Slaminatrix

by Lisa Martinovic

The wind is our enemy. Open water swimmers know this. We know it down to our marrow, the last refuge of warmth in a body as it descends into hypothermia. Scanning the shoreline on this bleak February afternoon I can think of little else. Rain clouds blot out the sun and the already sharp winds bite through my skin like shark’s teeth.

And I’m going out alone.

The seaweed-strewn beach is deserted but for a young couple sitting on a piece of driftwood, swaddled in blankets and huddled close, heads bowed

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I took up singing at the tender age of 60. I don’t sound great but, oh, baby, I’m having a blast! If you’ve always yearned to sing, dance, paint, write, act, surf, or frolic naked in the woods with a panpipe, don’t keep your spirit on hold for a single moment longer. Make the experiment! Dare to be an amateur! Dare to write badly, sing off-key, lose your lines, ruin a canvas, wipeout. Life is too short to let your passions languish unexplored. Do it for yourself. Do it for all of creation. Do it for joy.

Listen here: http://www.kqed.org/a/perspectives/R807020737

I am old enough to remember the last great California drought, in the early 1970’s. The usual water conservation measures were enforced, but there was more. Galvanized by the crisis, people decided that most trips to the toilet need not conclude with a flush. One took a certain amount of civic pride in how long one could go before emptying the tank. A single flush avoided meant 7 gallons of water saved. And—unless you’ve got a low-flow toilet—it still does.

Eventually the drought ended, people resumed wasting water, Reagan removed the solar panels from the White House, and

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