Friday, June 15, 2012

This One Had Me Stumped

Yellow.  That's today's Photo A Day June theme, "yellow."  What's yellow in my life?  My morning banana, the Sun (I really think planets should be capitalized, don't you?  seasons too.), work Post-Its, one of my not-my-fave shirts, the basement stairwell... yeah, that's about it unless Durwood buys a yellow bell pepper.  I suppose I could have artfully tossed my banana peel into my empty, milky cereal bowl and taken a photo that spoke of the futility of life in a symbolic, post-1960s kind of way.  Then I decided to clear off the counter between the phone and the sink (because sometimes it gets too cluttered and makes me crazy irritated) and the solution to my "yellow" problem was right in front of me.  Yellow mangoes ripening on the counter.  They're a symphony of yellows with a little green, brown, and even some orange thrown in for interest.  Plus the yellow ones are the tastiest, juiciest, most delectable mangoes in captivity (in my opinion [btw, none of my opinions are humble, ask my family]), they're easiest to tell if they're ripe, and these three are all mine.  Mwa-ha-ha-ha.  Their destiny is in a fresh fruit medley later today involving a pineapple (more yellow!), strawberries, blueberries, and maybe peaches (it's peach season) and kiwis (if I can find three at Copps that aren't rocks).  *sigh*  I love fruit.  Wouldn't it be great to downshift my brain so that I'd crave fruit instead of bread or chocolate or crunchy, salty things?  I'll put that on my (endless) list (of shoulds).  I had customers yesterday.  Customers that spent money.  Hallelujah!  Six of 'em, and not all clumped together either, nicely spread out over the 7 hours I worked.  It was a satisfying and gratifying change from the empty, cricket-echoing hours I usually spend there.

June 15--Indonesia, Timor Island, Sesando (Tube Zither).  The music came out of the night again.  Susan held her breath and listened.  She had heard it for three nights now.  There was no singing, no human voice, just the hollow wail of metal strings.  She knew it was a sesando, the native zither made of bamboo, palm leaves, and metal wire played by someone in the village.  She knew it and yet she couldn't help but wonder if a person made those sounds, if she would hear the footsteps of someone approaching in the darkness.  She wished that Charles would be home.  Sure the manager could deal with shipping the harvest from the farm to the coast.  Surely he didn't have to leave her alone here in the middle of the jungle for days at a time.

Okay, today I really am going to sew.  Really.  I only have to zip to Copps for a few things, then I can come home and sew until time to let Porter McPorterpants out to potty around noon.  She's consigned to her crate now when DS & DIL1 aren't home because she chewed through another vinyl floor.  That makes 3--carpet, floating vinyl, and glued-down vinyl.  Good thing she's cute.  And it's knit night (yay) but no yoga(boo).  Toodle-oo.

1 comment:

Aunt B said...

"Cricket echoing hours" -- whatta phrase! Perfect description!!! So happy you're here sharing your days with your very interested Aunt B. XXX