For The Greater Good...

On Saturday, while out watering the flowers in the back garden, I noticed a big bumblebee resting at the center of one of my Cosmos.  I got my camera, carefully focused...then realized the bee was frozen in place.  Like paralyzed.  How totally weird. In looking for the reason, I found a creepy looking albino spider with red stripes on either side of its fat body on the underside of the flower. I've never seen a spider like this before, but the stripes surely had to mean something dire.

Between the heat, lawn mowing and a quick walk to the mailbox, I forgot to research the spider.  I wanted to know specifically if it was capable of killing a bumblebee...or poisoning a human.

Sunday night--watering by moonlight to avoid the unrelenting sun--I find a frozen, dead honey bee in the center of the same plant.  And buggers, look there, under the petals...it's that damn white spider again!

I do an internet search and discover that indeed the crab spider is the bee killer. She--because of course, with those red stripes, it had to be female--has a paralyzing venom, loves her some yummy bee juice, which she sucks out of the poor frozen creature, apparently while it's still alive.  Gross. Totally vampirically gross.

This morning, while it's overcast and slightly cooler--though only until the clouds dissipate and the temps soar back into the high 90s--I do some quick yard chores, water the pots and planters...and find this:

Another honey bee murdered.  Sadly, it was covered in pollen, just doing it's job and the killer spider nailed the poor thing.  This makes three bees in as many days and I can't have that.  I deliberately have plants in my garden to draw the bees, not invite them in for a grisly death.

Nuking creatures that have as much right to exist as the rest of us isn't something I normally like to do...however, honey bees are far more crucial for the environment than a life-sucking spider.  I didn't use a sharpened stake, garlic, or holy water, but I did dispose of the thing, no details necessary.

I just can't have my guests slaughtered when they come to visit.

Magpie Tales 228...Lost

Beneath tattered beauty

worn tread endures

Ghostly footsteps echo
of stories long forgotten

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Prompt from Magpie Tales this week...

It's Just A Mystery

The summer before we left Scotland to come to America, Alan surprised me for my birthday with a holiday to southern Italy. We stayed in a beautiful little village outside Sorrento, called Sant'Agnello. Our hotel was perched right on the cliffs overlooking the Mediterranean, Mount Vesuvius visible from our bedroom balcony with Naples sprawled beneath.  At sunset, we could see Ischia and Capri glowing in the red-orange light like magical islands floating on the sea.

It was the best holiday ever.  So romantically Italian and wonderful that we decided it was more than a holiday; it became our second honeymoon.  And though our first honeymoon in Dublin had been most excellent, we agreed Italy was, well...more.

I took over 200 photos.  Everything caught my eye.  It was a wonder I didn't burn up my camera.

Fast forward...

Those of you who've been following me for awhile will remember a few years back that my computer was hacked and pretty much destroyed.  I had to buy a new one, and reinstall and/or repurchase everything that couldn't be saved by the techies. I lost over 500 irreplaceable photos--road trips around Britain, Scotland in all it's glory, moments in time from parties, events, gatherings.

And all of my Italy pictures.  Every one.  I cried for days.  Alan was gone by then so the loss felt even worse.  One of the best times of my life, with him...erased forever.

This week is the same date in July that we spent in Italy, so that holiday has been on my mind lately. Memories are so nebulous, and often get lost or misplaced in the vast archival space in our heads, but a photograph...a photograph can illuminate those dark corners and instantly bring certain moments back to life.

But not Italy, for me.

Fast forward...

This morning I had to take the boys to the vet for their annual checkups, shots and rabies/dog license stuff.  It was grueling with two shaking, freaked out--don't make us go in there--dogs, but in the end, with extra treats, it all worked out. Except for the bank account part.

I keep the paperwork on the rabies and dog licensing in the car in case I need to prove they're legit to someone, but the actual tags--too big for my wee dogs to wear--I keep in a small compartment in the incredibly beautiful music box that Alan bought me in Italy.

The boys have lunch, I balance my checkbook of dwindling funds--seriously, it was close to $300 today--and head for the bedroom to put the tags away.  There are other things in the music box and with the new tags, it's a bit crowded, so I take everything out and sort through stuff, seeing what I can get rid of.

At the bottom, tucked into the blue velvet lining I find a small disk, the kind you use in a digital camera. I frown, turn it over a few times in my fingers, but nothing rings a bell; I don't recognize it, there's nothing to identify it, I don't get it.  A mystery.

Setting it aside, I clean out the music box, listen for a poignant moment to the tune, Torna A Surriento, that never fails to transport me to that narrow little back alley in Sorrento and the wonderful old Italian guy who made each box by hand in his little shop.

