That Was Different

For the longest time I thought this was a turkey vulture looking in the window yesterday and it gave a really eerie feeling.  Was it a portent of something to come?  The bird was there for the better part of half an hour, just staring in.  I've since decided it was a turkey hen, all on her own.  Weird.

No, I didn't get the mowing done.  It went right past cooler to downright cold and it was blustery all day.  My decision was justified when thunder, lightning, and episodic brief downpours rolled over.  I opted to work in the kitchen instead.

Someone whom the weather did not deter was Helper Dude II.  He showed up in the afternoon to start trimming the live oak over the woodpile.  This tree provides wonderful shade and protection, but it becomes overly enthusiastic and the branches periodically grow and droop nearly down to the ground.  That is worrisome in fire season.  It also makes it hard to park Truck (trying to confuse the rats) or even drive by.  "Are you sure you want to do this today?!"  He was a man on a mission and a little bad weather wasn't going to stop him.  Alrighty then.

HD2 said, "My mother sent you something," and took a large sack from his truck.  Evidently his mother has a large, make that huge garden, he showed me pictures, filled with produce.  He said that every year she gives away the overabundance to anyone who will accept it, and told me that this offering would be the first of many.  This gift was filled with a variety of crisp greens and eggs from their thirty-plus chickens.  He said to wait until the tomatoes were ripe!  How lucky can I get?  HD2 made good progress on the live oak, but it's going to take more than a couple of hours to finish.

It was a good day.

Stay safe.  Be well.

Rolling Thunder

Song for the day, "The Thunder Rolls" (Garth Brooks, 1990).

Boy, did the thunder roll last night, loud booms so close it was as if they were right across the road or closer (scary thought).  It's not the thunder but the lightning that poses a danger.  The heat spell we've been having has dried out the underbrush and we're in fire season.  There's a cooling heavy overcast this morning.  If the rain holds off it will be a perfect day for mowing.

Rolling Thunder also brings to mind the motorcycle rally in Washington, D.C. begun in 1988 by veterans to raise awareness of armed services POW-MIAs.  Over time, the peaceful Memorial Day demonstration has grown to over 200,000 riders.  The sound alone must be amazing.  If the sight of The Saluting Marine (Tim Chambers, Staff Sgt., Ret.) standing at attention for hours and hours in the midst of all those bikers, many of them stopping to hug him and return the salute didn't move you, you have no heart.

I had parked Truck under the oak by the woodpile.  I don't know about the rats, but I got confused when he wasn't where he's always been.  Today I'll move him to another spot.  One has to try.

Stay safe.  Be well.

Strike Three Again

What's next, a horde of locusts?  I got Truck to the shop yesterday morning without anything blowing up or just plain quitting.  That was a good thing.  As one does, I envisioned the worst.  I took that flashing Service Engine Soon light seriously.  I got a lift home to wait for the bad news.  It came in the afternoon.  For the THIRD TIME rats had been chewing on the spark plug wires.  Aarrgh!  Double, no, triple aarrgh!  At least this time they didn't go all the way through.  They suggested I not park in the same spot all the time to (and I'm laughing here) try to confuse them.  I mentioned I had bought some strong-smelling soap bars.  "Yeah, you could try that, too."  That little cat had better earn her keep.  One measly offering isn't going to cut it.

Stay safe.  Be well.

Strike Three

This situation is becoming intolerable, and I don't know how to stop it.  I thought I was doing Missy a favor by feeding her and giving the little feral a safe haven.  Killing a rat does not make up for destroying a third screen, this time a door.  When it gets hot, as it has been, it is my habit to leave the living room doors open all night to catch whatever breeze might blow by and hopefully cool the house.  Yeah, well.  Evidently the inside cats were up and about the other night and Missy really did a number on the deck screen door.  The bedroom is at the other end of the house and I didn't hear a thing.  I am just so lucky and thankful that Ralph and Celeste didn't get out and that Missy didn't get in.  There's nothing like a duct tape patch to make you feel like a hick.  I shut that door last night.

Stay safe.  Be well.

Strike Two

Destructo, aka Missy, struck again.  She really has a thing for Ralph and torment is the name of the game.  This window in the guest room is another of his favorite spots.  It wasn't enough that Missy tore a hole in the living room screen, this time she broke out the whole darned thing, and I do mean broke.  I sort of stuck it back in place, but the damage is irreparable.

(Slight pause here while Michael and I took the trash down to the big road.  I forgot yesterday.  We made it just in the nick of time, as Trash Guy was just starting to empty the barrels.  Whew!)

I don't know whether this is an apology or she's just showing off her hunting prowess, but Missy brought (and left) this deceased rat on the deck.  Oh goody.  Since the boards are four inches wide, it's a pretty good-sized offering.  I'm glad she is dispatching the rodents, but would prefer she leave them elsewhere.

