But enough about you

Saturday morning, and I feel like saying a few words of nothing about my life. The rain of spring continues here. On, off, hard, drizzle, sudden brilliant sun, hail; at the moment it's lovely, but it could be pouring in half an hour. Since it's actually raining well into late March, this has officially been a reasonably rainy winter followed by a genuinely rainy spring. Reservoirs are almost full, and there's enough snow in the mountains to give water to California for two years. This creates a feeling of plenitude and relaxation in Californians (which, having lived here for over 25 years now, I can begin to call myself, though some would say San Francisco is not part of California in any real way -- speaking of water, for example, San Francisco has its own dedicated water supply) and makes them stop killing each other, or at least keeps them indoors.

I'm sitting in the Morning Due cafe, home of the Saturday morning Dante club, which is meeting just across the cafe -- cute, smart high schoolers led by a cute, smart teacher who does this on her own time. Stuff like this makes me love the world and gives me confidence and faith in people. Despite all evidence to the contrary, people are still capable of real courage, of real acts of juctice-making and love. Which is what giving up your Saturdays to teach kids is.

Now it's off to work on my poor, neglected novel, but I have a hopeful note about even that -- I actually made contact on tribe.net with a guy who works in the state dept. of transportation in Karnakata, which is where Bangalore is -- the setting for my novel.