After watering the plants in the back garden, the heat rising and sweat dripping, I make a tall glass of sun tea and sit down at the laptop to figure out what's on this unknown little SD Memory Card.

Is it okay if I just say that I burst into tears?  You guys will understand, right?

Because on that card were my Italian photos.  I don't know how it got into my music box, or why I would have taken the little disk out of my camera.  I always download my pictures to my photo program, then erase the card--start with a clean slate and all that.

So, let's take a moment, peeps, while I share this inexplicable mystery with you.  Here are a few random picks, in no particular order other than the joy I have in remembering them...

The village of Sant'Agnello...and our excellent hotel--the coral and white building--which is the beginning of the mile-plus cliff walk that eventually takes you into the heart of Sorrento, off in the distance...

We went by boat one morning to Capri; I took this shot at sea.  Our hotel is there, on the end of that jutting bit of cliff.  I never knew the south of Italy was so mountainous...or so truly beautiful.

Coming into Capri.  Once past the harbor it was like Beverly Hills--every famous designer you can imagine had a shop along the ancient narrow streets.  For me it wasn't the famous shops, but the famous Limoncello, potent and delicious...

Another day and a drive down the Amalfi Coast.  That white building in the center of the picture is where Sophia Loren lives.  And I wish I did...

My favorite place: Ravello.  A village way down the coast and high above the Amalfi highway, with cool mountain air and a breathtaking view.  We drove up the mountain and stopped at a little cafe, then sat for an hour or so with our Italian coffees...and seriously discussed moving to Italy.

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What a strange day it's been. A startling turn of events that I can't begin to explain, tears--both joyful and sad--and vivid memories that can now shine outside the dusty corridors of my mind.

A Summer Week

It's been a singularly hot and humid week here at the southern edge of the Gates of Hell. Unseasonable, scorching, and no end in sight.  So it goes.

During the week I've taken the odd photo here and there as I've gone about my chores, dog walks and late evening plant waterings. Since I don't have anything pithy or interesting to blog about, thought I would just share a few of them.

Wednesday, early morning across the valley...

Same day, sunset.  I love how the wind plays with the clouds...

This shot, Thursday I think, was my favorite sunset.  Not only were the colors beautiful, but the wind swirled wisps into strange shapes, like cloud snakes or dragons...

One evening I tried some macro shots with the new lens on the bumblebees flitting around in my front garden.  This guy was totally absorbed in his pollen gathering; he's gripping that lavender blossom for all he's worth.

I made an attempt to take some photos of the fireworks on Friday, though I screwed up and had the shutter speed too slow; I was concentrating more on keeping the dogs calm through their version of Armageddon, though actually they did better this year. (And thanks Rob, for the Rescue Remedy suggestion--I think it worked!)

Very blurry underwater sea flower...or, 4th of July fireworks...

This is a terrible photograph, but in a weird way, I really like it.  What happens when a wee dog tries to crawl into your lap and bumps the tripod?  Behold...

Walking the boys around the VA compound yesterday, I saw these really cool grass flowers. They look like little woven spirals...

This pair of mourning doves were just hanging out on the back garden steps. The male (right) kept trying to talk to the female, but she blatantly ignored him, then when he tried to edge closer, she pecked him before moving away. Wonder what he did to make her mad? Guys...always in trouble for something...

Heat, humidity, fireworks and flowers, birds and bees.  Summer...you gotta love it...

July 4th

Happy Independence Day !!

Have fun, stay safe, care for your animals.  

And take a moment to think about what we're celebrating!

Heat and Heart

Off the grid for the past few days, mainly because I've been too stunned by the incredible heat and humidity to do much more than whimper.  Up early to walk the dogs, then I try to accomplish shopping and appointments and chores before my brain explodes inside my skull like an egg in the microwave. It's way too hot, too early in the Summer, which doesn't bode well for what the weather will be like in August.

Ah well.  Other than move back to Alaska--or the Antarctic--it's just a matter of sweating it out. Eventually, that sharp tang of Fall will be in the air and all this nuclear torment will be over.

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Yesterday, whilst grocery shopping, I had a very...odd, poignant thing happen.  I'm still thinking about it today; the lump in my throat is just as hard to swallow now as it was yesterday in the checkout line...

I've unloaded my groceries onto the conveyor belt thingy and am just pushing my empty cart forward toward the clerk when this woman and her son get in line behind me.  The woman is tiny, barely reaching my shoulder and looks tired, careworn. Poor.  The boy is about ten or so, cute, with blond hair, blue eyes and a big smile. He's carrying a box of tennis shoes like it's the Crown Jewels and he's about to present them to the Queen.

The box is the only thing they have, so I step to the side and tell them to go ahead of me. They both stare at me like I've said something in Swahili, then the woman shakes her head and says, "Oh no, we couldn't." I laugh and say, "Oh yes, you can," and move my cart out of the way and wave my hand for them to pass me.  The clerk looks at me like I might be slightly deranged.