For the past week or so something wonky has been going on with my landline phone, so yesterday I called AT&T.  For a company whose main business is communication, they leave a lot to be desired.  Just finding their phone number is a challenge.  Then you get the robot who misdirects your call.  "Service" wasn't one of the options.  I finally reached a living being, and that's when the fun really started.  "I don't seem to be able to find your account."  I've been a customer since they were Pac Bell back in the day.  I'm not exaggerating when I say that woman tried doggedly for over half an hour, without success.  Accepting defeat, she turned me over to another real person and we started all over...with the same result.  It was as if I ceased to exist.  This woman dumped me back into the robot pool.  Robot Two did not understand the word "technician," and asked the same question over and over (which had nothing to do with service) until I finally just said yes.  Wonder of wonders, I did get a real live person who understood what my problem was and said, "Just unplug your phone for a minute."  He also made an appointment for a tech to come out this week...or maybe it's for next week...I'm still confused.  I did unplug the phone and ta da! problem solved.  Something so easy took over an hour.  I'm not about to call back and cancel the appointment.  I don't have the time.

Just so you know, when I picked up my mail this morning, there was my bill from AT&T.  The billing department thinks I'm real.  Funny how that works.

Stay safe.  Be well.

Pretty

The old proverb says that pretty is as pretty does.  Peonies don't have to do anything.  Being pretty is enough.  More buds on the single have opened and the big double is in competition.  Those will have to be staked so they can hold their heads up high.  Just think, these are only two of the twelve or so plants in the front garden.  It wasn't so long ago I was bemoaning the lack of flowers.  Shame on me.

Camille performed a real act of friendship when she sent her own helper dude over to me yesterday.  He's been working for her for a while and she's been pleased.  I should explain that finding a good helping hand is hard to find up here.  There are guys that say they want to work, but then don't show up or do a lousy job when they do.  I would have understood if she wanted exclusive rights to this gentleman.  The new HD came when he said he would, I showed him what I needed done, and he went right to work with his weed-eater.  He did an excellent job and I told him so.  Now I can get to Lonesome Lulu's pen without worrying about snakes in the knee-high weeds.  I guess I passed muster as an employer because he gave me his card and told me to call if/when I needed him again.  Whew!

I really missed the boat when I shilly-shallied about putting Fu Manchu to work.  In a week's time, I've gone from sweatshirt and a hoodie to a tank top.  The temperature jumped up to the hundreds and it's fire season.  If the weatherman is to be trusted, we're supposed to drop into the fifties next week.  I know what I'll be doing.  I sure don't want to waste Dude's hard work around the edges.  Mowing the field and yards is up to me.

Stay safe.  Be well.

Right And Wrong

As I am pinned in place by two seemingly fifty-pound cats and an unmovable dog, I can't turn over, let alone get up on the wrong side of the bed, but, boy, I woke up yesterday with the worst case of grumps ever.  I felt like the neighbors' little son who told his mother, "I don't like my cereal, I don't like my orange juice, and I don't like you!"  In other words, nothing was going to please me, so there.  Hence, discretion dictated I not write anything lest it (whatever it was) all come spilling out.  The thing is, I wasn't mad at anyone, I felt well, and nothing bad had happened.  I was just grumpy as all get out for no good reason.  Thank goodness that mood didn't last.  By the way, I appreciated those who checked in with me.

I watched the Memorial Day Concert last night.  It was very strange not to see the massive crowds this annual event draws, but Gary Sinise and Joe Mantegna did an admirable job of honoring servicemen and women, past and present, as they always do.  The acts of heroism presented brought me to tears, and made me ashamed for my piddly complaints.  Giving up even a few years of civilian life to serve in the armed forces deserves our appreciation.

Ah, well.  It's a new day and I'm back to the same old me...not a grump in sight.  (Must have been the right side of the bed this morning.)

Stay safe.  Be well.

Home Again

There was a bit of drivel we would chant while bouncing a baby on our knees that ended, "Home again, home again, jiggety-jog."  Michael and I made as quick a trip as possible to town yesterday.  It was on one of the backroads to home that the "Service Engine Soon" message started flashing on the dash.  Now what?!  Why is it that when I get a nickel ahead, a quarter-size problem appears?  I just had the A/C fixed, for crying out loud.  I've never seen that message in all the twenty years I've had Truck and have no idea what it portends.  He just had an oil change and new battery cables installed.  "Please let me make it home, please let me make it home," was my mantra through the hills.  I didn't even stop at the mailbox, afraid that Truck would die so close to the house.  Good old Truck hung in there and we made it.  It was Friday and the auto shop is closed on weekends.  I hustled Michael into the house to phone.  It was 4:45.  They close at 4:30.  Sigh.  Monday is a holiday.  Sigh again.

Michael was his usual people-magnet self in the stores.  A gentleman had muttered, "Beautiful dog," as he passed by in one of the aisles.  That same man came up to us later as we were walking to the truck, asking if Michael was a working dog, and saying he had once had a dog like him.  Like I said, people magnet.

