Today's theme is "hat" so I took one of my two favorite hats outside to pose it around and see what happened. I put it on the back of the Adirondack chair on the patio (so-so), hung it on the crook with the lantana (meh), then I flopped it on the step next to the lettuce (almost right), I then zoomed in a bit to capture the soft greens and early morning sunlight on the lettuces and the smooth weave of the hat (just right). I wear my sun hats. I even keep one in the car for emergencies and trail walks. Both of my hats came from Bonaire riding in planes, on my head bumping others in crowded airports or riding on my lap so they didn't get crushed in the overhead. I tied a tie-dyed navy blue bandanna around the softer, shaggier one for a hat band and stuck some ratty gull feathers in the knot one summer dive Sunday that are still there. That's the car hat. This one with it's smoother weave and fancier band and firmer shape is my home hat. It gets to plant in the garden and mow the lawn. Neither one is my favorite, I love them both. Almost as soon as I came inside one of the hawks (we have 2) swooped down and landed in the grass by the fountain. I tried to sneak into a good photo spot indoors but it kept flying, not far, but out of the frame. Finally it landed on the fence with its back to me, I focused through the screen and past the honeysuckle (which pulled the focus) but I got it. I love that these sharp faced, unrepentant hunters visit our backyard to stalk the birdies and, this morning at least, stand in the splash from the fountain. Do you read the daily funnies in the newspaper? Yesterday's Peanuts was so hilarious that I had to cut it out. I couldn't find it online and don't want to picture it and get into copyright trouble so here goes: Sally comes up to Charlie Brown who's sitting in a beanbag chair and asks, "Are the days getting longer or shorter?" "Actually they're getting narrower," he says. "Some mornings when you get up, the day is so narrow you can hardly squeeze in..." She walks away. "I never know what you're talking about..." He hasn't moved and says, "Today seems pretty wide..." Narrow & wider days! Made me laugh out loud before 8 AM. That never happens. Now that's one concept I can totally support. From now on that's how I'm going to be looking at my days. Today will be a wide one because I have to work and the empty hours will stretch out endlessly--unless Mrs. Boss left me a list of things to do. (fingers crossed) Yesterday was a narrow one because I got to do what I wanted and I always want to do more than there's time for. Don't you? I sewed a quilt block and finished another project, weed-eatered with Durwood, trimmed one of the hummingbird vines and relocated an Asian lily plant out of the clutches of the raspberries, watered said raspberries & the garden, voted, walked with Skully, Porter & Maggie, went to the bank, tidied up the photos on my laptop and jump drive, knitted, changed the sheets (Durwood said the others were too pilly), and wrote a little before nose-diving into slumber. (not necessarily in that order) *pant, pant* Okay, looking at that long, run-on sentence of stuff, I guess I see Durwood's point when he scolds me for not taking time to relax. Except that getting things done is relaxing to me, doing stuff I like to do is relaxing, sitting still is rarely relaxing to me, it only makes me feel guilty and that's not anywhere close to relaxing. I'm still in the market for an extra, non-work day per week (someone must be able to figure out how to shoehorn in another 24 hours, between Tuesday and Wednesday perhaps, so I can play more). Anybody? Where are you, Einstein, when I need you? Maybe Stephen Hawking? Carl Sagan? Come on, there has to be one brainiac out there with an idea... Maybe one of those child prodigies I read about in the paper who get through college by 9, med school by 13, and are doctors by 16. But they're probably so smart they don't have any imagination or sense of fun, poor babies. We should send them some, um what? I know, sidewalk chalk, a kite, a jump rope, bubbles (ooh, yeah, bubbles), and a bike with a fishing pole and directions to the nearest crick (not a creek, you understand, a crick where there're frogs and polliwogs and panfish hiding in the shade), and maybe one of those socko-paddles so they can bonk themselves in the face a few times before they get the hang of it. Playing, that's what's important I think, playing. Exercises the mind so it can do great things. At least that's my excuse for quite a bit of my behavior these days.
June 6--Myanmar, Saung-Gauk. The sound of music drifted through the window. Leah thought it sounded like the jungle was crying. The first time she heard it she'd thought that there was an injured animal outside. She'd gone from window to door to window searching for the source of the crying. Kin, her houseman, stopped her pacing on the veranda. "Miss, it is a saung-gauk. Only music, traditional Burmese music, not no one hurt." She looking into his kind eyes and he nodded. "It is not a hurt person, Miss, not." She let him escort her to a seat and pour her a glass of tea to calm her. As the months passed, she grew used to the nearly human sounds, came to look forward to the haunting melodies that found their way through the jungle from the village to her home.
Well, that turned out more interesting than I'd hoped. Hey, have a good day and I'll talk to you tomorrow.