Doomed to Failure

Mrs. Robin is attempting to build a nest on top of the front light.  She's not going to be able to, partly because it's just not a good place for a nest and partly because I'll be out there removing her attempts at least once a day.  That just isn't flat enough for a bird's nest plus there's no other way for us to go out to the cars so we'd only end up getting dive-bombed by an irate mama robin and nobody wants that.

Here's one more picture (it's the last one this year, I promise) of the red & yellow tulips blooming in the garden.  I could stare at them for hours studying the jagged margin of red into yellow and yellow into red.  The bleeding heart has bloomed, one little spray of blooms but there are many ready to bloom, so you can count on seeing them a few more times before it's only leaves.  I got the herbs planted yesterday afternoon (clockwise from the left--parsley, basil, thyme) and wondered at the pitifulness of the thyme plants, but that was all there was.  I got four of the last 5 thyme plants at Stein's, they'll perk up now that they're happily in a nice roomy pot, you just watch.  The allium's blooming in front.  I'm a big fan of the fuzzy purple globes standing so proud on their long stems.  While taking the allium photo I noticed that Dad's rose bush is putting out some leaves but only from the base, no leaves sprouting from last year's canes, and the little shrub rose I've been babying along for years in back is stone cold dead.  The stupid, long, extra-cold winter is just lucky it didn't kill Dad's rose; I'd have something to say about that, I'm telling you.

May 24--Italy, Gradual.  Grace thought the Mass would never end.  The priest kept bowing this way and that, and kissing his prayer book.  The altar boys rang the bells at what seemed like random intervals, the choir sang in Latin and had a song for each priestly bow and bell jangle.  Incense smoke seemed to have replaced all the breathable air in the cavernous space.  She was beginning to regret agreeing to come to church with her friend and neighbor Maxine and was thinking of slipping out but then a shaft of sunlight shot through the stained glass window next to her and splashed a rainbow over her.  Very sneaky, God, she thought, just when I was feeling sorry to be here You light up the fireworks.  Okay, I'll stay.

A Gradual is a chant or hymn in a liturgy or rite, I looked it up.  I get to mow de lawn this morning.  Don't you wish you were here to do that instead?  But first I'll be reading the paper and soaking up the quiet before I blast it into smithereens with the mower.  Oh, but I have to zoom off for gas for the mower first.  Did you know that you're not supposed to put Regular gas in your mower?  Mowers don't like ethanol, so mowers (and snowblowers, too, I know we've spoken of this before) get Premium since Premium doesn't have ethanol.  Picky eaters.  Hmph.  Enjoy your holiday weekend.  Doesn't it seem like Memorial Day's early this year?  Anyway...
--Barbara