It's a very good thing that stay-at-home orders are no hardship for me because I'm sure not going anywhere soon.

Stay safe.  Be well.

Please, Mr. Custer

The lyrics from "Please, Mister Custer" (Larry Verne, #1 song in 1960) could be my theme song.  "Please, Mister Custer, I don't want to go...."  I managed to put off going to town one more day.  Today I will have no choice.  Aarrgh!  Cue the music.

First peony of the season.  That fat bud beside the flower is just one of many.  It seemed important to do some hand weeding in the front garden in order to allow the peonies to show off.  And it was a good excuse, right?  Of course, having spent time bent over, I needed a rest.  See how easy these things are?  If you need an excuse, call me.  I'm available for consultation.

On our morning walk, Michael and I sent a flock of turkeys into a flurry of flight, and there were turkletts!  They weren't teeny-tiny, they could fly, so their mamas have been doing a good job of guarding their babies.  The mortality rate for the little ones is sadly high.

Let's see, the weather is good, the weeds in the field are high, Fu is waiting...NO!  Stop it!  Do your duty, woman, and go to town!  Cue the music.

Stay safe.  Be well.

Wish Granted

Thank you, Nature, for granting my wish.  Yesterday turned out to be as pretty as one could hope for.  Stan arrived and we chose to sit on the deck, meeting social-distance requirements, to catch up on news.  Well, he had news, I hadn't much to offer in that regard.  Oh, wait, yes I did.  Michael has become such a member of the household I forgot that Stan hadn't met him or heard his story.  Michael makes it very clear that he enjoys (possibly prefers) the company of men.  So did Bessie Anne.  No, I am not jealous.

After days of rain and gloom, it was pleasant to sit and soak up some sun.  However, it made the raggedy appearance of the place and the overgrowth of weeds more glaring.  Give me another couple days of this current weather and some time on Fu Manchu and it will look much better.  I do what I can when I can.

As the sun rose higher, we moved around (through the weeds) to the shade of the front porch and continued to chat.  Stan is such good company.  He had plans for the rest of the day, and I so appreciated the gift of his time.  Darn this virus!  It deprived me of a goodbye hug; virtual just doesn't cut it.

It was a good day.

Stay safe.  Be well.

Tale Of A Tail

Remember when Michael first came to Farview?  He had been to the groomer, whom I think of as Edward Scissorhands, and he/she had left a full head of hair, a long, lush tail, and not much in between.

This is Michael now.  He behaved beautifully during his pedicure yesterday and I'm sure he feels much better.  His coat has grown back and it's as soft as a cloud.  I was picking oak fronds out of his tail when the groomer asked, "Would you like me to trim his tail?"  "Well, hmmm, okay."  This is the end (pun intended) result.  The boy can't win.  Now his tail doesn't match the rest of him.  He will be easier to care for, regardless.  That long tail picked up everything and his nickname was Swiffer.  If he could only dust.

I got a surprise phone call from my BIL Stan yesterday, and an even bigger surprise when he said he's coming up this morning.  I see blue in the sky this morning and I'm hoping for a sunny day so we can sit out on the deck, warmer than the porch.  This CVD has put a crimp in my hospitality.  I'd better get moving or I'll get caught in my jammies again.

Stay safe.  Be well.

Uffdah!

You've got to give the old girl credit, Nature does not do things by halves.  It had rained the day before with a blowout at the end.  Yeah, well, it was nothing compared to yesterday.  Rain, rain, and more rain, and when the sun did come out late in the day, the wind took over, bending the trees sideways and littering the ground with leaves and small branches.  Michael and I double-timed it on our walks and he didn't need urging to "Let's go to the house!"

I try hard to keep to my mission statement of reporting on rural life.  In a non-biblical sense, I am in the world, but not of it, and I prefer it that way.  I keep abreast of the news.  The mounting numbers of illness and death from Covid-19 literally bring me to tears.  I am aghast at what has happened to politics; the pettiness and divisiveness is abhorrent.  Hardworking people have lost their livelihood through no fault of their own.  In many ways it is like a tsunami of pain and evil sweeping through our country and the world at large.  Uffdah!  Yes, I have strongly held opinions, hopefully well informed, but I prefer to keep them to myself and write about a haven of peace here at Farview, where the only conflict might be the occasional catfight between siblings.  It's no wonder I dislike leaving home and can't wait to get back when I do.

Michael has an appointment for a pedicure this morning.  It's raining again (still).  At least the truck is getting washed.  Welcome to my world.

Stay safe.  Be well.

Busted

Well, that was embarrassing.  I got a good lesson in it doesn't pay to dawdle yesterday.  The weather was crummy, Michael was sound asleep, and I was playing solitaire on the computer, still in my nightgown and robe.  What's the hurry, right?  And then the doorbell rang.  I shuffled down the hall and peeked through the glass.  Oh good grief, it was Neighbor Joe.  He would know I was home so I had to open the door.  "Okay, ya caught me in my jammies.  What's up, Joe?"  He had come to ask about some wood the PG&E guys had left at Camille's.  I gave him her number so he could talk to the source.  He left.  I got dressed, my reputation, such as it is, in tatters.

