" She sounded like she was in a rush, frazzled. She took a moment to smooth her apron and primp her hair while Tabitha decided what to order. Tabitha noted that the waitress's neon shirt was almost as bright and tight as the neon lights glaring off the wall in the packed restaurant. 

     "Um, I guess I'll have a beer--a Coors." Tabitha squinted as she looked up at the waitress one more time. The woman had slick makeup and her shirt definitely showed off all her assets. I'll give it to you, girl. You probably make more tips looking like that. 

      "Coors. Coming right up." The waitress bustled away.
     Tabitha frowned and looked down at her own frumpy sweater. She chewed on her mousy, split-end laden hair and thought about her wardrobe choices. Remember Tabitha, you dressed down on purpose for this practically-forced-date. Tabitha told herself that the last thing she wanted was a romantic entanglement. Anyway, at this point in her life, in her mid-thirties, she wouldn't know what to do with romance if it came up and slapped her on the ass!
     Why is this guy interested in me? Tabitha couldn't understand it. She thought back to her conversation with Stacy, who had said this guy, Witt, lived in the neighborhood and had a feeling about Tabitha after meeting her. Yeah, I must have made a big impression. I don't even remember it. Witt told Stacy he wanted to get to know Tabitha better. "No pressure" is what he'd said to Stacy. But what did that mean? And what was this "feeling" business? A feeling? Who has a feeling about someone they've only just met? It took some convincing, but here she was. Tabitha told Stacy that she would meet this mystery man as a favor, but that was it. Just friends. Just dinner. Nothing more! 
     Tabitha had too much going on in her life right now--with work not going well and her aunt being sick. Not to mention that Tabitha had also fallen recently and hit her head, exacerbating an old childhood head trauma. She wasn't thinking clearly. She had some memory loss and was having trouble, more trouble than usual, doing basic calculations at her office job. She was worried about her head, but was trying not to worry too much. She would find out more at the appointment she had made with a specialist tomorrow.
      Tabitha's internal pity-party was cut short when she heard a commotion near the main entrance. A man had entered the restaurant. A really, really big man. Tabitha sat up in her booth to get a better look. Wow! He was out-of-this-world gorgeous. He looked like a cross between The Incredible Hulk and Leonardo DiCaprio. Except he wasn't green. But he was incredible. Tabitha could tell even from the back of the restaurant that he was the biggest, strongest, toughest, most fit man she'd ever seen. One big muscle. The Applebee's looked like it could barely contain him. 
     Tabitha kept watching the man. She couldn't take her eyes off of him. He had sandy-brown hair that had a sexy, tousled-by-the-wind, thing going on. His clothes were nice too. Not too flashy. He wore a fitted, light blue button-down shirt that Tabitha swore, even from this distance, hi-lighted his eyes. He had long legs that fit snugly into the best pair of jeans Tabitha had ever seen. Ugh! Suddenly she felt self-conscious ogling this man just like every other red-blooded American woman in the place. She was relieved when the waitress came over with her beer. 
     "Thanks," she said, taking a too-fast gulp and spilling some on her pilled up, taupe colored sweater. As she dabbed at the stain with her napkin, the hostess walked down the isle with the gorgeous man and his dog.
     His dog? That's weird. I thought dogs weren't allowed in here. 
    The dog was a Golden retriever wearing a harness. 
     The hostess stopped at a table where a redhead with a boob-job sat alone. The woman turned and looked stunned to see so much gorgeous man in her face. "Hi!" she said.
      Ugh! Am I going to have to watch an episode of the Bold and the Beautiful all night?
     "Hello. I'm Witt." He grinned. "Are you Tabitha?" He extended his huge hand toward the middle of the table. 
     Oh my God! What? Did he say, Tabitha? Tabitha felt faint. She wanted to crawl into a hole. She looked for the nearest exit, but the only way out was past Witt and his dog.
     "My name's Denise, but it can be anything you want--"
     "Oh. I'm sorry. I'm looking for Tabitha--" The dog whined and yanked his owner toward Tabitha.
