Do you know that choosing not to use childproof caps on prescription bottles requires a written request and signature? Did you know I've held on to my iPhone 5s out of sentiment? Sadly I must to upgrade to a larger phone. Being a
holdover holdout is a sign of old age or passive resistance, right? Or, proof that a believer in "if it ain't broke you cannot fix it" still makes sense. I like my little phone so-o-o much. My opinion matters, but truth is, I do need a new-larger-not-but-not-too-much-bigger phone.
It is my opinion that I can no longer effectively play my favorite iPad game since all the tapping makes my index fingertip swell and hurt like . . . Well there's nothing in my memory bank to compare it to. Inferior tapping results in my fortress being over-run every night; it doesn't matter how many potions or arrows I have in my arsenal if I can't get the bow into position to kill the little vermin. And those infant imps make me sputter in indignation! I am a good bowwoman! Do you know there's no such word as bowman? My keyboard insists on telling y'all the word is bowman. That, too, is a matter of opinion.
A fatter stylus. No, it isn't new. We have been friends for awhile now. Yes to a broader stylus--this one in particular because I like carpenter pencils. Paper 53 makes a great tool, and I like it. I played a fingerless game of The Skull Legends last night and I liked that too. So no more sad because of painful swollen finger pads. *grin* I'm keying with my right hand as I mouse with my right. Had forgotten I'd picked up that trick some surgeries ago. Improv, improv, improv!
JC washed my new gloves last night. I washed them again. They still smelled. I rinsed them in a vinegar and water bath; then I really had a stink on my hands. I gave them a wash in the washer with my favorite bath towel, hung them in the sun to dry, the gloves, not the towel, and here we are.
I took the photo while JC fed the birds this afternoon. He's getting better at it. I planted a packet of seeds in a clay pot back in late spring; the survivors grew leggy--folded back on themselves in loops, and day before yesterday one plant offered up a single little bud, the size of cooked couscous pearl. It opened yesterday. I was in love! Still am. I'm embarrassed to admit it but the name escapes me. Pretty doesn't always need naming though, does it?
I discovered these after our dinner date at Saltgrass. Red stands out no matter where it finds itself. I spied the little beans on our way down the handsome stairs to the forward-facing left turned right side as you exit path, where the last step meets the sidewalk; perhaps I missed them going in due to tunnel vision compounded by hunger. But how could I have missed their pods? Hmm.
Needless to say, JC was mortified when I used my cane to drag one within reaching distance, and to humiliate him further, a couple exiting a few seconds behind us stopped to watch. The cane method took too long so I gingerly stepped into the bed and picked up three. One for dissection, one for Patty, and one for me. The little beans rattle.; there's something inside behind the navel! The male of the couple told us how he thought the shadow cast by my sweet cane was a snake. Really? And I suppose he figured I was a snake charmer? A snake wrangler? Ah, I know . . . A snake whisperer! I like people now. Perhaps it explains why someone always starts up a conversation when it's least expected. Naw. They did that even when I wore a warning scowl. Maybe JC is right, and I do make people wonder.
The gas man did and wasn't shy about it either. Have you ever had a utility turned off because you forgot to pay the bill? It happens. It happens especially when you get older. But the nice young man stayed awhile, and he adjusted the water heater's thermostat. Our water has scalding. It's been that way since the new water heater was installed over a year ago. I'm too old and tender to be sliding between what feels like hot raindrops in the shower!
But anyway, all I know is I've loved the tree that produced since we first met. It's like me--different, bordering on unusual, or as my uncle Kelly used to say, "peculiar." Its leaves are quite remarkable, its flowers even more so. Their bright yellow lit up the view like a sun on fire. Hmm. There's something wrong with that sentence but it'll work itself out.
Brighter than Patty's firstborn hatchling! Isn't it cute??? Such big feet!
There's a second one . . . Notice how easily I segued from trees and seeds and flowers to chicks and the color yellow and Patty and her little chick wrangler/egg girl . . . ? Special K II is also one heck of a softball player/pitcher. Can you believe I know three Miss Special Ks? Well I do. Kailey/Kaylee/Kailey.
So like I said, they let me christen the first two! Well, I was given the honor of naming just one--the first one--but a name for the pair dropped down from up above, where I do believe Charley Pride, the rooster is roosting after having been taken away in a space ship. Patty's CSI team did not find any evidence that might explain Charley's disappearance in any other suitable fashion, so this is my story and I'm telling it like it 't-i-s in my mind's eyes. CP wasn't the only victim either, but he's the one Patty allowed me to name. I have such good friends. *grin*
Oh wow. What if me naming poultry jinxes them??? Oh dear. Let's not think on the possibility. *shudder* Instead of CCSI (chicken crime scene imaging) theories, I'll tell you this: Patty said there are two more new chicks, and Kailey named them Spot and Juliet! Grandpa Davidson named the new rooster Darth Vader! I am so loving this!
. . . to be continued
Oops. There has to ba a mail bit to qualify this post as mail related. Here goes:
I wrote a little note to a favorite new poet/writer, Tracy K. Smith last night--purely on impulse. Her "Life on Mars" made me clap out loud last night. I laughed and laughed at the pure magic of this woman's rhyme and the formation/acknowledgment of a singular bond that fit more like an umbilical cord than anything else. You know it's good when you read out loud and it sounds good even in your voice. That's what Tracy K. Smith does for a body.
So I did it. I finally wrote to someone to tell them just how much I enjoy their creative genius. It's been awhile since the last time I did that. Surely such gifted folk need to know how we feel about them? Who have you surprised yourself with recently?