Michael and I got lucky on our walks.  It rained off and on all day, but it wasn't pouring down when we went out.  Michael doesn't dawdle on wet days, so we were out and back in no time.

It wasn't until later in the afternoon that the storm really gathered force, and it turned into lightning and impressive thunder rolling on and on over the hills.  The scaredy cats hid under the bed.  Michael took it in stride.  I was glad PG&E had done their work on the trees.

This storm is a two-fer, still raining heavily this morning.  Not that it matters, but I'm already dressed...just in case.

Stay safe.  Be well.

Blank

Ever have one of those days when your mind's cupboard is bare?  I've heard that real writers sometimes panic at the sight of a blank page.  I'm not panicking, but my mind is scurrying around looking for something, anything, that even I might find interesting.  Sigh.

Camille found a traveling groomer and made an appointment for Tuesday for her Honey to get a haircut and Michael to get a pedicure down at her place.  Poor thing, his toenails look like those of Howard Hughes toward the end.  I've been checking the internet and find that it's really not necessary to cut an Australian/Shetland Shepherd's coat in summer, so we'll skip that this year for Michael.  Maybe I'll get out Bessie Anne's dog pool and see how he likes that when the heat is upon us.

As in any conversation, if you have nothing to say, keep quiet.

Stay safe.  Be well.

Trade Off

After imbibing all that caffeine yesterday, I fully expected to zip and zoom, but no.  I was my same old plodding self.

George is rubbing off on Florence, and I am the lucky recipient.  She arrived, not only with the promised blue cheese, but grocery bags laden with goodies and a bouquet of roses.  The one thing that alleviates my guilt is that they go shopping in a store that has unbelievably low prices, e.g., the ten pounds of mozzarella was a whopping fifty cents.  This time there was a tub of Italian pasta salad that will have me saying Mama Mia for a week!

I was hoping Florence would take more flower pots.  Those she picked out hardly made a dent.  However, she has her eye on another one.  It's not going anywhere while she decides if it is a necessity.  She knows where to find me.

I was able to trade her some cuttings from the overgrown wisteria vine.  I haven't pruned it for some years now, and it has grown so large and heavy it is breaking down the wire fencing around what used to be the vegetable garden prior to the drought.  It's gorgeous when it blooms, but, like the lilacs, it has a short flowering season.  I also convinced her to dig up some of the marjoram, a subset of oregano, but milder.  It, like so much in the front herb garden, has grown rampant over the years.  It has the tenacity of a weed, but it's pretty and useful.  It also puts out purple flowers toward the end of summer, and it thrives on neglect.

I went back to making coffee as per my usual morning routine today.  Since the extra caffeine failed to provide the hoped-for results, no need for further experimentation, planned or not.

Stay safe.  Be well.

Time Flies

Another decade flew by and I hardly noticed.  I, like others, measure personal time by birthdays.  I had gone to bed night before last trying to convince myself that I would wake up and be eighty...eighty!  I've known for some time that I was long past middle-age, but eighty, for real?!  I just hope no one tells me to act my age.  I've never been this old and there's no guidebook for geriatric behavior.  These are new and unknown waters for me.  My body tells me one thing, but my mind refuses to believe it.  Ah, well.

This birthday was certainly different than the blowout celebration ten years ago when the Kids threw a huge bash here with friends and family.  While yesterday was spent alone, I certainly wasn't lonely.  I received so many congratulatory phone calls and texts that my day was filled with affection.  I don't know how she did it, but my daughter created an emoji that looks just like her, and yesterday she made the emoji sing Happy Birthday in her voice...made my day!

There are signs periodically that I do slip a cog now and then, this morning being one of them.  I am a confirmed creature of habit.  For some unknown reason I decided to get the coffee maker ready a day ahead.  Still half asleep, I followed my routine and poured water into the machine before I saw that I'd already put in the usual amount of coffee.  Oh crum.  Remembering I'd already gotten things ready and thinking I'd just put in double the water (I hadn't), I added double the coffee.  Boy-oh-boy, let me tell you I'm juiced up and ready to go today!  I might as well have drunk a mug of espresso.

I'd better get going so as not to lose that power boost.

Stay safe.  Be well.

Cravings

I've had a craving for oranges lately (no, I assure you I'm not pregnant), and have bought a large jug of juice the last few times I've gone shopping.  Yesterday I went up to Holiday and was totally self-indulgent.  I bought frozen Chinese Orange Chicken, orange juice, real oranges...and orange sherbet.  Want to bet which one I had for dinner?  If you guessed sherbet, just sherbet, you'd be da winnah!  One advantage of living alone is that there is no one to "say me no."  Another is complete control of the remote, but that's a story for another day.