       This guy can't be Witt.
     The dog came right over to Tabitha's booth and sat down, pulling Witt with him. The hostess was not far behind.
     Ugh. Am I in a dream or a nightmare? Either way, it will be over with soon enough.
     "Tabitha?" Witt asked, turning on a huge smile.
     The dog barked and wagged his tail.
     "Yes, but I'm sure I'm not who you're looking for." She tugged at her baggy sweater.
     "Why don't you let me be the judge."
     "Are you waiting for Witt?" the hostess butted in.
     "Yes," Tabitha said, grudgingly.
    Witt beamed. "That's me. I'm Witt, your blind date, and this is Stanley." Stanley barked and Witt extended his hand nowhere near Tabitha.
     Oh my gosh. He's actually blind! This is not funny! I'm going to kill Stacy for not telling me!
     Stanley barked again.
     Tabitha shook Witt's hand. 
     "Nice to finally meet you," Witt said with a cool chuckle. But he wasn't cool. He was hot. Erotic even.
     Tabitha was speechless. While Witt sat down, struggling to fit his enormous frame and long legs under the table, Tabitha focused on Stanley, the most beautiful, well-behaved dog she'd ever seen. She scratched him behind the ears and he sat down next to her.
     The hostess stood by their table for a minute, probably trying to figure why this guy was on a date with plain-Jane-Tabitha when he could have had anyone in town. She said, "Can I get you anything, Witt?" She rubbed his shoulder, a bit suggestively, Tabitha thought.
     "What are you drinking, Tabitha? Let me guess!" He took a whiff of the air. "Coors?"
     "Um--yeah." Tabitha was astonished.
     "I'll have one of those. I'm not driving tonight," he chuckled. 
     The hostess laughed. "I'll have your waitress bring it over in two shakes." She bumped Witt twice with her ample hip and waited for him to give her some sort of signal that he wanted her to stay, but he didn't.
     Tabitha sat awkwardly across the table from Witt, but unlike the hostess, she was trying to think of a way to let him off the hook and hightail it home. I might still be able to catch Grey's Anatomy. She noticed that Stanley had settled down under the table on her side, there was no room for him on Witt's side. The man is as big as a house! Tabitha took a sip of her beer and steeled herself. "Witt, it was really nice of you to ask me out, but I don't think I'm what you're looking for. I think I'll just finish my beer and then go if it's all the same to you."

     ****

     That voice. Witt had been hearing that voice in his dreams. Oh, man. He just wanted to reach across the table right now and put his hand over her neck so he could feel the vibrations of her vocal chords. Man! What a turn on. Tabitha, sweet, Tabitha. But then Witt actually heard what Tabitha had said and he shot his hand out to hers. "Wait a minute. Tabitha, are you trying to leave? Leave a blind man hanging on a blind date?" He laughed at his own joke. But then he turned serious. "Don't go. Not yet. Just talk to me. Let me hear your voice for a little while longer. I've been waiting for this. I'm so happy you said yes to this date."
      Tabitha was quiet across the table. Up close, Witt knew he could be a lot to take in. He was worried he'd been too straight forward. He was about to say some other pansy, pleading thing, when she said, "Are you really blind?"
     Witt threw back his head and laughed. "Yes! Man, you scared me for a second. I thought you were really going to cut and run."
     "I was."
     Witt sobered. "Can I tell you something? You've got the most beautiful, solid-melting-to-liquid-metal voice I've ever heard."
     "Oh."
     "May I?" Witt reached across the table, found Tabitha's neck, and stroked it. "Say something," he purred.
     Tabitha went still. "What are you doing?" she said with mock outrage.
     Witt knew it was mock because he could feel the heat coming off her neck. "Tell me to take my hand away and I will." He stroked her neck some more, just like he'd imagined doing. But oh, it was so much softer than he had anticipated. When Tabitha didn't pull away he said, "Will you do me a favor? Keep talking? Tell me about yourself. I want to know everything about you."
