Sunday…(or, how weekends run at breakneck speed no matter what you do)

January 27, 2013 § 6 Comments

newyorkerCurrent issues of THE NEW YORKER are starting to breed like rabbits around the house. I haven’t had time to read them all, much less in order.  HM tracked into our house some insidious little ice melters from the courtyard of the building where his office is found, and they hurt bare feet and yet break into pieces like little apsirins. I’ve been chasing them with the vaccum. Everyone in his building complained; the superintendent doesn’t know who put them down in anticipation of an ice storm, but it was discovered they’re not ice melters – they are, in fact, for breaking down grease. Someone got confused.

Meanwhile, the weatherman can’t get the weather correct, which ultimately is ok, because he’s so darn dire with forecasting sleet and slips-n-slides and rain and frozen temps, all stirred into one big weather pot so that he doesn’t actually appear to be wrong…and who cares? we have ourselves and our cars as winterized as possible with layers of hoodies and coats and fingerless gloves and scarves and scrapers, sand-in-the-trunk and big fat all-weather tires, so …bring it on.

Friends and neighbors have been quiet in the gloom this weekend, with everyone badly needing some rest and some unscheduled time.  Christmas is boxed, bagged and stacked in the tool room, everything labeled and the house has lots it glitter but there’s a certain uncluttered thing going on that’s not so bad. Greenery does perk a person up quite a bit though, even if only sticking one’s head out the back patio doors and breathing in the cold humidity and discerning among the many winter greys which branches are holding birds and the squirrels, all waiting to hit the feeder as soon as the human stops sticking her head out there, into their business.

Ya gotta love it, all the comforts of Sunday, wherever you can find them, as you teeter on the precipice of Work Tomorrow. While America is glad to have a job, sometimes the schedule just makes you want to put the typical time compendium on tilt and run it your own way.   As the dowager Countess in Downton Abbey says, “What’s a weekend?” I am intrigued by how such a character, if real, would actually measure time.

Perhaps not at all.

And that sounds like a fine idea to me.


September 17, 2012 § 3 Comments

Little Archie comes creeping, creeping on little fingered paws. She’s come nearly every morning (that Í’ve been looking) for a drink, taking the same path, taking the same pauses midway.

She’s a third gen nearby-tree squirrel as far as I can tell and she often travels alone tho’ I think she has two brothers. Very wary and very fleet, she is. This birdbath (or was it really for holding seeds? We don’t know)…anyway, this birdbath used to be Huck’s outdoor drinking bowl in the summer. So he thought. He lapped up the water whether it was hot or cold, fresh from the hose. Which is partly why we are not annoyed or astounded that Archie sips here. Huck wouldn’t have cared. We are tickled to see a critter braving the wall and sitting up to put her paws on the side of the bowl to drink.

Then she scampers off to eat her fill of sunflower hulls and hominies.

Got nuts?

January 16, 2012 § 9 Comments

This is Archie the Elder.  There are two other squirrels in our little ecosystem.  Here, the Elder stares down the patio door from whence he knows that some mixed nuts (the kind you buy in a bag at holiday time for people to crack and enjoy while waiting for dinner) just might appear.

Dommage. There will be no more tossed from the kitchen door. They are now placed in the backyard around the wood pile. Meanwhile, Archie becomes quite the character on my storybook pages!

going long…

October 20, 2011 § 6 Comments

“You need that pride in yourself, as well as a sense, when you are sitting on Page 297 of a book, that the book is going to be read, that somebody is going to care. You can’t ever be sure about that, but you need the sense that it’s important, that it’s not typing; it’s writing.”

– Roger Kahn

I haven’t read Roger Kahn. Except this quote.
Funny when your eye falls on just what you need, when you need it…a quote like this, especially… “that it’s not typing; it’s writing.”
And the sun comes out.

Caught red-handed…

October 16, 2011 § 7 Comments

(photo was “filtered” using MS Digital Suite’s  “pencil drawing” effect. This one goes in the Backyard book, now in progress.)

Archie successfully raided the bird feeder.

It has since been moved, only inches but enough to quell this young buck’s leaping abilities.
And yet his engineer-brain is already at work on finding a new path to plant him on the feeder plate and allow him to plump up on that lovely black oil sunflower seed.

to be continued…

Pollen warriors…

October 2, 2011 § 11 Comments




Dear old Bumble gets so heavy he nearly cannot fly and takes time to dust off a bit before launching again into the next sweet flower.

Moth or butterfly? I  know not. But with  yellow veins,legs, and antennae, she’s a lovely show and seems to know which flowers show off her complexion to its utmost.

Working the garden…

August 30, 2011 § 13 Comments

The summer here is bleaching the grass and the poolside palms into hibernation and limp lassitude, respectively…and there are insidious caterpillars chowing down on the petunias that have perpetuated since May.
So right about now, a garden can use all the help it can get. 
Enter the tree frog who does not limit himself  to trilling in the trees.
Apparently an avid eater of slugs, grubs, bugs (albeit tiny ones) and etceteras, he is more than welcome.
And hey, how ’bout that froggy smile?

Bird is the word…

August 1, 2011 § 1 Comment

Cardinal:  Hey! Are you looking at me? 
Photographer: Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I am. And a fine looking bird you are, too, even with that sunflower seedyou have pinched in your mouth.

And with that, Sir Cardinal flew into the nearest tree, finished his seed and began a litany of  sordid songs ’til the photographer put aside her camera and moved away from the feeder.

Another moment in Suburban-garden Land brought to you from Cafe Oh.

The weekend …

July 30, 2011 § 11 Comments

FRIDAY NIGHT…unwinding, poolside ….

SATURDAY …  flowering and kitchening…

Sometimes you think you’re the only one. The week rockets by with spins, turns and not so well performed pirouettes at work.  You push large rocks up steep hills, you listen as people transfer monkeys from their back to yours and walk away, you envision, you list,  you write and rewrite,  a dear friend resigns a position you thought was ideal and you realize that even in this economy, the trend is not only that people lose jobs but that people leave jobs because the job have become untenable. That is not the case where you work; nevertheless you put in long long hours and long long meetings and stay so awake, alert, visionary, on point, that by Friday night, you curl on the couch with your spouse and fall so deeply asleep that when you wake, you think you’re still at work and have fallen asleep at your desk and has anyone seen you, sleep wrinkled and tousled?

When you reach out to friends you find they are spinning the same delirious tale.

And so we learn to really vacation and lounge about when we take vacation time.
We learn to really sleep when it’s time to sleep.
We learn to love even more the preparation of simple meals and being at the table together.
We learn to look up and say thanks.

If a weed grows in a small crack in the driveway, it’s ok.
If two little bambis fit their heads inside the iron gate to eat the glorious morning glories from our garden, it’s ok. There are plenty of blooms to enjoy.

How lovely to resist schedules.

water water everywhere…

July 9, 2011 § 12 Comments



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