It was an off-and-on pretty day, but everything was still too wet to mow.  I have, not a craving, but a need to get Fu off his duff.  I see it rained again last night, so he's got a reprieve for another day or two.  I'm not complaining.  I like an extended spring as much as the next guy and I appreciate the delayed heat of summer, but Nature is giving the weeds an unfair head start.

You know you live in the country when a friend, Florence, called and offered to trade me some blue cheese for a flower pot or two.  Hey, I'm getting the better part of that deal.  Thanks (or no thanks) to Robert the Raider, I have stacks of empty flower pots here, there, and everywhere, but no blue cheese in sight.  Florence knows I have a penchant for stinky cheese, and I bemoan the lack of Limburger in the stores these days.

I received a number of most welcome phone calls yesterday, the most surprising and unexpected from a great-nephew in Massachusetts.  He's been here a couple of times, but not for years.  The sun being over the yardarm on both ends of the country, we were having a drink "together" three hours apart.  He deplored that I was having Canadian whiskey (which I like), insisting that Irish was the only way to go.  In my book, Irish is for holidays and Canadian is for everyday.  Whatever trips your trigger.

Let's see...it's morning, it's wet...looks like I get another day off (and I have orange juice for breakfast!).

Stay safe.  Be well.

All About Timing

It really doesn't pay to plan too far ahead here, even if I know what day it is.  On the somewhat scrambled, but sunny Monday and the few laps I'd made on Fu, I really figured to get more mowing done yesterday.  I could tell at dawn's first dim light that we'd had rain during the night.  This was the view on our first walk.  What hills?  What sun?  It rained off and on throughout the day, hard enough at times to wash the green pollen off the truck and that's a good thing.  We are heavy into allergy season and the oaks are making their annual contribution.  So much for mowing.

Just the day before I'd been celebrating the return of A/C in the truck.  How's that for timing?  Yesterday I switched from tee-shirt to turtleneck and added a hoodie, indoors and out.  The heated beanbag was called back to service, and I gave thought to lighting a fire, a passing thought at best.  I've been planning to get/give Michael a summer cut, but he definitely needed his plush winter coat on our walks.

Camille called, reading me the Saturday menu for The Dinner Wagon.  I really hadn't planned to indulge myself again so soon, but she had me at chicken-fried pork cutlet, and spring pea polenta sealed the deal.  "Want me to order one for you?"  "Yes, please."  I rarely go out to eat, even when we could.  The price is right, the food is delicious, and I'm weak.

We timed it right in the afternoon.  It wasn't raining when we took the trash down to the big road (at least I remembered it was Tuesday).

The sun is up and the clouds are gone.  However, those sodden, knee-high weeds can't be mowed today.  Oh well.

Stay safe.  Be well.

Not Again!

I had an appointment last Monday, 9 a.m., to get the A/C fixed in the truck.  Did I mention I have a fairly loose grasp on the days of the week?  I know it's Saturday when the cooking shows come on.  Appointments are few and far between in my life.  Well, last Monday I got a call at 9:30.  I recognized the voice, and said, "Oh, no!  Is it Monday?!"  Yes, it was, and I'd missed the day and the time.  I offered abject apologies and was given a second chance...for Monday.  Yesterday.  Nine a.m.  Sitting at the computer in nightgown and robe without a care in the world when the phone rang at 8:30 (Jane knows me).  "Oh, no!  Not again!  I'll be there!"  I probably should have combed my hair after throwing on clothes, but, oh well, I made it to the shop by 9:02.

I had known the weeds in the median between tire tracks in the drive were getting tall, but Truck cleared them so I wasn't too worried.  Jane gave me a ride home in her sporty little car (we were both wearing masks) and I could hear those weeds brushing the undercarriage.  Not good.  After tending to the animals, I fired up Fu and we took care of that, as well as making a few more passes in the field.  Fu has a talent for finding holes.  Yes, again.  This time I was able to extricate him by myself, but decided that was enough for the day.

Truck was home by noon, A/C blowing all the way.

Yesterday was Monday.  That means today is Trash Day.  I missed it last week and wouldn't want to do that again.

Stay safe.  Be well.

Do It Right

In the 1950s a unique doll was created.  She had nondescript features, wispy hair with ragged bangs, and a tattered dress.  Her name was Poor Pitiful Pearl.

Celeste's predecessor was a foundling kitten named Pearl, after the doll, because she cried so piteously all the way home when I got her and her brother, Frank.

Just call me Pearl.  Don't get me wrong...I received wonderful, heartwarming phone calls from my Kids, even the one in Hawaii, and texts from family and friends.  Still, I spent most of the day indulging in a wash of self-pity.  Poor pitiful me.  "I can't do this.  I can't do that.  I miss,,,  I want... (ad nauseam)."  If you're going to do such a thing, do it right.  Finally, as these things do, the dark clouds in my mind parted and all the good times came flooding back and, believe me, there are plenty of those.

