The sticky mugginess of too warm days is behind us. Suddenly, without storm or great upheaval, we got ourselves a bright and beautiful morning (and then day, and then evening, and possibly the rest of the week).
And I get to know today's morning very well. Ed is now with summer sniffles and so I'm taking over chicken duties again, being the one (for the first time since the days of the wedding) to open up the coop and set them free. Isis had been pestering us to let him out even before sunrise and so my very first photos are indeed from that time when it's light, but not yet light outside.
I linger for a while. It is buggier now, before the sun comes up, but there is a certain peacefulness to the day that is so very appealing. Why walk away from it?
Eventually I hear the sound of stealthy Cammie - the stray cat that has taken to coming here in search of food. I quickly put out a dish for her in a wire cage that we keep open and then I retreat, waiting for her to eat it.
Cammie wont go into the cage. It's a trap and she senses it. We keep the door slightly ajar for now. At some point we do want it to close on her so that we can take her to the vet. For now, it stays open and when the dish of food is too far inside, she snubs it.
But the hens! Ah, the hens! They'll stretch themselves hugely and their necks will grow long and they will reach, reach, reach ever so much, just to get to that dish. And so we've stopped putting out cat food with any chicken meat in it. For obvious reasons.
I watch the cheepers and that takes a while and so now, finally, the sun pops over the horizon and the day becomes that gorgeous blue, or dappled blue, with an occasional puffy cloud -- the kind of sky you long for at any time of the year.
The stage is set for a beautiful day.
Breakfast is later, much later. I can't even think why. Just because. But, it's pancakes for Ed and peaches and freshly picked raspberries again and, too, I drink my coffee from the most expensively transported mug ever -- one from Islay, with little sheep all over it, one that I didn't dare pack and so I went to the Bowmore post office to send it (and its companion) to myself and when I heard the price I nearly fainted, but send it I did and now here it is, freshly arrived, shouting at me -- I'm here! Use me! And so I do.
After: more errands downtown, including a trip to the courthouse to retrieve some papers the Polish government seems to be needing. I catch myself as I set out, because I am wearing shorts. Shorts! If there was one place in life where I maintained proper decorum, it was in days when I represented clients, always poor, very poor clients in court proceedings. They deserved my best and my best included dressing the part. So to enter the court house in shorts feels blasphemous and yet I remind myself -- that was then, this is now. I am retired. I no longer engage in the practice of law!
After: there is some weeding, of course, and, too, I review with Ed changes that I want to make to portions of the yard (rip out the thorny, weedy roses and replace them with some of my perennials -- a job that will take grit and perseverance because the roses are a killer type, with thorns big and small, attacking you through every glove or article of clothing).
It's a project for early fall.
After: in the evening, I go with my girl to the concert on the Capitol Square -- a picnic type event that is especially lovely on an evening like today. (It's no small event: some 25,000 show up for the event).
We walk there and back, along the lake...
...and sit on folded chairs on a blanket, and eat salads and cherries and ice creams...
... and I leaf through magazines and think quiet thoughts about all the concerts I'd been to here, on the square, always with one or both of my girls. The number of such concerts is very large.
After: we walk back to her house, some 5216 steps away from the Capitol. My iPhone now refuses to stop counting how many steps I take and Ed sometimes will ask -- so what's the number now? -- and so I have added this unwelcome beast into my life for now, but it is the only unwelcome beast. Everything else, especially on a day like today, is, simply put, sublime.
And I get to know today's morning very well. Ed is now with summer sniffles and so I'm taking over chicken duties again, being the one (for the first time since the days of the wedding) to open up the coop and set them free. Isis had been pestering us to let him out even before sunrise and so my very first photos are indeed from that time when it's light, but not yet light outside.
I linger for a while. It is buggier now, before the sun comes up, but there is a certain peacefulness to the day that is so very appealing. Why walk away from it?
Eventually I hear the sound of stealthy Cammie - the stray cat that has taken to coming here in search of food. I quickly put out a dish for her in a wire cage that we keep open and then I retreat, waiting for her to eat it.
Cammie wont go into the cage. It's a trap and she senses it. We keep the door slightly ajar for now. At some point we do want it to close on her so that we can take her to the vet. For now, it stays open and when the dish of food is too far inside, she snubs it.
But the hens! Ah, the hens! They'll stretch themselves hugely and their necks will grow long and they will reach, reach, reach ever so much, just to get to that dish. And so we've stopped putting out cat food with any chicken meat in it. For obvious reasons.
I watch the cheepers and that takes a while and so now, finally, the sun pops over the horizon and the day becomes that gorgeous blue, or dappled blue, with an occasional puffy cloud -- the kind of sky you long for at any time of the year.
The stage is set for a beautiful day.
Breakfast is later, much later. I can't even think why. Just because. But, it's pancakes for Ed and peaches and freshly picked raspberries again and, too, I drink my coffee from the most expensively transported mug ever -- one from Islay, with little sheep all over it, one that I didn't dare pack and so I went to the Bowmore post office to send it (and its companion) to myself and when I heard the price I nearly fainted, but send it I did and now here it is, freshly arrived, shouting at me -- I'm here! Use me! And so I do.
After: more errands downtown, including a trip to the courthouse to retrieve some papers the Polish government seems to be needing. I catch myself as I set out, because I am wearing shorts. Shorts! If there was one place in life where I maintained proper decorum, it was in days when I represented clients, always poor, very poor clients in court proceedings. They deserved my best and my best included dressing the part. So to enter the court house in shorts feels blasphemous and yet I remind myself -- that was then, this is now. I am retired. I no longer engage in the practice of law!
After: there is some weeding, of course, and, too, I review with Ed changes that I want to make to portions of the yard (rip out the thorny, weedy roses and replace them with some of my perennials -- a job that will take grit and perseverance because the roses are a killer type, with thorns big and small, attacking you through every glove or article of clothing).
It's a project for early fall.
After: in the evening, I go with my girl to the concert on the Capitol Square -- a picnic type event that is especially lovely on an evening like today. (It's no small event: some 25,000 show up for the event).
We walk there and back, along the lake...
...and sit on folded chairs on a blanket, and eat salads and cherries and ice creams...
... and I leaf through magazines and think quiet thoughts about all the concerts I'd been to here, on the square, always with one or both of my girls. The number of such concerts is very large.
After: we walk back to her house, some 5216 steps away from the Capitol. My iPhone now refuses to stop counting how many steps I take and Ed sometimes will ask -- so what's the number now? -- and so I have added this unwelcome beast into my life for now, but it is the only unwelcome beast. Everything else, especially on a day like today, is, simply put, sublime.
