I might have been a teensy bit optimistic about the state of my health recovery . Bragging was my mistake, one which I will not make again. Don't take that to mean that I am now well and too superstitious to say so. I might admit to a few drops of Irish blood though.
Red Alert: there is a Mack truck out there careening around; it is disguised as a common cold. There is no comfort in knowing that apparently every second person has this. Stay indoors and eat canned food.
Sainted martyr that I am, I sent Jon fishing. Then I considered my options:
A. Spend yet another day in bed. This has serious attraction had the bed not been devolving into a bunker filled with kleenex boxes, ear plugs, eye masks, and books. Apparently all of the portable phones were in there too but so far down that the locator buzzer was inaudible. I found them only when I noticed the comforter vibrating. So I went in search of a Better Option.
B. Watch a video. I chose Amour, which I have been meaning to see and which I knew Jon had no wish to see. Double plus ungood. Do not watch this film unless you are feeling immortal.
C. Weed the lawn. Before you scoff, think about the pluses: I would be in the sun, sitting down, and if I fell over, there was not too far to go. C it was.
Great decision! Who showed up but Mr. Chips! He had dug out his bolt-hole and finally emerged, so I tossed him a handful of sunflower seeds to remind him that I am The Hand That Feeds. Now chipmunks are excellent friends to generous humans, but rotters to other chippies. They are notoriously solitary. Mid-peanut, Mr. Chips suddenly took after Chips 2 (whom I hadn't met before); before I could tell if Chips 2 had sacrificed his tail, they disappeared behind the garage. Makes you wonder how chipmunks manage to preserve the species. For all I know or perhaps even he knows, that was the mother of his kids. Just a minute - could Mr. Chips be the girl?? This way lies madness so let's just say that you will never see a group of chipmunks at the pub.
I found another bolt hole in the front perennial garden 150 feet away in the other direction, so there might be a Chips 3 unless Mr. Chips saw The Great Escape.
More good news followed. As I weeded my way through the garlic mustard along the fence in the back, I heard a sleepy quack. (As you know, I have always loved ducks and even as a toddler had perfected my quack.) When I looked up, there were Mr. and Mrs. Mallard, snoozing pool-side at the neighbours.' To my relief, they have since left because surely the Missus should be thinking about a nest by now and the domesticated tigers, Mea and Culpa, still live in the next house. Perhaps it was the couple's last Happy Hour before the Long Sit.
Daffodils everywhere. Thank heavens there's something that neither deer nor squirrels will eat. This tiny detail of "Daffies" was of course painted on yupo in watercolour -- always a wild ride, always fun.
Red Alert: there is a Mack truck out there careening around; it is disguised as a common cold. There is no comfort in knowing that apparently every second person has this. Stay indoors and eat canned food.
Sainted martyr that I am, I sent Jon fishing. Then I considered my options:
A. Spend yet another day in bed. This has serious attraction had the bed not been devolving into a bunker filled with kleenex boxes, ear plugs, eye masks, and books. Apparently all of the portable phones were in there too but so far down that the locator buzzer was inaudible. I found them only when I noticed the comforter vibrating. So I went in search of a Better Option.
B. Watch a video. I chose Amour, which I have been meaning to see and which I knew Jon had no wish to see. Double plus ungood. Do not watch this film unless you are feeling immortal.
C. Weed the lawn. Before you scoff, think about the pluses: I would be in the sun, sitting down, and if I fell over, there was not too far to go. C it was.
Great decision! Who showed up but Mr. Chips! He had dug out his bolt-hole and finally emerged, so I tossed him a handful of sunflower seeds to remind him that I am The Hand That Feeds. Now chipmunks are excellent friends to generous humans, but rotters to other chippies. They are notoriously solitary. Mid-peanut, Mr. Chips suddenly took after Chips 2 (whom I hadn't met before); before I could tell if Chips 2 had sacrificed his tail, they disappeared behind the garage. Makes you wonder how chipmunks manage to preserve the species. For all I know or perhaps even he knows, that was the mother of his kids. Just a minute - could Mr. Chips be the girl?? This way lies madness so let's just say that you will never see a group of chipmunks at the pub.
I found another bolt hole in the front perennial garden 150 feet away in the other direction, so there might be a Chips 3 unless Mr. Chips saw The Great Escape.
More good news followed. As I weeded my way through the garlic mustard along the fence in the back, I heard a sleepy quack. (As you know, I have always loved ducks and even as a toddler had perfected my quack.) When I looked up, there were Mr. and Mrs. Mallard, snoozing pool-side at the neighbours.' To my relief, they have since left because surely the Missus should be thinking about a nest by now and the domesticated tigers, Mea and Culpa, still live in the next house. Perhaps it was the couple's last Happy Hour before the Long Sit.
Daffodils everywhere. Thank heavens there's something that neither deer nor squirrels will eat. This tiny detail of "Daffies" was of course painted on yupo in watercolour -- always a wild ride, always fun.
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