Ralph seems to be going through an emotional crisis of his own this morning.  He woke me way too early with gentle pats on my face, and he continues to pat me as I sit here, demanding attention in his own way.  I once had a cat, Victor, who would wake me by pulling my hair, sitting on my head, or licking my eyelashes.  Ralph's way is much better, but he's like a kid who keeps saying, "Mama-mama-mama," driving one to distraction.  Okay, he's on my lap now, seemingly content having gotten his way.

If I'm going to do anything today, it will be to count my many blessings, and I'm going to do it right.

Stay safe.  Be well.

Speed

Easter was cancelled this year.  Phooey.  May (Mother's Day and my birthday month) has likewise been scratched.  Double-phooey!  As my son Dave said, "If we're going to keep pulling pages off the calendar, this year is going to fly by!"  I really, really miss my Kids.  I miss their great hugs, the talking, laughing, and teasing.  I miss cooking for them, some new recipes, but mainly dishes from their childhood and/or traditional holiday meals.  I love the early Saturday mornings when Deb calls.  She's working at home now, but still has news from the outside world.  I have the same old, same old to offer, but I so enjoy hearing her voice.  This CVD isolation can't end fast enough for me.  I miss my Kids.

Nature gave us a preview of coming attractions this week with temperatures in the high 80s here and in the 90s down in the valley.  Yesterday I opened the doors in the laundry room and bedroom to allow any passing breeze to blow in (there weren't many).  It seems much cooler this morning, so we may be getting a slight reprieve.  I'm not looking forward to summer.

My neighbor Bruce, a chef in his own right, and his wife Annie now have a food truck that they operate on the weekends.  They mainly serve gyros, but have started offering a full, three-course meal that must be preordered.  Camille has taken advantage of this and had asked me if I wanted her to pick up a dinner yesterday.  Well, sure!  "The Dinner Station" is certainly filling a need for those who can't go out to eat now, and the food is really good.

I haven't been brave enough to discover what the buzzing is by the woodpile.  I don't move fast enough anymore to escape should whatever they are take exception to my presence.  Michael's fear of stingers is rubbing off.

Together or apart, Happy Mother's Day to all the mothers, mamas, and moms out there.

Stay safe.  Be well.

Phases

Like mother, like daughter, so the saying goes.  My mother went through many phases in her life.  Once, she learned how to play a steel guitar, even playing in a band.  Later, she took up making hooked rugs, always out of old wool clothing that she learned how to bleach and then dye, cutting tiny quarter-inch strips to painstakingly hook into a burlap backing.  I still have some of her beautiful creations.  As I've mentioned, she crocheted and tatted, but a constant was sewing.  She sewed almost all of my clothes from infancy into high school, and she was the ultimate seamstress.  Once upon a time, long, long ago, while a senior in boarding school, I was chosen to be a Valentine princess.  I had what I considered to be a perfectly serviceable dress picked out.  Mother drove up to school with the most beautiful, form-fitting, pale pink creation of taffeta overlaid with lace, with cerise chiffon ties.  I may have been a princess, but I felt like the queen.

I've gone through phases of my own, starting when the Kids were little, learning different crafts to teach and keep them occupied.  I started sewing when my daughter was born and I didn't even have a sewing machine.  Tell somebody now that you once sewed dresses entirely by hand.  Imagine how thrilled I was when we rented a house and I was given permission to use an old Singer machine found in the garage.  It was a treadle machine, operated by foot power, and I put it to good use...dresses for Deb and shirts for the boys.  Using the treadle was good practice for later in life when I learned how to spin raw wool.  Time went on and I took up every fad craft that came down the pike:  polymer clay, stamping, weaving, tons of beaded jewelry, painting.

My daughter has come into her own right in the craft department.  She has made her own garden tiles, sews like a professional, resurfaced a small table using a pattern of pennies...ohmigosh, I can't think of all she's done.  People at her workplace wait to see her unique Halloween costumes every year and she never disappoints.  Since I've phased out of most of that stuff now, Deb has pre-inherited all of my beading materials and is putting them to good use.

Mother would be so proud.

Stay safe.  Be well.

Newton's Law

I speak here of Newton's First Law of Motion:  "An object at rest will remain at rest unless forces are applied."  (Sorry, Sir Isaac...paraphrased and simplified.)

Since I am the only one here, I guess it's up to me to apply the forces needed to get me up off my rusty-dusty and get something accomplished.  It's been too easy of late to sit and vegetate, putting off things that cry out for attention.  "Oh, it's too hot/cold.  Oh, that can wait until tomorrow.  Oh, it's not that bad yet.  Oh, the cats are on my lap and I dasn't disturb them," when the plain truth is, "I just don't want to."  Michael gets his walks in and some days that's about it.  Shame on me.  There isn't enough paper to make an honest To-Do list, so I'm going to get back to the Three-Things-A-Day variety and see where that gets me.

