Everything's Coming Up...

Not just roses (song from Gypsy, 1959 Broadway musical, think Ethel Merman) the peonies are starting to burst open, too.  These are always the first and are singles.  These flowers are nearly four inches across.  It's as if they know they aren't as showy as their full-blown double cousins and want to hit the stage running.  Regardless, I await the buds' opening like I was waiting for the curtain to go up...and the deer and squirrels don't eat 'em!  I long for color in my yard.

The roses and peonies are being overcome by weeds.  Almost overnight, and definitely in a matter of days, weeds have gone from ground cover to sometimes two feet high, and that's not an exaggeration.  Pre-Michael, I would be out weeding every morning.  It's hard to pull weeds and hold onto a leash.  I don't know if Michael would still take off up the road and I'm not willing to take a chance.  He would probably take abandonment in his stride if I left him in the house (he's such a trouper), but I hate to disappoint him and he does love his outings.  I've got to hunt up the lunge line I used to use with the livestock.

The glazier's helper came yesterday and installed the new picture window in the living room.  It's grand to be able to look out and not see "rain" dripping down between the panes.  There was a hitch, however.  I had discovered another 'break' in one of the smaller windows that was also leaking.  I'd thought it was just the cloudy old screen, but no.  Another wait and more $$$.  Sigh.  If it's not one thing, it's another...always something and it never ends.

Michael doesn't know it yet, but we're going to go to town today.  He likes it.  I don't, but what cannot be cured must be endured.

Time to get this production going...the play must go on.

Stay safe.  Be well,

Flowers For M'lady

Flowers for, and from, m'lady on Mother's Day, a timely gift from Nature.  The Cecile Brunner rose is really showing off this year.  Talk about neglect...Steve never got around to running a water line so it and the weeds thrive on neglect.  The chicken wire fence was put up to protect the baby rose bush from deer when it was first put in the ground...now it just protects the weeds.  It's still a delight for the eyes.

These roses weren't the only ones I received yesterday.  My son Dave drove up on his Harley in the afternoon and gifted me with a lovely bouquet.  How he managed that with the flowers remaining intact, I don't know, but he produced them with a magician's flourish.  They were appreciated almost as much as the gift of his time.  Covid sure has put a crimp in our family gatherings, and phone calls from the others would have to do.  Gosh, I miss my Kids.

Michael, ever the genial host, came out to greet Dave and join us for awhile on the porch.  Social duties accomplished, he retired to the house, as he always does.  All things in moderation.  No sense in overdoing it.

I had a lovely visit with Dave, no surprise there, and the time went way too fast.  Our goodbye "Love you" were hidden by the roar of the motorcycle.

It was a very good day.

Stay safe.  Be well.

Skipping Along

Remember what a triumph it was as a child when you became coordinated enough to actually do that hop-shuffle thing called skipping?  It was almost like coming of age.  I must be reverting to childhood these days because I'm doing a lot of skipping.  I skip going to the store unless I need something crucial.  I skip cooking if there's cereal in the cupboard and milk that isn't long past its due date (I don't use a lot of milk) in the fridge.  I skip a day of blogging because lately there just isn't much blog fodder.  I still sit in front of the computer of a morning and my mind is as blank as the screen.  Long gone are the days of milking goats, Louie the pig and Poppy the sheep, and Tattletale Tessie and that big flock of chickens.  Weekend parties and cooking for twenty or so friends and family are well in the past.  I can't blame it all on Covid, but the pestilence certainly is a factor.  Sigh.

Once is enough for Michael to consider even a chance event a habit.  In addition to our "business" walks, we now go out twice a day to just sit.  We sit in the sun in the morning and in the shade in the afternoon.  Since he takes the lead, our direction and destination are his choice.  He hasn't wanted to head down the driveway lately so I haven't got a shot of the Cecile Brunner rose that is heavily laden with those delicate little pink roses that always make me think of prom corsages.  It's really outdoing itself this year.  The heirloom roses in the Pig Garden (Louie's old pen) are also blooming.  They were chosen for their perfume, not necessarily their big, blowsy beauty.  California poppies are bright orange exclamation points here and there on the property, and the peonies are heavy with buds, at least ten on one plant alone.  Yes, I enjoy our walks, too.

The sun's up and, as John Wayne would say, it's time to head 'em up and move 'em out.

Stay safe.  Be well.