     "Hmm. How about, I ask the questions," Tabitha said, getting used to Witt's big hand covering her throat.
     He chuckled. Well, what do you know. She's taking the lead. That's a big turn on. "Go ahead!" he said, stroking her chin with his thumb. He wished he could feel more of her soft skin. It was so soft.
     "Hrr, herrm." Tabitha cleared her throat, clearly collecting herself. "How do you know Stacy? You told Stacy you had a feeling about me? From where? What feeling? Why did that feeling lead you to want to go out with me?"
     "I could listen to you talk all day long, Tabitha."
     At that moment Stanley nosed Witt and the waitress arrived with his beer. "Thanks. Hey, Tabitha, are you ready to order? Cause I want to keep talking, but I'm starving."
     "But you haven't even seen the menu yet--I mean--" Tabitha stumbled.
     "Why do you think I asked you out to Applebee's? This place is my jam. I know everything on the menu. And let me tell you, everything is good."
     "Oh. Well, okay. You start and then I'll catch up." 
     "Great. I'll have the spicy chili cheese nachos, make it a double, onion rings, double too, and the classic wings, 30 count. You can skip the celery on that, but double the dipping sauce. For the main course, I'll go light cause I didn't have time for my workout today. Let's see, I'll do the all-in burger, with triple bacon, the steak and riblets combo, and then the shrimp scampi linguine. Oh, and a Pepsi to drink, and you can keep those coming. Thanks." Witt smiled in Tabitha's direction. "Did that buy you some time?"
     Tabitha said, "I'm confused. Did you just order for both of us?"
     "Nope. That was all for me. I have to keep up my strength, in my line of work. But I'm happy to share everything with you, Tabitha." He smiled. Witt knew he had a dazzling smile and he wasn't afraid to use it. Please let it work on Tabitha.
     "Oh, um, I'll just have the oriental chicken salad, thanks." 
     Witt couldn't wait to feel that throat of hers vibrating under his palm again. He was impatient for the waitress to leave, which was new. Normally, he loved attention from the ladies, but since the first time he'd run into Tabitha a week ago, all of his attention was on her, and nothing could pull it away.
     The waitress read back the order. "I'll bring the apps out first.  Do you want me to wait on your salad, sweetie?" she asked Tabitha.
     "Yeah."
     It felt like an eternity to Witt, but Stanley nosed him, which meant the waitress had finally left. All right. "Back to the important stuff, Tabitha. You were asking some serious questions. And I want to give you some serious answers." Witt smiled.

****

     Witt reached his hand across the table again and laid it on Tabitha's neck. She immediately pictured them in bed. She imagined his hand lingering on her neck while she was crying out his name during climax. She pulled herself away from the daydream. What is wrong with me? What am I thinking? He's just so intense. And interesting. And smart. And super funny, in a cocky, I'm-the-man, sort of way.
     "Tabitha, what are you thinking about? I can feel your heartbeat racing and your temperature rising." He smoothed his index finger over her carotid. 
     "Nothing!" Tabitha shoved Witt's hand away from her neck.
     Witt chuckled. "Tabitha, you're even more amazing than I imagined. Man. I'm about to make a fool of myself, okay? So here goes." Witt took a deep breath. "I recently moved into the neighborhood after a ... huge life change. I've been through a lot in the past five years, and not a lot was getting through to me, but I got a great job here, which is where I met Stacy BTW, and Stan the man is with me, and anyway, I just heard you talking on the phone in your backyard when Stanley and I were taking a walk one day, and your voice just called to me. I didn't mean to listen in or anything, but I heard you being really patient and understanding with someone on the other end of the line, and I thought it was the best thing I'd ever heard. I wanted to meet you. You, this patient, strong, woman with the beautiful voice. I had this feeling about you. An instant connection. And I wanted it to last. I thought, man, I could get used to that in my life. And by some miracle, you and Stacy turned out to be friends. So I knew I had to take a chance. Man, as far as I can tell, the deck is stacked in my favor cause my cards keep coming up Aces."
