Of all the Halloween costumes I saw yesterday while running errands all over town, none topped this one, Andy Warhol's Marilyn doing hair in Beverly Hills.

Can't tell whether this is a cryptic pro-bovine plate with meaning beyond my abilities to unscramble, or merely the DMV computer making a numeric fresh start.

I was with the tiny Lab in the tiny car when we came across this tiny horse and I thought my tiny head was going to explode.

Some days here in Malibu you bump into acquaintances everywhere you go. Yesterday, they all happened to be animals.

Like this dolphin pod, cruising the Cove in the morning:

A hawk, perched in his favorite place at the top of Corral Canyon:

A herd of deer, as startled as I at how green the hills are in a season known for searing heat:

And, always, the tiny Labrador.

It's santana season and, despite the dodge and feint of recent rains, the winds are here, howling.

Blew hard all night and the cat is cranky and the dogs are nuts and humans here are bleary-eyed from a night of skimming above sleep. So here's today's sunrise:

Morning clouds churned to a blur:

A pelican hunting:

And there, always in view when these desert winds visit, downtown LA:

It's beautifully, completely and unambiguously sunny here this morning.

Lately I've been having a craving for the green chile cheese burger at the Frontier in Albuqueque. And the green chile cottage fries. With a side of green chile.

Are we sensing a theme?

Sometimes I adjust the rear view mirror to center the tiny Labrador's face as she sticks her little head out the window.

Not sure why having to stand there and breathe in fumes as you fill your gas tank makes the EPA happy, but the days of the 'self-holding nozzele' in Malibu are (inconvinience!) over.

Clouds to the east of us...

Clouds to the west of us...

Tiny bugs bugging the tiny Lab...

That was then:

This is now:

That's my mobile home back in 1973, when the original owners towed it into place and planted the original landscaping. Over the years someone built an addition on the side, someone else added ugly aluminum siding (which we painted a nice, peaceful green), the height of those cool slanted railings became too low for the new building code, and the fab old VW was replaced by a Prius.

Though the railings on the house are new, and we've changed the front steps so they face the street, the floor of the deck is the original clear-heart redwood, reclaimed and re-sanded and still strong and beautiful.

Oh -- and check out the succulents and the tree in the first photo. They're still here, huge now, and a sweet connection to the beginnings of this seaside house.

That's what the street here looked like in 1973, before the upper level of the Cove was finished.

And here's the same view of the same street today.

We had a horizon filled with blue today, though blue isn't quite the right word and neither is violet, though I suppose that comes close. It felt like a hundred cellos all playing the same string, a low E, maybe.

When the ocean's a rainy, toxic mess without a decent wave in sight, the kids in the Cove still find a way to get a few good rides.

The clouds are low here and everything is wet, including the dogs. No, especially the dogs and, in particular, Maisie, who has never met a soggy tennis ball she didn't love.

So many customers were walking off with the bathroom key at a local sandwich shop, the manager (briefly, the sign is now gone) resorted to desperate measures.

I took a clipping from a Cup of Gold vine growing at Barbra Streisand's barn at the end of Ramirez Canyon and 15 years later, it has pretty much taken over the side courtyard with fleshy blooms that look, well, feral.

One of Maisie's contractual duties here in Malibu is to make sure you're OK. Yes, you.

So if you were on a hike, say, and maybe took a moment to lie down in the grass, the tiny Labrador would be right there, taking her work very, very seriously.

Remember the garden last year, so lush, so lovely?

Ditto for the year before:

And the years before that:

But this year, thanks to these guys:

What began so nicely as this:

Wound up a sad wasteland like this:

Sigh.

This was yesterday's sunrise, right before the fog bank formed and steamrolled right over the coast.

Up in the hills it was hot, 80 degrees, a tiny breeze sweet with the scent of sage, baking. Down in the flats it was cool and damp, time for a flannel shirt. Same story today.

So I baked a pie on Saturday morning:

Two pies, actually, an apple and a cherry:

But it was the apple with a nice, flaky crust that kept my winning streak at the Malibu Pie Festival alive:

Not only did the pie baked from See Canyon apples take a first place in the Malibu Pie Contest yesterday, when they announced the winners, they pronouced my name perfectly.

Laughed out loud when a friend pointed out this sign at a West Hollywood pool. With everything so crazy these days, 'don't hold your breath' seems like universally good advice.

Meanwhile, I'm at the Malibu Pie Festival this afternoon, rooting for another ribbon for another apple pie baked from See Canyon apples. Wish me luck!

Have I ever showed you this photo of Paradise Cove in the olden days, when it really was just a bunch of trailers parked at the beach? When we first moved here 16 years ago (omg really??) some of those original trailers were still in place, for sale for about $30,000. Imagine.

We had a moment of blue skies yesterday afternoon as that storm rolled through, and a kinda sorta sunrise this morning. Right now, this very second (as Jake snores on the couch and Maisie's short legs pump frantically in a vivid running dream) it's brilliantly and unambiguously sunny.

It rained like mad all night, a steady drumming on the roof that kept deep sleep just out of reach. This morning, the creek ran high, had breached the sand berm and carved a channel five feet deep as it hit the Pacific.

Stay away from the water, surfers. Why?

That's why:

Everything here seems to be waiting as the storm rolls through. (I'm waiting for the warm and sunny weekend.)

We merely report, cannot explain the rain in what is typically Santana wind and heat wave season.

Once upon a time, the California Incline in Santa Monica looked like this:

The Malibu branch of the LA County library, which was fine, not fabulous but perfectly adequate (and unlike so many branches around LA County, open all day, six days a week) is closed. Not for lack of funds, mind you but for, of all things during these lean times, remodeling. Sigh.

Everything today feels a bit too loud and a bit too bright, moves a little too fast, so I'm taking refuge here, in the rough fence and furled rose and the infinities of white on white on white.