we all scream for

 

She was behind me in the checkout line at the grocery store. 

   "Love your T-shirt," I said. "Can I take your picture?"

   "You know she has an ice cream shop," the checkout person said.

   "No, where?"

   "Right across from the Ozarks Cafe," said the woman in the T-shirt. "It's a pink building. You can't miss it!"

    "I think you got yourself a new customer," sad the checkout person.

    Right. On both counts.

It was a hot day. Aren't they all nowadays? I had been unable to eat much due to the spider meds, but ice cream seemed like the right idea. It was.

 

rites of passage

There's somebody dying across the way

It happens to be a beautiful day

I don't think she wants to stay

Thre's somebody dying across the way

 

Somebody's getting married across the way

They're lucky it's a beautiful day

Hoping their love is here to stay

But there always comes a parting of ways 

Every beginning contains an ending

And every ending, its beginning.

watching paint dry

 

The fumes are so strong that the bugs are passing out. But somehow I've convinced myself that it's easier than mopping.

And let me point out that I can't do it all at once. I have to leave paths to doors, kitchen, bathroom and stairs. It takes days to dry.

bringing it

 

I love to see a man in my kitchen. Especially this man. He brings intelligence, skill, food and wine to the table. Yes, we had leftovers, but his were oysters, which he shucked in situ. Here come the judge!

more critters

The itsy bitsy spider crawled up upon my arm

I didn't feel it then but it had done me harm 

Out came a welt that didn't go away

So now I'm taking meds for another seven days

 

It was likely a brown recluse—I've been living with them for almost two decades now, and amazingly have never been bitten before. So after a few days, I was urged to go to urgent care. They gave me a very powerful broad spectrum antibiotic, and here we are.

  Meanwhile the hummingbirds are swarming. The armadillo shells are gone, but I found some new broken shells in the grass. Judging by the size, these are likely from a hummingbird's nest that got blown out of a tree in one of the violent thunderstorms we've been having.

 

.

 

armadillo story

 

It started like this. An armadillo, one of four identical quadruplets, jumped up as the headlights hit it. Apparently this is how the nocturnal animal responds—certainly judging by the Sunday morning roadkill here in the Ozarks. They have been here for decades, after migrating into Texas in the 1880s and heading north. Here is an INTERESTING ARTICLE about the effects of climate change on animal populations. Apparently the armadillo has appeared as far north as Chicago. 

     People here pretty much hate them for the wreckage their burrows create in gardens and yards.  Anyway, this one appeared in my yard, started to bloat and reek. I guess the buzzards finally did the cleanup, and now I am left with just the empty shell and the smell.

made it!

I could wax poetic about the towns I passed (Brilliant), the signs I saw (Custom Bait, Trump), and the rivers I crossed (Tallahatchee, Mississippi, Eleven Point), but that seems like a long time ago. Not quite a week. I made it in time for the Fourth of July, which was celebrated on the first. Virginia and one of her grandkids came over, and I grilled, as is appropriate here in the middle of America. 

 

We had rain, and a rainbow, and a rodeo and fireworks. 

On the real fourth of July, yesterday, I went up to Mary's farm to pick up produce from her. 

 

This guy by my doorstep, however, did NOT have a happy Fourth.

 

camilla invades block island

 

For a while, Camilla has been contemplating island life. She has seen a number of issues she would like addressed, and decided to write to the mayor, who on Block Island is called the First Warden. By the time she got on the boat (arriving, above), she had it pretty much written.

 

Upon arrival, Hannah  helped Camilla execute another plan: cutting a foot or so of her hair off to donate to Locks of Love. 

Then she cut my hair, though I didn't have more than a couple inches to spare.

Who knows what scheme she will come up with next.

knapp attack

 

I have had more visitors than usual in the past two weeks. One of the best was Kate Knapp, who visits only to paint when the weather is inclement. We have great vists when her hands and eyes are busy. I just watch and listen. 

This is my window on a grey, pastel day. I have often taken pictures as well. Below is one of mine.

Then there was this one. On one of our beautiful days before the advent of the smoke.

 

 

potato report

 

Word on the scabrous potato (or as Dugan calls it, the syphilitic potato, and he should know being a former medic during the Vietnam war): I do not know whether the President of the Garden Club has planted it. I doubt it, since she has hardly worked in her own garden at all. However, she did come to my house and plant my herb garden. Lest you think I'm a lazy bum (she also painted the front railings at Hannah's), let me point out that I pitchforked and edged and weeded until I hated dirt. Yes, I know it's supposed to be good for you. Why would you think that weighed with me?

wtf is in the truck this time

     It started with the potato. I was clearing out of NYC, and I could not bring myself to throw away this potato. It can't be eaten, but I thought my sister might like to plant it in her garden. I texted her and she said sure. Whether she will or not who knows, but whatever. Hard for me to throw away. And then there was the trampoline and the giant table and the rest of it. I went to see Ed and told him I had lost my mind. 