Here comes the first throat lump.  Why are these people so shocked at something so small and--let's face it--meaningless?  So I have to wait two extra minutes in line.  So what? It made more sense to let them go first since they had one thing and I had many.

They sidle past me, almost as if it's a trick and I'm going to rescind my offer. The boy hands his shoes to the clerk as the woman quietly thanks me--as if I've done something wonderful.  I smile, then pretend to be digging in my purse for my wallet because I can't talk around the frigging lump that is, for some damn reason, also making my eyes burn.

What kind of world do we live in that letting a person go ahead of you in line it such a big deal?

The store is in the throes of a big, whopping 4th of July sale.  Coupons, 50%-off Summer stuff, yada yada.  So when the clerk tells the woman the shoes are $9.95, I say, "Wow! That's a really good deal!" I can see the tag on the box that says $50.

She smiles as she hands the clerk her $10 and coupons, then murmurs, almost under her breath, "He's wanted these shoes for a long time."  The boy is now holding the box like it's the best Christmas present he's ever gotten in his life, a smile stretching practically from ear to ear.

I can't help smiling, too.  "Really cool," I say.  The mom thanks me again for letting them jump the line and as they walk away, I happened to glance down and notice the shoes the boy was wearing.  Old, tattered, broken laces, a rip in the toe on the left foot.  No wonder he's so happy.  It is Christmas, to him.

Second throat lump.  I can't respond to the clerk when he says, "That was really nice, what you did." I wobble-smile and once again resort to purse digging while I try to get a grip. And honestly, I was struggling with my feelings. Holy crap, all I did was let these folks ahead of me in the frigging checkout line and you'd think I'd given them the winning lottery ticket!  I'm borderline embarrassed for getting praise and doing so little.

So, again, peeps, I have to ask: What kind of world do we live in?  Is it so out of our ken that a little act of kindness is regarded like something inexplicable?  I'm sure there was a time when it was common to let people go ahead in line if they only had one or two items; I remember it, surely.

Our world is so out of kilter that sometimes I just can't help it, my heart gets sore. I cried on the way home. Not sobs, or wailing...just a few tears and a good nose blowing.

But then...

The boy has a new pair of shoes, and I'll never forget his smile...

Purple Prose...

I somehow lost the week.  I know I was busy with lots of chores and tasks, but holy crap...it's Saturday afternoon already?  Several things were checked off my never-ending list throughout the week, but not everything...so I have to wonder: what have I been doing with my time?

Walking the dogs twice a day; cleaning the house; laundry; writing (though not the blog); reading; mowing; watering the garden; weeding; grocery shopping; jaunts to post office; photography (check out the magnolia blossom); sleeping; cooking; eating; drinking wine; having a few meltdowns, thanks to the brutal humidity; washing the inside windows as Jeremy and his crew climbed their 30-ft ladders and did the outside ones and skylights; talking on the phone to BFF and sister...

And yesterday I went to the City Arts Festival, though not by myself as planned.  Bunny (my neighbor along the road) called me earlier in the week and I ended up meeting her and her husband George at the event.  It was fun, though we blew George off early on. He has lived here his whole life--that would be 85 years--and knows everyone, literally, and has to stop and chat with them all. We left him behind at the second booth and didn't see him again for an hour and a half.

There were over one hundred booths, with craftspeople from all around the Northwest and northern California.  I bought a little jar of organic goat's milk hand cream--cedar and saffron--because the smell nearly made me swoon.  I think I'll use a tiny dab now and again for the heavenly scent rather than waste it on my hands.

Then I wandered into a booth that was filled with colorful, floaty, ethereal dresses that were wafting in the breeze and I knew I had to have one.  The woman who makes these gorgeous wearable art pieces was from Jamaica, had married a man from Brazil where they lived for many years, then somehow (she didn't tell me that part) they eventually settled in a town called Ashland, near the OR/CA border.  Oh, the paths our lives take. Her accent was lilting, with a mix of both cultures, but it was her exuberance and joy--in her work and life--that made me smile the whole time I was in her company.

The fabrics are from South America, Jamaica and America.  She makes the dresses from irregular, color-coordinated lengths, sewn together in whatever way she pictures the material in her mind--she sort of paints the dress, in a way.  And the pattern design makes it flow over the body like water, perfect for hot and humid Summer weather.




The purple just reached out and grabbed me.  Though you can't see it in my photo, there are at least twelve different fabrics--and the back is different from the front, though in the same color family.  It hits just above my ankles which I like in a long dress: loose and comfy, doesn't interfere with walking.

