Grease and gemology

My cat knocked dinner off the burner. Grease everywhere, as I was cooking meat for once. I don't eat meat often, because you can't get much for your money these days. I had intended to share it with him, but after that I wasn't in the mood.

I got everything off the sole (in a house, it would be the floor), cleared off the table and folded it up against the bulkhead (or wall), and scrubbed everything with, firstly, a weak solution of biodegradable dish soap -- and then, out of desperation, with a careful dusting of Comet.

My neglected bilge has been collecting chips of gel coat from the paint flaking off the inside skin of the boat, so I had to get in there and scoop out about a cup and a half of toxic crapola before it could do its share of the work and get the wet stuff out of here. Between the wipe down, the soap, and the Comet, it's spanking clean now.

I went up to the shore trash to dump the remains of dinner and the detritus from the bilge. I was going to ditch it and come straight back, because I wanted to finish cleaning and lubricating my motor mount before it was time for me to shut down. But I guess I had done enough cleaning and greasing for the day: I found myself in the parking lot overlooking the San Francisco Bay at one of those perfect moments that probably happen far more often than I notice them. But I noticed it now.

The fog was slowly snuggling up to the city, with the afterglow of sunset painting the sky in fat bands of molten orange, pale green, and deepening blue. Below that, the illuminated Bay Bridge was a string of old pearls stretched across the Bay. The city was an eyeful, an extravaganza of bijouterie: a stunning choker of diamonds, five or six strands deep; pale emeralds in clusters, and deep green ones in bold solitaire; a glittering mass of fluorite, too perfect to be real; and everywhere, strands and scatterings of amber and topaz.

There was a brooch so big and white and startling that it exceeded the bounds of good taste, but took the breath away. (I think that was AT&T Park -- there must be a game on tonight.) There were a couple of rubies shining and winking like the eyes of fallen angels. The moist air and the distance made everything shimmer and dance, overwhelming me with the impression that the entire jewel box was so happy it wriggled.

The soft, gray fog insinuated itself bit by bit, gradually dimming the bright sharp shards of light. They didn't seem to mind. The top of the fog was tousled by the upper air, and stained in streaks by the last red of the sky. Somehow, that tatty old blanket seemed an appropriate cover for the shining jewels, and the warm colors of the sky the perfect bedroom.

My home is now sparkling, too, and I have my own blankets to snuggle into. The motor mount will happen in time; I'm not worried about that. And my cat is purring like a happy engine.

I have to say ... it's a tough life. Poor me!