    Tabitha was shocked and a little confused. No one had ever spoken to her this way, let alone a virile man up close like this. She came to her senses. "But you don't even know me. And I don't know you." Tabitha sat back and folded her arms across her chest.
     Witt leaned forward as if he felt her distance. "So get to know me. I want to know you. So bad."
     Stanley nosed Witt and Tabitha and then the waitress arrived with a double order of nachos, onion rings, a plate of wings, and a Pepsi.
     Witt pointed at the table and said, "Put the wings at my 3, the rings at my 12, and the nachos at my 9. Thanks. I have a feeling Tabitha might want an onion ring or two, they're delicious."
     The waitress smiled at Tabitha and gave her the thumbs up. 
     Tabitha drained her beer. 
     "Anything else right now?" the waitress asked.
     "Can I have a water?" Tabitha asked.
     "Sure thing, sweetie." 
     "Help yourself," Witt gestured to his multiple plates before he began to eat. 
     Tabitha was prepared to be disgusted, but Witt was not a caveman. He ate slowly, chewed his food, and wiped his mouth repeatedly with a napkin. He did make satisfied grunting noises while eating, but who was Tabitha kidding, so did she. The waitress returned with water and Tabitha decided to indulge in a few onion rings. Witt was right, they were delicious. She smiled to herself.
     "Having a good time? Glad you stayed?" Witt asked between chicken wings. 
     "For the time being. I haven't totally made up my mind. Can I ask you some more questions?"
     "Yes. Absolutely. Shoot."
     "What do you do for a living?"
     "Military. But, I had to kind of retool after my injury."
     "I thought so. You said you work with Stacy... So you're blindness--you haven't always been blind? It happened recently?"
     "Yeah. Two years now. I'll tell you the whole story some day. It's not good dinnertime conversation. It was rough, but Stanley and my brothers helped me get through it, they're still helping me."
     "Your brothers? Do they live in town?"
     "A few." Witt downed his Coors.
     Tabitha watched Witt for another minute. She was amazed at how efficiently he ate. He knew where everything was on the table. He didn't bump into anything or make a mess. The nachos were gone before she knew it and the wings were in a neat pile at his elbow soon after. She noticed that Stanley didn't get any table scraps, which she liked. Who am I kidding, there aren't any table scraps!
     Tabitha realized she felt more comfortable, until she saw the woman with the boob job staring at her. She had a bitchy, disbelieving look on her face, which made Tabitha feel like the woman was right. How am I getting suckered in like this? I'm no beauty queen. Tabitha looked down at her sweater again and realized she must look awful, especially compared to Mr. Perfect across the table. "Why don't you have a girlfriend? It occurs to me that any number of women would love to date you."
     "Whoa." Witt wiped his hands on his napkin and reached across the table for Tabitha's cheek. 
     She jerked back.
     "Tabitha, where's the edge in your voice coming from? What's wrong? You know, even if I wasn't blind, I'm trained to hear changes in emotion--"
     "Can you see at all? You don't even know what I look like. Because if you did--"
     "If I did, I'd be just as into you." Witt gently touched Tabitha's hair. "I told you, I've been through a lot. My priorities weren't always straight, but they're getting there. And you're a part of that. I can't totally explain it. But hearing you brought hope to me. I've walked by your house a million times hoping to hear you, meet you. Your strength, your voice, that stuff's a total turn on. For real. Big time. "
     Tabitha balked and Witt got serious.
     "Do you want to know how turned on I am right now? Reach down between my legs and find out."
     "Witt!" Tabitha was mortified, but immediately turned on herself.
     "I'm sorry, Tabitha, but it's the truth. And I'm not gonna lie to you. I will wait for you, no problem. But I'll want you all the time. That's just me."
     "Okay."
     Wow, this guy is big and real and honest. Is he too much for me to handle? Maybe, but I think I want to find out.
     Tabitha took the last onion ring just as their entrees arrived.