Her style of clothing is Brazilian: Party colors, tropical nights, and dancing in the streets.

Then earlier today, when I was getting ready to take the photos, I found this:

Tucked amongst the different fabrics was this patch of cloth...with a dragon.  It really made me smile. The woman had told me, as she put my dress in a little bag, that I would find a surprise when I wore the dress.  I thought she meant how wonderful it feels against the skin, but no.  She meant the dragon.  I love it.

So, okay, in retrospect I guess my week hasn't been a waste of time after all.

Though it still flew by too fast...  

Bits and Bobs

Here's a thing.  Muggles really aren't non-magical Harry Potter folks.  Nope.  They are people just like me who live near the flaming Gates of Hell where muggy, humid air saps energy, melts thought processes and makes it impossible to take a decent breath of fresh air.  I am officially a muggle.

It's just 8:00pm, I'm doing nothing more than sitting at the laptop typing and sweat is running down my temples, my thinnest Hawaiian shirt is stuck to my back, the dogs are sprawled in panting misery on the kitchen floor.

Woo hoo.  Happy days of Summer in southern Oregon.

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Weeks ago, when my sister was visiting, I did my usual epic housecleaning.  In the frenzy, I tossed my origami project in the study closet out of the way--removing it from the dining room table where it's a constant reminder and I can make a bird whenever the mood strikes...

However, the out of sight, out of mind thing is really true.  Yesterday I was thinking about changing my Ponder quote when I suddenly noticed the Crane Project box below it. Holy crap. Not only did I totally forget about the origami in the closet, but now I'm like 500 cranes behind schedule!  And what's up with being so used to something, you actually don't see it anymore?

I'm sure there's a moral in there somewhere.

So this afternoon I sat down and did 40 half-folds and 22 cranes. Tomorrow I will finish the remaining 18, taking my grand total to a whopping 200 birds.  But hey, no problem.  Just means I have to crank out 800 more by the end of the year.

Uh huh.

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This weekend is the annual City Arts Festival at the park where I walk the dogs. I'm thinking of going on Friday, mainly because it's supposed to be cooler and the real crowds won't show until Saturday; also want to test the new camera lens on different scenarios. And okay...yeah, the food court vendors look really good this year.

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Can you believe it's the 4th of July next week, peeps???  Seriously, how did that happen? As always, I will spend the days before and after trying to calm two little dogs who think the world is coming to an end.  Buggers...

A Sunday Reflection...

I'm taking the day off--from writing, thinking, lists and pondering whatever lies ahead in the coming week.  I've got a new book to read, chores are done, dogs are napping.  My sun tea--chai this time--is delicious...cool and refreshing on a very hot Summer afternoon.

So, why am I posting right now when I could be reading?

A few minutes ago I was rolling up the hose after watering the back garden when the hawk swooped down for a drink in the new bird bath.  Apparently he really likes the larger pool of water.  I got my camera and took a couple photos, though he's become such a regular these days the excitement factor has waned a bit.

Except. Once I'd downloaded the photos, I got a good look at something I hadn't noticed whilst snapping the shots.

How utterly pleased I am to not be on this guy's rader.  Click on the photo and check out those claws.  Raptor--of the dinosaur variety--comes to mind.

Midsummer Memories

Today is Midsummer's Eve, when fairy folk come out to play and magic dwells in hidden places.  Or...if you're not a believer in the Old Ways, tomorrow marks the Summer Solstice, a scientific event based on the earth's rotations around the sun.  Boring, no?

I know which way I lean...

Alan and I went to Stonehenge one Midsummer's Eve, by accident really.  We were on a two-week holiday, driving from our place in Edinburgh to Land's End in Cornwall.  As we headed north on the return leg of our journey, we stopped in Bath overnight, then by sheer luck and zero planning, we ended up at Stonehenge in the early afternoon of Midsummer's Eve.  It was wild and crazy, with crowds of people and long lines of traffic on the Salisbury Plain.  There were robed Druids and Wiccans with flowered wreaths in their hair, tourists and news people with cameras.

We left the confusion, booked a room in a 200-year old coaching inn in Salisbury and explored the town and cathedral, had an excellent dinner, then drove back to Stonehenge later that night.  We parked a mile or so away, climbed a fence into a farmer's field then sat on a blanket in the tall grass by ourselves--except for the sheep--the giant trilithons looming on the horizon.

We talked and laughed, cuddled and kissed.  It was a wondrous night under the stars.

Midsummer holds special memories for me now--the way the earth smells at night, the texture of a soft blanket, sounds in the distance of music and chanting, the low bleat of lambs across a field, the warmth of love.

And magic.

Testing 1-2-3...

I got a new lens for my camera this weekend. I'm not sure I like it...seems like too much effort to get the macro shots I wanted.  And honestly, I'm still not sure it's any better than the lens I already had. Hopefully, familiarity and practice will make a difference.

