Gotcha!

I try and try to take pictures of the hummingbirds that come to our feeders but usually by the time I get the camera up and focused the little darlings buzz away.  Not yesterday.  I had my camera in my hand when one came to sip a bit of nectar and I got it.  Yay!  I moved one of the nectar feeders to a hanger on the gutter right outside the patio doors and we've seen one there a time or two already but I haven't sat there with my camera at the ready.  One of us will get a shot one of these days.  There were four bluejays that swooped in for a drink yesterday afternoon too.  One overshot and landed in the honeysuckle, the next one landed on the rim of the birdbath (pictured), number three landed on the back of the Emma's chair, and the fourth one, the klutzy one, landed on a Slinky, got bounced down and up, and flew away immediately.  Like I always say, they're fun to watch.




Last night at knitting I finished Sudoku Lake #7 and Dobby Hat(s) #4.  Then this morning I cast on Hat(s) #5 and got it attached to the hat body.  Next I'll knit five rows even, then there's a band of white with a red, Fair Isle wave through it, then the purple comes back to make the pointy top part.  I have my doubts that I'll have enough of the dark purple to complete the hat so I'll be checking the bag of yarns next time I go down to flop the laundry around OR I might use the red for the top and make a purple pompom.  You never know what I'll do.








I just went out to check and there was definitely a slug party in the garden last night.  Five slugs came to the party, none left.  (I am reminded of the Raid Roach Motel ads, "Roaches check in but they don't check out.")  I put out more beer in bigger bowls.  Mwa-ha-ha-ha.

August 22-Reagan Bradshaw, Composer with Piano & Violin.  Sue watched Drew from the chair in the corner, her book lay forgotten in her lap.  She imagined she could feel the energy radiating off him as he wrote.  He mumbled and muttered, scribbling notes on the music paper he bought by the ream.  He played a few notes, frowned, erased, and played again.  What sounded like random notes would, over time, turn into a melody.  She thought it was a form of alchemy, the magic he worked with music.  He was so focused, so driven, sometimes she felt like he didn't even see her when he worked like this.

Time to go play with wet clothes.
--Barbara