Bird Day

A cardinal came to the feeder today for the first time in a long time.  Or maybe the first time I've noticed in a long time.  Cardinals aren't ones for hanging around; they grab a seed or two and take off so I'm always happy when I get a photo of one instead of a blur or the end of their tail or an empty feeder.


I filled up another crate with old liquor bottles, emptied them down the basement sink, and put the bottles in the recycling.  It was so satisfying that I went downstairs and did it again.  I think it might be a good idea to hold off on dumping more so that I don't make the recycle bin too heavy to roll easily.  Not to worry, there's plenty more stuff to get rid of and that's just under the basement stairs.  I won't be running out of things to toss anytime soon.  I have way too much crap.  As much as I'd like to, I can't blame all of it on Durwood.

Last night at Friday Night Knitting I finished June Preemie Hat #2.  I weighed the yarn I had left and weighed one of the finished hats.  They weighed the same so I went down a needle size but it was a good thing that I had a bit of this yarn left in a tiny walnut size ball because I had to tie them together and finish the top with the extra.  How I managed to knit a bigger hat with smaller needles I do no know but I did.  Gifted, I guess.



This evening I got a text from my neighbor, "Hawk on your umbrella."  I went to the patio door and here's what I saw.  It had a bead on a squirrel that was under the ferns.  Then the other hawk swooped in and landed on the adirondack chair just as the squirrel made a break for it.  The umbrella hawk took off after the squirrel and missed.  The chair hawk flew up to the top of the fence and called encouragement.  Man, I love this.

27 June--Barbara Malcolm, Tropical Obsession. 

Manning and Bunny drove away from the dive site called Rappel in silence.  Bunny moaned once but stopped immediately when Manning cut his eyes toward him and opened his mouth as if to speak. 

Bunny had never been afraid of Manning before, even when Manning hollered at him and called him incompetent, but today he was afraid.  He had never seen anyone treat life so casually.  In Bunny’s mind, a movie kept playing of him driving Jack Spencer to the cliff top just like Manning had told him to, pretending to be a cab driver.  He had kept it together when Jack sounded so fierce asking if this was where Manning had asked to be dropped off.  Bunny kept telling himself that he did not know, had never imagined what Manning was planning.  He could not keep images of himself in chains locked in a cell with a tall, fire breathing, police officer bending over him accusing him of murder.  Murder, murder, it kept echoing in his head. 

The startled look on Jack Spencer’s face when he felt the hand on his ankle, the disbelief when he was jerked backwards and sent tumbling in space. 

Bunny had stepped forward involuntarily to watch Jack’s wind-milling body fall onto the razor-sharp rocks and he saw the bright red blood bloom green in the water like sad flowers.  He was horrified to see the eagerness that brought all the fish to the body, especially the sharp silver barracuda that wasted no time taking advantage of the sudden food offering. 

He had reared back when Manning cleared the top of the cliff and was stunned when Manning clapped his shoulder and congratulated him on his acting job.  He could not speak; he had to go around the van and puke up his meal.  He was afraid to ride back to town with a murderer.  A murderer, the words made his stomach hurt and brought tears to his eyes.  He supposed the fact that he had helped Manning, had driven the getaway van, even though he had only driven it to the site not getting away, and he had not known what Manning intended to do to Mister Jack Spencer, no police man would believe that he Bunny Marley was innocent. 

What would Bob say if he was still alive?  Do not be confused that Bunny was related to Bob Marley the famous reggae singer, he was not.  Bunny Marley was not his birth name; no one remembered his birth name, not even Bunny.  He was not born on Jamaica or Bonaire, he was born in a shack up in the hills outside the capital of Trinidad and should have been a pan man but steel drums never spoke to Bunny, the wails of Bob Marley denouncing the ills of man moved his blood.  He had become a Rastafarian in his teens and was never without his ganja, the sacrament of the Rasta faith.  People made fun of Bunny and his ways, but he really believed in brotherhood and peace and in his small world he spread his word.

This afternoon I convinced myself that I needed to go to the grocery for a Roma tomato and some Boston lettuce to put on the black bean burger I was having for supper and some red grapes that were on sale.  What I really went for was a pint of Haagen Dazs Belgian Chocolate ice cream.  The only good thing is that I haven't eaten the entire pint today.  Yet.  I'm saving some for tomorrow.  I think. Yeah, I'm saving the rest for tomorrow.  Really.  Some days you just need premium ice cream.
--Barbara