There was a huge windstorm that raged through the area on Saturday, and a big tree across the road crashed. It was old, had splits and rents and scars, but still.  Now there's a large gap in the oak grove, though I suppose that's the way of it.  Open up space to give a younger tree a chance...

I took some flower shots in the back garden this evening to test my new lens. They're not terrible, considering I'm still getting used to it, but I really expected better.  Maybe I'm being too picky...time will tell, I guess.

I was just stepping back into the house when I heard the whirr of wings from my resident hummingbird. I turned, barely had time to focus, and caught him just before he darted away again. See him?  He's right under the coconut basket, between the two big white pots.

I'm hoping to find a block of time to sit and write on my story this week, but I'm definitely not planning on anything--not after last week's fiasco. I'm still wearing Band-aids on my toe and finger.

That's about it for my week so far.  Ho hum, right?  Yeah, I agree.  Talked to the BFF on Sunday and we're tossing around some ideas for an adventure later in the Summer.  I could really use one...

Happy Father's Day...

...to all the wonderful, kind, sweet, caring, generous, supportive and loving Dads out there.  Have a great day.

Arches and Raptors

As I've mentioned before--repeatedly, I'm sure--with the eleven, 6-1/2 foot windows in the main living area, the space suffers from a serious greenhouse effect.  In the Summer months it's usually unbearable to be in this part of the house anytime after early afternoon.

The new plantation blinds are working much better than the old metal Venetians, though there are also three arched windows at the apex of the room.  The previous owners covered these arches with cheap stick blinds--the kind that normally would be used outside on a patio--worthless shades that don't stop the sun's laser beams in any way.

Here's what I'm talking about.  Totally ugly and tacky.  Who knows how long they've been hanging there, maybe as long as the old couple lived here--18 years.

And that's one of the reasons I've hesitated to remove them: the crap shades have no doubt discolored the wall. Which means the entire thing will have to be painted.

(Wait. Hear that? Yep, that's right.  Ka ching, ka ching...because that's exactly what we discovered once the shades were taken down.  The wall is a mess.)

Anyway.  Several months ago I heard about this glass tinting place in town and wondered if they could do the arches.  Then I forgot, mainly because the sun shines in a different place during the Winter months.  A few weeks ago, blinded by the light piercing my brain whilst trying to cook dinner, I called the place and made an appointment for someone to come talk to me.

John, the nicest guy--and owner of the tint place--gave me an estimate, we tested several tint options, and yesterday he came to do the work.

In this first shot he's done the big arch...and look at the difference between the middle and the one John's working on. The glare is completely reduced with the tinting.  I chose the ultimate sunblockage--87%--though it's not so dark the window looks weird, or the room is too gloomy on a cloudy day like yesterday.  In the second photo he's almost done...

Ta da.  After three years of the horrible uglies...

The main room has been transformed.  It feels bigger, fresher, cleaner...and now I have a view of the sky that I've never seen before.  I don't know how the sunblocking will actually work on a scorching hot August afternoon, but it looks so much better I just might not care that the dogs and I are gasping for breath on the cool tile of the kitchen floor, just like every other August.

So.  One thing checked off The List, though now painting the wall has been added.  Does it ever end? Does anyone ever, truly, get to the bottom of the list??  I live in hope, peeps, I live in hope...

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This morning, barely out of bed, the phone rings.  The boys and I look at each other. Who would be calling at this hour?  I pick up the phone to hear my closest neighbor, the Englishman, whisper, "Get your camera.  The hawk is on your back deck."  I grab the camera, tiptoe to the best window and peek between the curtains.  "I see it," I whisper back.

You might wonder at the whispering, but it was necessary.  Not only can these incredible birds spot prey at unbelievable distances, but their hearing is equally amazing.  Carefully, slowly, an inch at a time, I slide my camera lens around the edge of the curtain...just as the hawk lands in my new birdbath.  I bought it the other day because it was cool, on sale, and twice as big as the old one--meaning I don't have to fill it as often.

Red Tail Hawk...

Handsome fellow, isn't he?  And sort of scary, with that beak and those claws.  In the last photo he spotted my camera, but completely unconcerned, took his time having another drink of water before casually flying off.  Must be nice to be so badass nothing really frightens you...

I'll Always Choose The Moon...

From my front porch - August 2013

"There are nights when the wolves are silent and only the moon howls"

~~ George Carlin

And that might happen tonight, what with it being a rare full moon on Friday the 13th. The possibilities are endless for chaos and mayhem...and for exceptional moon watching.

