The Thinker, Chipmunk Version

When I opened the curtains this morning Chester Chipmunk was sitting on the top of the patio chair, his tail wrapped around himself, looking pensive.  He didn't flinch when the curtains opened, not even when the camera flash went off.  He did scamper off when I went out to fill the birdbath.

The yellow and burgundy lily that adopted me in Home Depot the other day is really earning its keep.  One flower was open when I bought it and every day since at least three or four buds have opened.  I keep lopping off the pollen-covered anthers so the golden pollen doesn't stain the carpet or me.  These lilies don't have the beautiful aroma of the Stargazers but right now, in dreary old March, I appreciate the mere fact that there are flowers.





Speaking of flowers, I noticed this afternoon that a purple crocus is joining its yellow brethren out front.  It's about time another color showed up.

This morning I finished sewing down the binding, sewed on the pocket, and turned up the hem of LC's flannel jumper.  I dug around in my button box and found a smiley face button in pink and yellow to sew on the top.  It's perfect, the dress fits, and she likes it.  Win, win, win.





This evening I was crossing the river from east to west so I got to enjoy a more unobstructed view of the sunset.  When I grow up I want to live up high so I can see the sun rise and set without all the trees, wires, and signs in the way.

March 29--Claude Monet, Agapanthus.  The purple pink flowers nodded at the breeze and waved their narrow leaves like streamers in a parade.  Sara sat in the grass, her knees drawn up, and her skirt hiked up her thighs so that the sun warmed her winter-pale legs.  It was quiet in this part of the garden.  A pair of frogs discussed the scarcity of dragonflies over by the koi pond and a wren had a lot to say about the state of the nest he'd made to lure the next Mrs. Wren but there were no people sounds.  No cars, no shouts, no crying toddlers with impatient mothers to remind her that she was in the city.  "It's peaceful here, isn't it?"  Sara hadn't heard the man approach.  Her hand slowly tugged her skirt down to cover her thighs and she slid her feet into her shoes.  "I'm sorry to disturb you," he said.  She smiled in his direction as she rose and dusted herself off.  "I have to go back to work."  His hand shot out and grasped her wrist.  "You don't need to go."  She felt her bones grind together with the strength of his grip.  "You're hurting me."  She tried to twist her arm away but his fingers were like a vise.

This afternoon we met with the estate attorney recommended by our retired tax attorney and a quarter of the people who responded to my query asking for recommendations on NextDoor.com (kind of like Facebook for your neighborhood).  I am happy to say that it sounds like we should fairly easily be able to set up our accounts and assets to protect against having to go through probate when we finally shuffle off this mortal coil or having to give it all to some nursing home.  This is going to be a whole lot less complicated and much less expensive than either of us thought it'd be.  Looks like we caught another break.  About bloody time.
--Barbara