W Is For...



W is for Waiting.  No sooner had I put the birdseed in the feeder than I heard a small sound.  It was a well-camouflaged Pearl in the fork of the tree saying, "Shhh, Mom.  Pretend you don't see me."  She was waiting for breakfast.  In the bottom photo, it looks like she is conferring with the "man" in the tree. 

Waiting for my friend, Linda, to arrive, I plodded on through the day doing housework in fits and starts.  It was one of the hottest days since July...work awhile, sit awhile.  Thunderheads had been building over the mountains all day.  In the afternoon, they spilled over the ridge and the sky darkened.  Distant thunder rolled.  Big, fat raindrops started to patter on the deck.  Remembering I had laundry on the line, I dashed out to gather it in just as the UPS driver pulled up.  We both stood in the cooling rain...it felt so good.

Back in the day when we both wore bikinis, Linda and I would go on picnics at a beach on the American River.  No peanut butter sandwiches for us!  Linda would stop at The Fish Emporium gourmet food store and our picnic basket would be stocked with sourdough baguettes, pate, caviar, a divine cheese, and a bota bag of daiquiris.  My jaw dropped last evening when she unloaded exactly these same goodies, as well as a salami and smoked oysters.  The bota bag was missing, but I had a bottle of chilled rose wine ready.  All thoughts of cooking dinner went out the window, and we picnicked in the living room and toasted the good old days and the bikinis we used to wear.