Wednesday, June 1, 2011


We're back to spring today, cool and breezy. Evidently the past two days were escapees from summer so we're returned to our regularly scheduled weather. I want to poke my head out the patio door and shout "make up your mind!" Now, do I wear capris to work or long pants? Short sleeves, definitely, but I'll take a cardigan or an over-shirt so I don't get chilled sitting still most of the day. Ooh, maybe I'll have a steady stream of customers and I can keep comfy by moving around all day. Now wouldn't that be nice? When I went out to start the fountain and top it and the birdbath off I noticed that all my little lettuces have sprouted! Yay, lettuce! There was also a round dig there from a squirrel which I'm not thrilled about, maybe I can fashion a chicken wire collar for the pot that'll keep the pests out. There's a smear of bird bappy on my driver's door by the side-view mirror. It's been there a few days and I couldn't figure out how it got there. Yeah, I know that birds poop on cars but this is different. This morning I discovered the cause. A Bronze-headed Cowbird was flapping and flying trying to get at the bird in the glass. It flew against the window then landed on top of the mirror still staring at the other bird. It lunged down, its beak against the glass, and flapped for all it was worth, pooping more and smearing it around. Ew. Can you say "car wash time?" I chased it away.

May 31--Utagawa Yoshitomi, Dutch Ship, Orandasen 1861. Dina pulled another of the heavy leather-bound books off the shelf. She riffled the pages like Aunt Minna showed her. Uncle Pete went nuts when he saw them doing that. He said each bent page took a dollar off the price he could get for it but Aunt Minna had found cash and bonds tucked in the old books. "Like they'll remember where they put things when they're old and cuckoo," she said, tapping the side of her head as if she herself weren't skating toward eighty. "Peter forgets that we can always use the cash. I'm the practical one, he's the dreamer." Dina had loved going along with her great-aunt and -uncle since she was too small to lift the books off the shelf. She always struck up a conversation with the old people selling off their parents' library or sadly getting rid of their own collection before moving to a smaller place. They'd be shaken out of their grief by the tiny girl who'd tuck one of their smaller books under her arm and, tugging them by a finger, drag them to a chair and insist that they "read me a story." Most of the time they would and feel better about the sale for it.

Look! A story. Ahhh.

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