IT’S ALL FERBLUNJIT


You, me, the weather, the garden, Dr. Advice, even Charliedog, we’re all confused. Mainly the weather and the garden today. I went outside and picked a few figs and some oranges for juice, and a flight of geese flew by on their way south or wherever they go. The weatherman says it’s too early to depart, as more hot weather is coming up this week. (They obviously don’t read the weather report.

I’m confused because I don’t know what to wear anymore. I wore a sweater for two days and today I am back in whatever. I like Fall and winter clothes the best, because I don’t like investing in summer stuff I probably won’t wear anyway, and besides I have a drawer full of sweaters dating back to college days.

Some of the trees are beginning to change into their Fall colors or drop a few leaves to rake up, yet the fig tree threatens to join us in the family room. Branches seem to reach out further each day trying to see what we do in there. Other plants like the pelargonium get bigger and bigger and will need cutting back again soon. The summer annuals are finished and look dismal and bare. A dichotomy of seasons right in the back yard.


Spring/Summer Garden w/c kayti Sweetland Rasmussen

I have to give it to the weathermen though. Not too long ago their predictions stretched over a mere 2-3 days, while today they run on into the following week. Not long ago a local weatherman was fired for refusing to cast a prediction further than 3 days.

Dr. Advice reminded me that back in 1944 when the Allies planned the invasion of Normandy, it was actually planned for June 5, and men were loaded onto the landing craft ready to go. However, a storm came up and the Channel was a washing machine, so it did not come about until the following day, June 6. Another reason to be thankful for modern science.

Dr. Advice really isn’t confused. he arises early each morning knowing exactly what he will be doing the entire day, and goes about haphazardly getting it done. While I dibble and dabble around and finally zero in on what absolutely cannot be postponed.

Charlie is a Jack Russell Terrier, so we know automatically that he is confused. What about you, are you confused enough by now?

I like to think I come from a determined gene pool.

A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM


Lichen In a Dream, w/c painting  KSR

How do you fall asleep?  Turn over on the left side.  No, it’s too warm that way, maybe the right side is better.  Draw left leg up, no, right leg, no, I’ll just leave them straight down.  Wish my feet would stop twitching. My legs won’t stay still.  What do they call that?  Restless leg syndrome.  I’ve got it.  Oh damn, leg cramp again.  Jump on it.  There that’s better.  Maybe I’ll just prop the pillow up and try to sleep on my back.  Dr. Advice is sleeping softly and Charlie in his little bed is sleeping.  It’s not fair.  Why can’t I sleep?  I’m so tired.  Had a busy day too.  That should have worn me out.  I could take a sleeping pill if I had one, but took one once & it messed my brain up the next day, so that’s no good.  I could turn the light on and read I suppose, but it would wake everybody up.  Why does this happen to me all the time?

It was a nice time today having lunch with the girls in Alameda.  I always liked the restaurant too.  Went even though I was dentally challenged but the cute young waiter brought me a huge bowl of spumoni ice cream and a glass of milk.  Everyone else had sandwiches.  Mine was better.  Cheaper too.

Lots of news I can think about.  Dolores has sold her house.  She was married a week before me and has lived in that house for 56 years.  Asked Helen how long she had lived in hers.  “I was born in it, so 85 years.”  She’s going to have another shoulder surgery.  Dolores sold hers in less than a week to a young single woman who loved all the religious stuff she has sitting around and the kitschy stuff her grandkids always liked.   Joan lives in her grandmother’s house.  They all looked pretty good considering.  Joan had a TIA recently and fell.  She was a ballet dancer and has bad knees, but has a wicked sense  of humor.  Marge gets more bent over each time I see her.  Just think, I’ve known them all since they were 15.  Everybody has something.  Guess that’s life in the fast lane.  Now what’ll I think about?  I don’t want to think about troubling things or I’ll never get to sleep.

Get up and check the e-mail.  No unread e-mail in my inbox.  Maybe  play a few games of solitaire.   I never win.  Now I’m tired but not sleepy.  What in the world is the sleep secret, and why can’t I find it?

Come on old girl, you can totally do this.  Get back in bed and check out the sheep population.

What? It’s seven o’clock already?  I must have fallen asleep.  Good.  Got to get lunch ready for three more girls today, so get up out of this nice comfy bed I love so much and get cracking.  Can’t wait till tonight so I can snuggle back into these covers.

“In the cellars of the night, when the mind starts moving around old trunks of bad times, the pain of this and that, the memory of a small boldness is a hand to hold.”  John Leonard, Critic

A MURDER IN THE GARDEN


Last evening was one of those rare, soft, end-of-summer kind.  It was our 66th wedding anniversary, and we had had a lovely dinner at our current favorite restaurant, and come home to enjoy the rest of the evening while sitting in the garden amid the end-of-summer flowers.  Charlie, our Jack Russell Terrier joined us on our bench under the fig tree.

Suddenly the world exploded around us when a murder of crows took up residence in the large cedar tree.  The angry noise was frightening and they had no intention of stopping any time soon, so we went back in the house and gave the garden back to them.

We never take the time to just sit and watch the wildlife living with us.  Charlie discovers the squirrels, and an occasional lizard, and the small birds frequent the birdbath and waterfall, and a pesky Blue Jay chimes in now and then.  Occasionally an owl silently glides through the garden hunting for whatever he needs to feed his family.

Red-winged and Cooper hawks hope for a newly laid egg while sailing with the air currents around the yard.

In the mornings we occasionally see evidence of an enquiring raccoon or possum, or catch the faint scent of that malodorous black and white visitor we would rather not tangle with.

All in all, free entertainment if we take the time to watch for them.  And then, as darkness falls, the night-long symphony of frog-song.  Nature giving us it’s best neighborhood show.  It’s a wonderful life.

 

Garden at Dusk, watercolor  painting by kayti sweetland rasmussen                                                                                                   Spidery Plants at Dusk , watercolor painting by kayti sweetland rasmussen