     He said just put the potato on the trampoline.

Me and the potato and the trampoline made it to Providence, where my grand helped me unload in front of Hannah's house. The potato appeared to have survived the trip. Also the trampoline.

And me. And the coffee and the applesauce. Why do I travel like this? 

So we got on the ferry.

And we made it home. Potato and trampoline intact. Will my sister plant it? I've done my part to keep the world from wasting a potato.

 

 

98 penthouse

In my apartment (I'm assuming that everyone reading this has been there) you have to press your nose against the glass to see the river. But in the one just three floors up, it's no such thing. The footprint is a bit smaller than mine—the penthouse bedroom is where my living room is, and their living room is where my bedroom is, but it has all the mod cons—including a washer/dryer—and, well, a terrace that can't be beat.

   The kitchen is where mine is, but extends into where my bathroom is. 

The second "bedroom" would serve as an office. I has a great view of the water tower. And the midtown skyline, if you squint.

It has two full baths, one ensuite with a shower and another with a tub. 

 

The living room is rather small. But it leads onto. . .

And the apartment next door shows you how a terrace is done. Though once you do this one up they won't have a river view any more.

 

Oh, and the light is beautiful in all rooms at all times of day. For 8k a month, this could be yours. Maybe. Check with Rita. LINK HERE.

happy hoppy easter!

 

Some fairly sleepy bunnies greeted Easter morning today. Hannah had done a brilliant treasure hunt for the baskets.

Clues:
    Hop hop hop you are a bunny
Find the next clue where you’d get some honey….

Sweet (like honey) and busy like a bee.
Find the next clue where you might pee.

Carrots are crisp, carrots are crunchy.
You’d look in this drawer if you were feeling munchy.

Daffodils and iris are flower of spring.
Felling kinda bouncy? Jump on this thing…

Boing, boing, boing. Zing, zap, zart. Head to where you might throw a dart.

Good game, good game. Are you getting tired? If so there’s a special bean that makes you feel wired.

Coffee’s not for bunnies and sugar is for ants.  Where might you find something to water plants?

Thirsty little flowers readying for spring,
If someone pushed this thing it would go dong ding.

You are getting close now, you fast little hare! Is there a place you’d go to sit in a rocking chair?

Sit down and take a rest, it won’t be long. Or if you’re feeling luck, go practice a song.

Easter is here. And we like it a lot. Now it’s time for baskets, if that’s what you want?
There’s a secret space, where you both like to hide.  In here you’ll find some treats., if you don’t mind! 

Well this little bunny is apparently now an apprentice Easter bunny. This morning the following was discovered on Hannah's kitchen table. 

the ed report 4/2/2023

Cut to the chase: He's ok.

When I got there all seemed normal.

Ed was asleep in his room, as is usually the case.
 

I was slow on the uptake. I had had an exciting day already.

   The two mourning dove eggs that were laid on my windowsill ia month before had taken flight that morning. (Incidentally if you wonder why I wasn't posting here all that time, it was because I was continually videoing the chicks growing up.) If you watch THIS VIDEO WHEN DOVES FLY turn sound on so you can hear me gasp when the first one didn't make it to the roof quite—guided to a sill across the courtyard by the papa—but mainly to hear my upstairs neighbor leaning out the window narrating and thinking I wasn't awake yet! 

   Anyway, I became alarmed when Ed wasn't waking up for supper as usual. He seemed too sacked out. And then I felt his forehead, and it seemed warm. He was flushed too. So I rang the button around his neck and asked for a nurse to come. And I called Ed's daughter, who was in town. And I dithered. The nurse said he had 100.4 and wanted to call the EMTs and take him to the ER. Ed's daughter said yes.

The EMTs got Ed's son on the phone, and I had his daughter on the phone and I was taking pictures. Ed was alert enough to tell them his birth date. 

   "You're not allowed to take pictures here," one of the EMTs said.

   "I'm a journalist, and he's a journalist, and I will be taking pictures," I said.

   "You want me to call the cops?"

   I shrugged. 

I stuck his phone in his pocket, and off he went. His daughter met him at the hospital. 

So off he went into the sunset. They tested him for Covid, which he had had once before, and voila. His lungs were clear, and it seemed a mild case, so they sent him back to "the hotel," as he calls his place, with Paxlovid and instructions to quarantine. 

And I want home under an almost full Easter/Passover/Pagan Spring moon to my empty nest.