I can’t be the only one sick of hearing about Barbie. I could write about my Barbie doll—the original gifted by my mother; I do not remember asking for one—and how much I disliked her hair and makeup. Instead: weather, birds, writing, and a mountain lion.

It’s been hot in Portland, cool on the coast. The house south of us at the coast sold for 3.3 million and the new owners seem nice. They are the first to actually put a car in the garage in at least twenty years!

In Portland, the new couple on our floor are nice, too. Gary took over from a real estate agent when they were viewing the unit, pitched it hard, and is pleased he made that sale! [No commission.]

Gary and I are respectful of wildlife. We stay away from them—that’s the most important thing. Seagulls rest onshore sometimes because they need to rest. I use my zoom to get reasonable shots. There is a woodpecker living near our Portland condo. A hummer hovered right outside the dining room window, seeming to check us out—the same one I see sipping from the Lucifer. Onshore at the creek north of us this morning were two species of seagull, nine brown pelicans, and a great blue heron. We have seen deer, elk, coyote, raccoons, weasels, and brown bear at the beach. We’d only heard about the cougar. We knew where it was supposed to live. We avoided that area even though we walked together. We didn’t talk about it, not wanting to attract attention.

Now that its presence is known, I fear for the cat. There is always someone who thinks it would be a fun brag to kill a cougar. Idiot. Here’s where it helps to know something about cats. This one is native to the Americas, both north and south, and is known by many names: puma, panther, and mountain lion. At 85 to 125 pounds for a large adult, they are generally smaller and less muscular than jaguars, the other large cat in my hemisphere. They are physically incapable of roaring, are shy, and generally solitary. An African lion, by way of contrast, weighs 260 to over 300 pounds, roars, and lives in families called prides. Male and female lions look quite different. Female and male cougars look pretty much the same, with the average male having perhaps 25 pounds heavier than an average female.

If you see a cougar, do not bend over or turn your back and do not run; raise your arms to make yourself look big, yell, and don’t get in the escape path of the cougar, because if it can be avoided that cat does not want to mess with you.

Gary and I went to hear paleoanthropologist Louis Leakey speak at the University of Washington back in the day. That would have been shortly before his death in October of 1972. Leakey famously sponsored “three female researchers, Jane Goodall, Dian Fossey, and Birutė Galdikas, calling them ‘The Trimates.’ ” He talked about their research concerning chimpanzees, gorillas, and orangutans. He said the women he sent out did this research better than men who could not resist competing with primates.

Perhaps the best part of his presentation was when he talked about how “man” survived in ancient times without being eaten. It was not our use of weapons or because humans climbed trees (slide of lion in tree), but because we did not smell tasty. He got a laugh for that, but then proceeded to offer evidence that we are not good lion food. Lions would prefer to eat zebra, though all hooves considered zebra are the more dangerous prey for a lion.

Worth mentioning that it was Mary Leakey who made the most important archaeological discoveries:

Mary Douglas Leakey, FBA (née Nicol, 6 February 1913 – 9 December 1996) was a British paleoanthropologist who discovered the first fossilised Proconsul skull, an extinct ape which is now believed to be ancestral to humans. She also discovered the robust Zinjanthropus skull at Olduvai Gorge in Tanzania, eastern Africa. For much of her career she worked with her husband, Louis Leakey, at Olduvai Gorge, where they uncovered fossils of ancient hominines and the earliest hominins, as well as the stone tools produced by the latter group. Mary Leakey developed a system for classifying the stone tools found at Olduvai. She discovered the Laetoli footprints, and at the Laetoli site she discovered hominin fossils that were more than 3.75 million years old.

During her career, Leakey discovered fifteen new species of animal. She also brought about the naming of a new genus.

In 1972, after the death of her husband, Leakey became director of excavations at Olduvai. She maintained the Leakey family tradition of palaeoanthropology by training her son, Richard, in the field.

—Wikipedia

I did not win the flash fiction contest I entered, but I made it to the longest and then the shortlist, the final 4% of about 600 entries. A nice rejection note about that made me an offer I might take up. The same story is still under consideration by two other journals. That will likely change now that I’ve said it. [Yes, superstitious.]

No agent has yet offered representation. Have I mentioned that?

No agent yet.

I did write a new story and kept it under 1000 words. I might return to that and see if I have more to say.

My MFA thesis advisor has a Substack, but I honestly do not see the advantage over WordPress, so I subscribed to his site but I am staying here.

I have just finished reading Tana French’s fifth Dublin Murder Squad novel, The Secret Place, and it is not only every bit as mind-blowing as the first four, it kind of shattered my brain. So smart about teenagers, well-written, and well beyond any detective novel I have ever read. I am ferociously loyal to Dorothy Sayer’s Gaudy Night and to other more modern authors, I enjoy Sue Grafton and Hillerman as much as the next person, but French is genuinely astonishing. She writes literary genre fiction. These are Irish procedurals (I’ve also read a standalone from the POV of a retired American detective) but the novel is not just about the murder mystery: it’s about interpersonal relationships; the desperate need normal human beings have to believe they are right and virtuous; that they are making and have made the best life choices; and class and roles and choices. So very smart and so very long. In each novel I feel the end closing in by about the 200-page mark, and each time I am so very wrong. Another author might do it, but French’s stories are far more interesting. It’s been easy for me to miss clues not because they are buried in a mess of red herrings, but because a lot of complicated people are doing fascinating things.

I was advised by my friend Felicity to read them in order—so glad I am doing that!

On the other hand, a movie about Barbie? I might add it to my short list of crowd-pleasing films I never want to see.

I ran two miles and shortened a pair of pants this morning. Nectarine ice cream churned and is hardening in the freezer, and I need to go make a spinach salad with blueberries and feta. Lunch.

My knitting, a long silk scarf, was left in Portland by mistake. I know just where I put it. I’d started it three times to get it right and I was looking forward to working on it over the next days. Taking a nap sounds like a good option, but maybe not. I have another garment to hem, then maybe I will watch a Korean fantasy on Netflix, which requires me to read subtitles. Or I could start knitting something else and half-watch/listen to a film in English. Or I could work on the pillow covers I’ve had in my head for the past year. Or I could write. Isn’t that what I’ve been doing here?

And I will start bread for tomorrow’s bake.