Chuck

Chuck Will, wherever you are, someone is crying for your widow. Moon sliver encourages the caller's shyness, and darkness hugs us both beneath a purpling sky.

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Sprucing

Must be Saturday. Birds clamoring for the birdbath, as many as five at a time splashing, churning the water into feathery explosions, exchanging places with newcomers, continuing the ritual.

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Nirvana

My book has six middle-aged women crawling into a sweat lodge resembling a blue Volkswagen beetle, then sitting on flattened cardboard boxes and hoping desperately for elusive bliss. I'm sitting at the river studying variations in the calls of a red-winged black bird and of a goldfinch. I would rescue the fictional women if I could, invite them to my porch, hand them inflated floats, and lead the way down the rocky sidewalk to drip a mixture of salt and spring water. Found.

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Mini Me

I can never know enough, so I am smitten with my iPhone, after all these months, still smitten. Sitting on the porch sipping wine and competing with gnats, searching for goblet covers, discovering the origin for tapas. Missing faithful painted bunting pairs, calling them for their evening meal. Inspecting dormant lantanas, seeing that future rain forecast is at 60%. Mellowing too much to climb stairs for using computer to post, emailing blog direct. Leaving after the farewell sunset sky, locking doors, needing light to find keyhole. Smitten.

Mall Madness

Shopping. Fitting room. Buying. Black poly-cotton blend long pants. Black stretch denim capris. Black shiny cotton 98% and spandex 2% capris. White jeans. You read that correctly. White jeans. Pockets trimmed with silver studs. Front and back. You've got the picture. Now try to get it out of your head.

(Go ahead and comment, but I already know about Spanx.)

Lovers Quarrel

There they go again. A few minutes of quiet suggested that they had kissed and made up. Cooling off in the river. But no, up on the rocky bank the voices rise, back and forth, then clashing in a raucous assault to the recently peaceful spring afternoon. Questions, shouts, accusations, declarations of right and wrong, all carried by the wind to my porch rocking chair. I continue to rock and read, willing them into droning bees or elevator music played when put on hold or whirring plane engines.
The wind shifts, and the young man and woman no longer exist, their bickering blown away with as little consequence as their tiff. Purple martins warble and swoop.

Paintbrush Dancing

Cypress trees. 
Trunks.  Bark.  Branches.  Needles. 
Knees.  Roots. 
Water. 
Reflections. 
Moving water. 
Diminishing reflections. 
Depth.  Dark. 
Sunbeams.  Shadows. 
Glaze. 
Coda.

Golden Wedding

Golden Wedding

What a wonderful event to celebrate! We are so happy for you and often think of all our good times together as a family. May love, joy, and God's blessings always surround you.

That's what I wrote on the card, and I meant every word. The mystery is that any two people can live together in the same house for fifty years much less be married.

Yet, we are approaching that milestone, S&W are ahead of us, and MJ&G reached it a couple of years ago. Something sacred and something silly about the whole prospect.

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Sudden Unexplained Near Death Experience

Shock! Dismay! Loss! But only until I returned to my senses and put the event into perspective.  It wasn't a person or a home or a beloved pet.  It was only a thing . . . but my iPhone thing.  Dead.  Oh, I beseeched it, if only you will light your screen when I push the home button.  I will never drop you or let you get dirty or wet.  (I have never done any of those!)  I will carry you only in the softest case and give you more rest time.  (I am guilty of neglecting such care as that.) 

After attempting CPR with three different chargers, I continued to encourage and cajole, even descending to desperate baby talk.  Pretty please, turn on for mommy. 

Finally, I could no longer face its demise alone.  I called Apple technical support, on my house phone, of course.  (See, there is still a need for land lines.)  Gregg, be my hero and tell me how to revive my iPhone, quickly and painlessly, no reset nor restore, just give me the magical incantation.  (This is the point where you should expect the worst, a denouement to bring tears to even the most hardened technophobe.) 

Fanfare rolling, trumpets blaring, sun bursting through the clouds, the silver apple symbol breathed onto the screen.  Oh joy, rebirth, triumph!  It was back in all its glory to live another day (and many more, I hope but was not promised by Gregg).  I was so ecstatic that I scarcely heard the male voice murmuring something about powering off at least once a week, shutting off apps that want to run in the background, blah, blah, blah.  IPhone, we're back! 

(There is no photo to accompany this post because even though I can take a photo of me, my iPhone cannot take a photo of itself.  I'm working on that one.  Hey, Gregg!)

Porch Sounds

From my porch this evening, I hear several kingfishers clattering, a wind chime plinking across the river, the flip-flop flag popping, and a young kayaker screaming, "Oh cr#%! Bad idea! Bad idea!" after he rolled into the frio Frio.
Ah-h-h-h, spring!
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