Except where I am.  For the first time in days, it's raining.  I'm torn on this one. I love the rain; this drought-stricken part of Oregon needs the rain; rain is good.  But it had to come today?  Just another one of life's little ironies. I do hope the rest of you, dear readers, will take the opportunity to step outside tonight and gaze at the poetic beauty overhead. It far surpasses the nuclear cruelty of that other orb.

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I'm making a major change in the living area today.  Well, I'm not actually doing it, the window guy is, but it should--fingers crossed--help with my never-ending attempts to keep the temperatures cooler in the house than the surface of Venus during the hot Summer months.

I'll take photos and explain tomorrow--the guy has just pulled into my drive...

Some Days You Just Gotta Wonder...

All week I've planned to spend Thursday writing on my new story.  It's been a busy few days, and tomorrow will be equally fraught, so this one-day window was something I've been really looking forward to.

Uh huh.

Stumbling around for coffee this morning, I somehow manage to stub my big toe. Like agonizingly stub it by splitting the nail and bleeding all over the kitchen floor.  Loud cursing ensued.  Then later, hobbling into the shower, I accidentally slammed my finger in the shower door.  Frigging hell, it's way too early in the day to be a one-legged, one-handed woman. Sigh.

Went to the park with the dogs, then stopped at my favorite coffee kiosk. Driving home a crazy person cuts in front of me, so close she almost scraped my bumper. I drive a big, ol' Blazer, how could she not see me?  I slam on the brakes...and my coffee cup tips out of the holder and floods the passenger floor mats. Sigh.

I get home--thankfully without falling off the mountain--and remember that I have to plant a few flowers that I bought the other day at the grocery store.  And crap, since I'm outside anyway, I guess I should mow the lawn...though I wore my boots because, well, my day hasn't gone smoothly so far and I'd rather keep my remaining toes.

Finished with chores, I wash up, get clean Band-aids on injured body parts...and notice some weird little bumps on the back of my hand.  Jesus, Mary and Joseph, all the camels and donkeys.  Now what?

Well, after intense scrutiny, it appears my skin doesn't like the cream that is helping with my gnarly knuckle (post below this one).  And doesn't that just figure?  I find something that actually works on the snapping and popping knuckle bone...and it's too much for my wussy sensitive skin. Sigh.

Time for a break from all the drama.  I give the dogs their lunch, then open the fridge to get the stuff for my daily smoothie...and see the four pears I stashed in the veggie drawer on Monday.  Damn.  I was going to make a pear tart and forgot. I have to do it now or lose the fruit.

In the middle of peeling one of the pears, my neighbor was somehow able to walk up my stairs to the open front door without the dogs hearing her--and believe me, that's a feat. She gives a cheery hello that startles Ozzy into a barking frenzy and scares the crap out of me. I jump, the juicy pear slips out of my hand...and drops into the garbage disposal.  Sigh.

Later, tart done, I glance at the clock and see it's already after 3:00 and I have yet to write one single word.  I make some iced tea, sit down at the laptop, then remember I wanted to print some notes. And of course, that's when I discover the printer is suddenly out of ink. I have a really good machine, but it sucks ink like a thirsty vampire.

I might have thunked my head on the desk at this point...

So. Here I am, back from town with fresh ink cartridges, boys are napping, tart is looking good enough to eat, it's 4:30 and I haven't done any writing--except for this post.

Normally, I would think procrastination was at play here, but not today.  My throbbing toe and mangled finger disprove that theory.  And let's not forget I'm one pear shy of a full tart.  Sigh.

Which I think might just explain everything...

Bits and Pieces

The sirocco winds finally stopped yesterday morning, but then the air went muggy-hot. Walking the dogs and grocery shopping was like slogging through layers of damp, invisible gauze.

After lunch I finished a few more chores, then made myself a large glass of sun tea and sat down to read my new book; a book that I won after entering a random drawing over at Paperback Writer. Lynn wrote a very intriguing review of two books (1 & 2 in a new series), which take place in Savannah--a place she loves and I have always wanted to visit, so I was totally excited to be able to win and read both stories.  I got about halfway though the first one ...and am possibly revising my plan to put Savannah on my bucket list.

Okay, just kidding.  Sort of.  There's lots of weird southern stuff going on: Gullah magic and voodoo and creepy crawly mysteries and gory grimness.  In other words, it's a great, atmospheric read, though once it got late in the evening and my house began its usual shifting and creaking as the temp dropped, well, I had to quit reading.  Hey, I live on a mountain, it's pitch dark, no street lights. On a good night I hear weird noises, so freaking myself out is easy enough without reading into the wee hours about the underbelly of Savannah.

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I walked the boys early again this morning, then watered the plants and did some gardening before it got too hot.  One of my geraniums looked so gorgeous, I couldn't resist taking this photo...

