One bud is still fighting its way out of the casing.
I was lucky enough to catch a hummingbird at the nectar feeder. It's kind of blurry but you can see her fluttering her wings. The honeysuckle is blooming and I was sure that would bring the hummingbirds back and it did.
The yellow Asiatic lily bloomed today. It's the brightest of bright yellows that almost outshines the sun.
I went to two stores today. First I took my sewing machine in to be repaired. The lady assured me that the problem with the presser foot is common in this model. She also told me that I have the wrong kind of thread, that my thread is too fuzzy and makes too much lint inside the machine which gums up the works. I hesitate to ask what kind of thread I should be using--and how much it costs. Then I went to Joann Fabrics looking for double-fold bias tape to round out my color choices when making more masks. Well. There wasn't any in stock. None. Not even ugly colors, so I bought a bias tape making tool. I don't know if I'll ever make any but if I do have the need, I have the tool. The best part was seeing a woman I know and actually having an in-person conversation with someone not my family. I even joked with a couple of clerks. I wore my mask and maintained social distance but it was lovely to feel the old normal for a couple minutes.
This afternoon I cast on the second mitten. I don't know if it was the big weather change but my hands ached something fierce so I didn't get the whole cuff knitted as I'd hoped. Tomorrow is Friday Night Knitting so I'll get a bunch of knitting accomplished then.
11 June--Barbara Malcolm, Tropical Obsession.
Jack had driven away from the villa
early too. He had gotten up to the turn
off at Boca Onima where Manning had showed him that he could see the boat at
the wreck site from shore and then his vehicle had stalled. That’s the last thing he remembered.
He lay at the foot of the Willemstoren lighthouse steps, pieces of broken
coral flung onshore by the last storm digging into his back. He wasn't at all
sure how he got there and had no idea how he would get back to his bungalow.
Before he had even opened his eyes, he knew where he was. How? A groan escaped
his sun-dried lips as he levered himself up into a sitting position with his
elbows, the rubble tearing and scraping his skin. This is the reason they call this stuff iron shore, he thought, there's not a hint of
comfort in it.
He looked around and saw a pair of
eyes. Eyes set in a face out of
prehistory, a scaly cold face with amber eyes set under bony brow ridges and
ragged spikes trailing haphazardly down its back. He blinked and the iguana gulped
at him as if contemplating a particularly juicy smear of roadkill. The steady
gaze of the lizard and the pigeon-toed confidence of its pale blue stance got
him moving out of his stupor and swaying onto his feet. The weakness he felt
must have been evident even to an animal as primitive as the iguana because it
didn't shy away, didn't even move a muscle as he grunted and shoved himself
upright. He stood trying to keep his balance on the suddenly tilting planet and
the lizard looked up at him as if to say, I could have eaten you if I had
wanted to.
The world swayed dizzily as he looked around, hoping to see his
rental truck parked nearby. Unless it was behind the lighthouse or beyond the rubble berm a hundred yards
down toward the slave huts, he was screwed.
His knees suddenly felt weak, he sat back down.
From the position of the sun, straight overhead, he
guessed it was siesta time on the island. The only people out and about in this
blazing sun were crazy scuba diving tourists and they were at least sane enough
to be underwater where it was cooler, not frying their brains in the sun. While
he sat there considering his transportation problem, he was checking himself
for injuries. His head was pounding but a quick feel of his skull didn't
produce any bruised or squishy spots, thank God. He attributed his headache to
having been lying broiling under the tropical sun for who knows how many hours.
His arms and legs seemed to be working. So, he braced a fist on the ground and
slowly stood up, holding onto the lighthouse. Not bad, he thought, swaying a
bit. He looked around again hoping that from his lofty height of six feet he would
spot his truck and, if not that, then someone who might drive him to town. No
glass or chrome winked at him from any
direction, except for the shards of broken auto glass mixed with
coral gravel which was a common thing on this island of relatively well-to-do
diving tourists and young native men who sought
to balance things a bit.
He shuffled into the narrow sliver
of shade on the back side of the lighthouse and immediately felt better. His
hands roamed through his pockets hoping for a clue to how he had ended up
unconscious at the southern end of this desert island. His head lifted at the
sound of an approaching vehicle. He stepped out of the shade, and raised an arm
to flag it down, but they returned his wave and drove on by. He went back into the shade and stood leaning
against the old lighthouse recently tarted up for tourists. His trembling hands
had made an inventory of his pockets, patting and groping, realizing with a
curse that whoever had left him there had taken everything, even his smokes. No keys, no wallet, only a clean folded
handkerchief came out of his hip pocket.
Deliberate footsteps from around behind the lighthouse to his right
brought his chin up and sent his eyes darting for a rock or a brick, something
to use as a weapon, something for protection against further assaults. He tried
to edge left, away from the sound, sliding his feet so as not to make a noise.
The footsteps came closer and now he thought it was more than one person. His stomach
clenched as he looked at the feeble stone in his hand, maybe enough to stop one
attacker but not much help with a gang of them.
Now he heard their heavy breathing
and muttering. He cocked his ear trying to hear their words. Were they
splitting up to circle the lighthouse? To squeeze him between them, cutting off
his escape? Nearer and nearer came the stealthy footsteps, his sweaty palm slid
on the rough surface of the rock nestled in it. He shifted it, trying to grip
it tighter, all the time pressing himself back into the brick base of the lighthouse
as if he could melt into it and disappear. Close now, so close he saw a small
stone dislodged by a foot roll into sight. The breathing of his stalkers was harsh
and loud over the pounding of his heart. He slowly raised his hand and narrowed
his eyes to steel himself for the fight when a fuzzy muzzle came into view, three
of them actually, as the trio of wild donkeys paced by, their hooves crunching
in the rubble and their dark questing eyes gazing at him as if to ask, “food?”
His breath released in a short bark of laughter that caused the donkeys' ears
to flicker and he ran a shaky hand over his face. He dropped the rock, consciously
loosening his grip finger by finger, feeling the blood rush back. The lead donkey
chuffed and shook himself, then turned and led his little herd on down the
coast in search of who knows what, food or companionship or perhaps merely
habit.
We had crazy weather today. It started out gorgeous, low 70s and sunny, then in mid-afternoon dark clouds rolled in and we had a thunderstorm with hail, wind, and rain. Within an hour it was all over and the sun was back. Now it's supposed to cool off the next few days staying in the 60s until the first part of the week. I'd like a little consistency, please.
--Barbara
1 comment:
Poor, foolish Jack. He's in a real pickle and at first I thought maybe he was going to wake up and realize it was all a bad dream. He probably hoped that too! Glad you have that gadget to make bias tape. Never too many "toys" like that even if you never use it.
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