Sunday, September 15, 2013

A Rainy Sunday

And I didn't mow de lawn yesterday after all.  Oops.  I just didn't feel like it so I didn't.  Now I'm sorry but it's supposed to stop and clear up later so I should be able to trot around with the mower later.  Don't you hate when you do stuff like that?  Mostly I didn't because I was listening to an audiobook and wanted to keep listening so I could hear whodunit and be finished listening to the terrible narrator (Ellen Travolta--John's mom?--anyway she had pronunciation and pacing problems but I liked the story so I stuck it out to The End).

I managed to snap a photo of a hummingbird at the feeder this morning.  I can't understand why the raindrops don't knock them right out of the air but they ignore the rain.  Maybe they fly between the drops?

I did go to give the chickens the peels and floor grapes which they loved.  (floor grapes are the ones that fall when I'm taking them all off the stems so that we can just grab and eat)  It seemed like the chickens are more of a flock than two pairs, at least they seemed that way yesterday.  I'm glad, I don't like it when they fight.  But first I give Porter her supper, waited while she ate it (that took some convincing, she's used to me taking her walking), and then we went outside to play.  We played ball for a while (she's kinda learned to give it back, at least she lies down and lets it go so I can walk over, pick it up, and throw it again), then I sat and knitted on my car door dishcloth (the project that lives in the pocket of the door for times like that) until she was done with her business so I could lock her back up before coming home to a supper of chicken spaghetti and fresh green beans.  Yum.  Tonight I plan to grill a couple small ribeyes so it better stop raining or I'll be peeved and no one likes me peeved.

September 15--Belbello da Pavia, Benedictine Antiphonary.  The soft echoing chant drew Azalea down the cool marble hall toward the monastery chapel.  She had thought that the building was empty but the sound of men's voices with their ringing notes in a minor key attracted her to investigate.  As she neared the end of the hall the smells of incense and beeswax reminded her of going to her grandmother's country parish for Sunday Mass.  The brown robed monks filled only a couple pews in the small chapel but their voices made the place seem like the vestibule of Heaven.

Today is the Packers' home opener.  I hear the announcer and a little music.  I'm glad I'm not there in the rain and wet, but then I never want to be there no matter what the weather.  I know, I shouldn't live here in football mecca but I can't help it, it's where Dad got a job in 1962 and I've just stayed.  Maybe someday I'll live someplace else.  But not today.

1 comment:

Aunt B said...

Love that picture of Porter waiting expectantly for you to come pick up the ball.