Oh, and just after I got up today, I took a great shot of a hawk in the backyard bird bath. It's actually a crap picture because I had to crouch behind the bed and shoot through the screen, but even so, it was a really cool thing to see just a few feet beyond my bedroom window.  Click here to see it...

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The other day whilst ordering some stuff at the Mall of the World (Amazon), I stumbled across a product for joint inflammation, like tennis elbow, carpel tunnel, painful knees and fingers, and other achy bits.

I have a gnarly knuckle on my right hand that will probably bother me a lot when I get old. In fact, it's already bothering me enough that I decide to order a little jar of this stuff just to see what it's all about.

I spend a bit of time reading many of the reviews--there were almost 3K--and then discover this cream is a world-wide best seller.  (Some days I wonder if I live under a rock...or maybe on top of a mountain in the middle of nowhere).

The jar arrives yesterday.  I have used it as instructed.  It smells wonderful, is creamy and absorbs well.  And holy crap, in just two days my knuckle is more flexible and less sore. Truly.

I can't quite believe my finger already feels better.  I wonder how it can work, why it works, will it keep working, am I imagining this sudden improvement??

But when I make a fist and my knuckle doesn't hurt, my finger really doesn't care what my head thinks...

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No affiliation with Penetrex in any way, shape or form.

Wild Winds...

Since mid-week there have been very strong winds blowing through the area; winds that are rare for this time of year.  I wasn't minding the bluster as it helped with the heat, though by Friday night it felt more like a sirocco straight off the Sahara.

Early that morning I had opened the doors and windows to cool the house.  I was sitting at the computer when I suddenly began sneezing.  At one point I thought my brain was going to shoot out of my nose.  I bet I sneezed twenty times in a row.  Breathless, I didn't know what to do, or why I was suddenly stuffed up and my eyes were watering so bad I couldn't see.  I washed my face, felt better and thought it was just some weird aberrant event.

As the day went on, the valley below the house changed from clear to a sort of dusty hue. I figured it was just the dirt from the vineyards being stirred by the wind.  By Friday night the house was so hot I had to leave the bedroom windows open just for some airflow.  In the middle of the night I began to sneeze again...over and over.  I actually dunked my entire head under the kitchen faucet.  My eyes were burning and itching like I'd been showered with pepper spray.

Saturday, walking the boys at the VA, the wind is still howling, leaves blowing everywhere, limbs falling and again I'm insanely sneezing, but now so are both the dogs. WTF is going on?

On the way home I stop at Walgreen's.  I can hardly breathe, my eyes are watering, nose stuffy and yet also running--how does that make sense?  I go to the pharmacist's window and explain what's happened to me.  He smiles, hands me a package of Claritin from a stack on the counter, tells me half the town has been in and there's nothing to do but wait it out. Wait what out?

Turns out the tree pollen count is in the extreme red zone.  Over the past few days my area has been hit with the worst pollen in the entire nation, blown into every nook and cranny--and nostril--by the wild unseasonable winds.  Well, who knew?  I've never had hay fever or pollen allergies in my life.

I don't like to take meds; the closest I get to pills are vitamins, but by the time I get home, nose red and sore, throat scratchy, eyes burning...I decide I would rather forego the body/temple stance than drop dead when my head explodes.  And thankfully, the Claritin actually works.

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This afternoon whilst talking to the BFF for our usual Sunday phone chat, I watched a spectacular airshow, put on by the vultures.  The wind is still intense, and the birds, usually drifting lazily on the gentle thermals that arise from the valley heat, have been diving and racing like Stealth fighter planes at speeds that are breathtaking.  These guys get such lift from their huge wings that they rarely have to flap or expend much energy; they're experts at the slow, easy spiral.

But not now. Now they're crossing the valley in seconds, wings tucked close, heads down as they rocket over the landscape, feathers rippling in the air currents.  I watched two of them spin and dart, dive close to each other, then twist away at the last moment...all at Mach 4.  How wild and crazy it must be for such large birds to race with the wind when they're usually so calm and placid.  I bet in vulture-speak, they were laughing like lunatics, their hearts pounding with the unexpected thrill of it.

Mine was, just watching them...

I Do Love A Good Song...

So, last night, nothing on the telly, can't get into my book, house is too hot.  I'm flopped in my reading chair--okay, sprawled in a melting heap--and decide to watch a long-ago rerun of Bones, a show that my mother keeps telling me to see. I don't know much about it as I was living in Scotland for most of the episodes, but awhile ago, just to try it out, I recorded a random episode from 2012. Since there is a dearth of good programming right now, I decide to watch it, mainly because I was too hot to care one way or the other.