There is one thing for which I've had a very good reason for not doing.  For the past couple of days when Michael and I have walked past the woodpile, I've heard very loud, constant buzzing.  I won't take Michael anywhere near there, but I need to find out whether it's a colony of bees or a wasp nest and take appropriate action.  If it's the good guys, I can hopefully find a beekeeper to relocate them.  If it's the other kind, I can go armed with spray.

Having bared my sloth in public will hopefully provide the incentive to get moving, even slowly.

Stay safe.  Be well.

Okay, Okay

Farview deems it necessary to prove me wrong at every turn on a darned near daily basis.  Okay, I do have flowers.  The Cecile Brunner rose (which desperately needed pruning, poor neglected thing) popped into bloom overnight.  There are other old-fashioned roses in the Pig Garden (Louie's old pen), chosen for their fragrance more than form.  It seems to me that when a truly beautiful new rose is developed, its perfume is sacrificed, an exception being the Eiffel Tower.  When Louie moved down to live with the goats, his pen seemed the perfect spot to plant roses...fenced for protection from the deer, with the added benefit of pre-fertilized ground.  I have been remiss in their care, too.

I wasn't wrong about how Missy is supplementing her diet, as evidenced by the squirrel tail found on our morning walk yesterday.  I'm glad that's all we found.  Okay, I was mistaken about her not bringing leftovers to the deck.  The other day an enormous black bird flew down to clean up some innards.  It was way too big to be a crow, had to be a raven.

I hope everyone took note of the last super moon for this year last night, aptly named the Flower Moon.  (Okay, rub it in.)

Stay safe.  Be well.

Mistress Mary

"Mistress Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden grow?"

My daughter frequently sends me photos of their backyard, which is beginning to rival Butchart Gardens in Victoria, B.C.  Lush greenery, colorful flowers everywhere, raised, fenced garden plots for vegetables and herbs, little fountains and bird feeders for hummers and others.  They have put in so much work, and it shows.  Yeah, well.  I have a flower, too.

Actually, there are quite a few iris in my front yard, planted by the prior owners.  With all the fancy, spectacular iris abounding, I have these pale beige and lavender duds.  I took a sample to the Blue Bird Iris Farm to ask what variety it might be, and was told it was a very old species.  I've got to be happy that anything blooms at all.  Before the deck was redone, I had pot after pot that used to have flowers.  They used to have flowers before Robert the Raider decimated everything.  Now I have a lot of empty pots in a pile, and that's a good thing because I saw Robert cruising the deck the other day, looking for a free meal.  Ha!

Actually, I do have what might pass for a garden behind one of the sheds.  Evidently deer and the squirrels don't find Spanish lavender (not as fragrant as the French) or the grey and green santolina appetizing.  These are very hardy plants, thriving on neglect, and they do have flowers.  Just call me Mistress Mary.

Stay safe.  Be well.

Moving Day (And Night)

Celeste's maternal instincts seem to have kicked in again.  All her piglets have lain about the house wherever she dropped them last, which was some time ago.  For whatever reason, she has them on the move again, carrying them one at a time up and down the hall, crooning lullabies as she goes, day and night.  Ralph doesn't seem to know what to make of it, and neither do I.  Cats are weird.

Tired of peanut butter dinners, I actually cooked last night and made a Spanish Tortilla.  Once upon a time, long, long ago, I had a step-mother-in-law (how's that for a mouthful?) who was from Biarritz on the French-Spanish border.  She would make the most wonderful paella, and she really expanded my culinary experience.  Pilar explained that a Spanish Tortilla was a staple in her home country, eaten hot, cold, or at room temperature, and frequently taken on picnics to go with barbecued meat they would grill onsite.

The tortilla is a simple mixture of potatoes and onions, fried and mashed up during the cooking.  Use plenty of salt and pepper, the potatoes can take it.  When completely soft and almost a mush, quite a lot of lightly beaten eggs are added and stirred in, then left over low heat until the bottom is lightly browned and the eggs are almost set.  Then the tortilla is slid out onto a plate, flipped and back into the pan to brown the other side.  It was a most satisfying dinner, and I kept going back for just one more little slice.

It's still dark out (I'm having to get up earlier and earlier) and Celeste is on the move again, her singing muffled by the piglet in her mouth.

Stay safe.  Be well.

May The Fourth Be With You

In my mind, I always hear oh-so-serious Mr. Spock speaking with a lisp on the fourth, but that's just me.

It doesn't take much to make me crabby anymore.  For instance, I really don't like Daylight Saving Time.  Not only do I not like changing all the clocks twice a year, I don't like the early sunup in the morning.  Getting up in the dark gives me the feeling that I'm easing into the day.  That's my time.  It's already light out now and I feel I should be doing something constructive (not that I do too much of that anyhow).  I don't care for the long light in the evening, either.  I'm used to fixing dinner when it gets dark.  Eight o'clock is too late for that now, I'd end up eating dinner in bed.  Consequently I might settle for a jar of peanut butter and a spoon.  Don't bother telling me that there would be the same amount of daylight regardless of the clock...I prefer to rant and rave on a biannual basis.