Old Soul

I often wonder what Michael was like as a puppy.  Puppies are bouncy and playful and get into trouble.  Michael is none of those things.  Was he trained to be sedate or was he just born with his dignified, old-man personality?  Even when he shows a display of enthusiasm, as he does when we have "company" like Helper Dude, it is moderate and short-lived, a wag of the tail and a look in the face is about it.  I am thrilled if I get a lick on my hand.  "Oh!  You gave me kissies!"  Even his kisses are brief and dry and rarely given.

As I've said, Michael naps all over the living room or, to be honest, whatever room I'm in.  Lately, he's taken to lying under the end table next to my chair.  Like Goldilocks, he's found a bed that is just his size, a dog garage, as it were.  Maybe I'm desperate to interpret this as him wanting to be near me while not being so forward as to lie next to my feet.  I'll happily take it.

Helper Dude put in a couple of hours yesterday afternoon.  What that man can get done in such a short time is amazing.  I am so grateful for him his and many acts of kindness above and beyond his work.  He keeps this place from looking so ragtag and weedy.

Getting the screens replaced was timely.  As hot as it got yesterday, it was grand to open the second door in the living room and get a cross breeze.  In a week I've gone from long-sleeve turtlenecks to a tee-shirt, and I see tank-tops in my future, and I'm thinking about a haircut for Michael.

Stay safe.  Be well.

Cracked

As with so many things in the past year or so, the glazier's plans did not go exactly as planned, one of those "good news, bad news" events.  He had and did replace all of the screens that vengeful Missy had destroyed, but the big project, the picture window in the living room, the reason for the whole thing, is delayed.  Seems the double-pane replacement arrived at his shop with a crack and had to be reordered.  Ratchafratch!.

Michael continues to improve.  Maybe it was the equivalent of a 24-hour doggy flu.  We went on our regular walks and sat outside in the shade, and he ate and drank and took naps in all his favorite spots.  We sat in the shade because Nature has turned up the heat.  That and the north wind are a recipe for disaster...high fire danger.  Seems awfully early in the year for those warnings, and there's always some nutcase who insists on thinking it's a burn day.  Not!

Since I mentioned Missy, I do see her once in awhile and her bowl on the deck is emptied every day, but thankfully she has quit tormenting Ralph and Celeste (hope I haven't spoken too soon).  At the going rate, I can't keep replacing the screens.

Just getting light outside...and so it begins.

Stay safe.  Be well.

Sitting Up

Once upon a time, long, long ago I once worked with a doctor whose byline, when asked, "How are you?" would always answer, "Sitting up, taking nourishment, thanks," this while he raced up and down the hospital halls.  Michael wasn't running any races yesterday, but he is definitely feeling better.  We went for our walks and he ate and drank, so I think we're over that hump.

With one day being much like (okay, exactly like) the last, it's hard for me to keep track of what day of the week it is.  I've got to sharpen my skills as I've been put in charge of Trash Day for awhile.  The unknown neighbor (Camille knows him) who has kindly taken on this chore for us will be out of commission for a few weeks.  I scarcely know which end is up, but I'll do my best to get the bins across the road on time.

The glazier is coming this morning (I checked the calendar) to replace windows and screens.  I think he'll probably be working from the outside, but I'd better scrape off the dust just in case.

Stay safe.  Be well.

Gnats To You!

The seasons are changing again and we're headed well into spring.  One sure sign is the the presence of those pesky gnats in the morning and mosquitos in the evening.  Michael is plagued by the gnats and spends much of our walks rubbing at his eyes, a favorite insect target, while I must appear to have contracted St. Vitus dance as I bat them away from my face..

Yesterday was the first of May, Kentucky Derby Day.  Yes, of course I watched the races and yes, the family texted our picks for the winner of the Derby, but it was hard not to remember those days when we'd all get together to sip juleps and celebrate.  Clay's horse, Hot Rod Charlie, came in third, the closest any of us came to winning.  My pick, Midnight Bourbon (ain't that a surprise?) was a disappointing sixth, still better than my second choice, Bourbonic, at thirteenth.  Ah, well, that's horse racing.

I was a little concerned for Michael.  He seemed listless all day, hardly moving from one place to another and not asking to go walkies.  We went out only twice at my suggestion and he obliged and did his business, but there was none of his usual enthusiasm, just not like him at all.  Since he is always a late sleeper, it's too early to see how he is this morning.  I'm hoping it was just a 24-hour thing.

Well, it's on to the Preakness, not as glitzy as  the Derby, but a good race just the same.

Stay safe.  Be well.