As it turns out, the episode was really good, even though I don't have a clue what's going on half the time with the actors and their histories. At the end there's a sudden birth, a baby that belongs to the two main characters and as the credits begin to roll, a song comes on.  I immediately love the raspy, deep voice of the singer, but it's the first few lines that really grab me...

"Life is too far to walk alone

You can't do it on your own

It's like bare hands digging through stone..."  

I'm just getting into the lyrics, the rhythm, trying to figure out if I know that voice...when the recording abruptly stops.  Apparently Dish didn't feel it was necessary to show the entire credit roll...which included the details on the blasted song.  Well, just...crap.

After quickly writing down the episode number and date when the show originally aired, I shut off the television and go to bed, then this morning I do a bit of digging and searching and find the artist and the song.

I realize I'm late catching this bus--after all it's been two years--but through the wonders of the internet...

Marc Scibilia, "How Bad We Need Each Other"

Have a great weekend, peeps.

"You're Killin' Me Smalls..."

Last Sunday whilst strolling with the dogs through one of the large fields at the VA complex, I spied a baseball in the tall grass.  A baseball.  There was no explanation for it. I rolled it with my toe, thinking maybe it was a dog's fetch ball, but no, it was pristine, no slobber, teeth marks, rips or tears.  For a second I pondered taking it for Max, but changed my mind; the only toy in the world for him is Bunny, and Ozzy's too small for anything larger than a golf ball.

I walk about ten feet then stop.  During my tomboy years, I was a serious baseball player. Not many could hit my fast ball when I was pitching.  I look over my shoulder at this clean, white ball, the alluring red stitching...and can't resist.

The feel of it in my hand is perfect.  I'm twelve again...standing sideways to the plate, secret signal to the catcher, quick look at first base, then the wind-up and pitch.  I can almost smell the dust, feel the Summer heat on my back.  Smiling, I toss the ball in the air a few times then take it with me. The dogs might not need a baseball, but I guess I do...

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This morning I'm almost the entire way around the soccer fields beside the river, the dogs are panting, clouds are breaking up and it's getting warm.  The high school seniors are finished, graduation is on Sunday and I've noticed this week there are many kids roaming aimlessly around town. Today, there's an impromptu ball game in progress as I'm coming toward the parking lot.  Bunch of kids, enough for a good game, a mix of guys and girls.  They're having fun, enjoying their last moments of true freedom before college and work and--gasp horror--dreaded adulthood.

I've just passed the kid who's up at bat, when there's this almighty crack of sound that actually made me jump.  I whirl around to see the ball arc into the sky like a missile. It went high and long and sailed right over the trees behind the outfield. Everyone watched that ball soar, including a group of walkers from the YMCA, the city's lawnmower guy, several teachers at recess across the road at the grade school, and all the high school kids. And in that stunned silence we all clearly heard the baseball splash into the river.

"Well shit," says the catcher, "that was the only ball we had."


I smile to myself as I put the dogs in the car, listening to the kids laughing and hooting and slapping Babe Ruth on the back, then I reach under the front seat and snag the ball I found on Sunday.

It still feels good in my hand, but now I know what to do with it and can't stop grinning as I head toward the catcher.  "Hey," I say.  The kid turns.  "I found this the other day."  I toss it to him.  He grabs it one-handed out of the air, looks at it, then at me.  He gives me this big, wide smile. "Thanks lady."  As I walk back to the car, I hear him tell the other kids what I've done.  A chorus of thank yous follow me.

I find life so strangely serendipitous.  I could have missed seeing that ball in the field on Sunday, or ignored it, not picked it up.  I could have walked the dogs elsewhere this morning--which I almost did--or taken the ball out of my car days ago.

But none of those things happened.  And not only was I able to witness a most spectacular home run hit, but I'm pretty sure that mysteriously found baseball ended up right where it was supposed to...

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Blog title is a quote from The Sandlot, one of my favorite "rites of passage" movies.

Nothing Much, And Yet...

How many days in our lives are just...days?  Nothing exciting or fraught, unforgettable or reckless. Unremarkable bits of time that pass with no real purpose other than to get us from one day to the next.

I don't think each and every moment we live needs to be remembered--our brains aren't capable of that anyway--but in an odd dichotomy of thought, I believe we should live each and every moment.

The past few days have been quiet, just walks and reading, laundry and chores, grocery shopping and hair cuts.  Nothing, in other words, to really blog about, although these kinds of ordinary days are equally important for their lack of drama, for allowing us to just be.

And really, does it matter that I won't have anything memorable to remind me of this normal, average week in my life?  No, it doesn't.  Because in the whole scheme of things, every single moment is the sum of who I am...and I'm happy with that.

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I took this photograph last Sunday whilst walking the dogs at the VA complex.  They have a lovely Memorial Garden that is filled with blooming roses right now.  This purple one was just beautiful...and smelled like spices.