I wasn't able to contact Jeremy yesterday.  Ratchafratch!  I've tried pulling those weeds by hand, but it's like trying to empty the ocean with a thimble.  There are few things more determined to live and thrive than weeds.  Would that grass seed had that same will.  I'd like a dollar for all the seed I've bought trying to grow a lawn.  (I warned you I was/am crabby.)

Why is it that, knowing I've drunk the last of it, I still pick up the mug and look to see if there's just one more sip of coffee.  Every doggone day.

I'll be back tomorrow, hopefully with a better attitude.  Or not.

Stay safe.  Be well.

'Tis The Season

In the past week or two I've had a couple of wasps in the living room and wondered how they got in.  It is wasp season and I'm pretty careful to make sure the screen doors are shut when I've gone out.  We know how Michael feels about those evil insects and he goes and hides in the bedroom until I've dispatched the thing.  Yesterday I saw a bunch of them hanging around under the eaves and decided it was time for more aggressive action.  Armed with a couple of cans of wasp spray (I buy it by the six-pack), I went out on the deck to do battle.  That's when I found out how the buggers got in the house.  This is where Missy had been jumping up to scare Ralph.  Thanks, Missy.  I shut the window.  Having sprayed every nook and cranny where the wasps were congregating, I went in to watch cooking shows and horse racing.  Sorry, Fu, but it was Saturday.

After our afternoon walk, I went out to feed and water Lonesome Lulu, noting that the weeds are getting pretty darned high around her pen and between the coops and wondered if Jeremy might still be available for weed-eating.

Missy followed me here and there while I did chores, getting in my way until I finally stopped to pet her.  The last time we did this, she whipped her head around and bit my hand, not hard, but when you have skin like tissue paper, it was enough to make me bleed.  Son of a gun, she did it again!  I've got to learn her signals.

I woke up before four this morning, thinking about those knee-high weeds behind the feed barn.  Well, not thinking about the weeds so much as the rattlesnakes that might hide there.  It is the season for the "slitherins" (apologies to Harry Potter and the Slytherins) and there have been a number of postings on FB  re. recent sightings.  I couldn't get back to sleep.  I really must check in with Jeremy.

Stay safe.  Be well.

Michael

This is frequently the view from my chair, Michael snoozing in one of the beds he brought.  The other is behind him, in front of the cat bed that they never use.  Ralph and Celeste consider my lap to be their official cat bed.  Behind that is the basket of well-used toys and in front of Michael is the bear he seems to have chosen for his own.  Artfully draped over his bed are two blankets that came with the bed.  The blue one looks like it had been caught in a meat grinder.  Florence once asked me if his chewing was a problem (that explained the blue blanket).  I answered honestly that he had never so much as mouthed anything.  It might have been stress as his prior owner's health declined.  Yes, that sign behind Michael says Reserved Parking.  While I doubt that the cats can read, they never get in Michael's bed.  I know I'm prejudiced, but isn't his coloring gorgeous?

I didn't get any mowing done yesterday.  It was bill-paying day and I considered that painful enough.  Why is it that AT&T, which widely proclaims their high-speed attributes, has the slowest (I mean s-l-o-w-est) website and there is no way to actually call them when there's a problem!  They're the telephone company, for crying out loud.  I had been remiss in ordering new checks and was coming close to running out.  I found I could do that deed by phone.  I asked the nice lady if I could make that a rush order.  The checks are free, but there would be a $45 charge for three-day service!  I decided that since I wasn't going anywhere anyhow, I could make do with what I had for the ten-day standard wait.  No, Fu would have to wait another day.  I was exhausted.

Stay safe.  Be well.

Same Old Same Old

I don't seem to break the same old routine of one day busy, one day not.  Yesterday was a "not."  I gave myself the excuse of being stiff from an hour on Fu Manchu, but I could have worked through that if so inclined, which I wasn't.  Michael got his walks and that was the extent of our exercise for the day.

As has been noted, Michael is not a playful dog.  Giving a tail wag is about about as much excitement as he expresses, so it surprised me yesterday when, for a short while, he carried a handmade teddy bear around in the house.  Up to then, he'd completely ignored the basket of toys and those strewn about by the cats.  I don't know if that is progress or not, but it was something new for him.

The peonies have lots of buds, more than ever before, and are just about ready to burst into bloom.  I whine about the dearth of flowers here, so it is a real event when the peonies open.  They come just as the lilacs are fading so their timing is perfect.

It's May Day.  If I had any flowers and any close neighbors, I would make construction-paper baskets to fill and leave on doorsteps as I did as a kid.  I thought then, and still do, think that's a grand way to celebrate Spring.

Stay safe.  Be well.