(no subject)
The dome from the drunken night road looks both secretive and welcoming, a house seen in dreams, the interior through the French doors a golden glow and jumble.
I can stand at the end of the drive at dusk and feel like a stranger, or someone happening upon a glorious adventure, or fairytale.
My days are mostly doing, and little thinking. I hoe the summer garden while the biting flies attack me in formation. It's King Kong and the fighter planes in the deadly heat. My brother claims there is a pixie behind every plant and perhaps that's it.
This house is so sealed, there's not enough fresh air in here, but it's so hot I don't want to open the window. I don't have a C02 meter, but if I did, I'll bet I'd be surprised.
Gary the cat took ill last week, and I thought we'd lose him. He's better now, though very thin, with a cough. I feed him braunschweiger and pet him as long as he allows it. Jim next door is well-intentioned and gormless. Or it may only be faith in God. He's not proactive, he lets nature take its course. Then again, Gary, Jake (the striped cat) and the dog were strays dumped on the road. Jim is doing well to feed them and offer them the protection of his yard.
It's not as though I'm taking them in.
I have premonitions when something bad is about to happen to Gary and don't know why that should be so. I do not seem to have them about anything else.
The place is a magnet for creatures. We are overrun with millipedes and harvestmen spiders. The wild birds attempt to build in the overhangs, but the wasps succeed. There is a toad living between the tar paper and plywood of the French doors. I presume he's eating the millipedes. I hope so.
The millipedes run the floor, their many legs working in waves, their heads and antennae bopping left to right. They are a distraction and faintly disgusting. When killed, they curl into miserable spirals. I spread diatomaceous earth which dessicates them. I hope that their deaths are more of a sinking feeling than an agony.
The small dog next door had four puppies, equally divided per gender. They have awakened a courage in her she didn't know she had--she ran off the two pigs which were pestering the cats, her mouth a fanged ivory circlet.
My mother's blood pressure is down from when she lived in Texas. She is a fairly unobtrusive presence, and pays rent. We walked back from Aunt Mabel's house, them swearing Mom couldn't make it that far. It was less than half a mile, and easy. Then again, Mabel's parents didn't live to 87, so they don't know.
I can stand at the end of the drive at dusk and feel like a stranger, or someone happening upon a glorious adventure, or fairytale.
My days are mostly doing, and little thinking. I hoe the summer garden while the biting flies attack me in formation. It's King Kong and the fighter planes in the deadly heat. My brother claims there is a pixie behind every plant and perhaps that's it.
This house is so sealed, there's not enough fresh air in here, but it's so hot I don't want to open the window. I don't have a C02 meter, but if I did, I'll bet I'd be surprised.
Gary the cat took ill last week, and I thought we'd lose him. He's better now, though very thin, with a cough. I feed him braunschweiger and pet him as long as he allows it. Jim next door is well-intentioned and gormless. Or it may only be faith in God. He's not proactive, he lets nature take its course. Then again, Gary, Jake (the striped cat) and the dog were strays dumped on the road. Jim is doing well to feed them and offer them the protection of his yard.
It's not as though I'm taking them in.
I have premonitions when something bad is about to happen to Gary and don't know why that should be so. I do not seem to have them about anything else.
The place is a magnet for creatures. We are overrun with millipedes and harvestmen spiders. The wild birds attempt to build in the overhangs, but the wasps succeed. There is a toad living between the tar paper and plywood of the French doors. I presume he's eating the millipedes. I hope so.
The millipedes run the floor, their many legs working in waves, their heads and antennae bopping left to right. They are a distraction and faintly disgusting. When killed, they curl into miserable spirals. I spread diatomaceous earth which dessicates them. I hope that their deaths are more of a sinking feeling than an agony.
The small dog next door had four puppies, equally divided per gender. They have awakened a courage in her she didn't know she had--she ran off the two pigs which were pestering the cats, her mouth a fanged ivory circlet.
My mother's blood pressure is down from when she lived in Texas. She is a fairly unobtrusive presence, and pays rent. We walked back from Aunt Mabel's house, them swearing Mom couldn't make it that far. It was less than half a mile, and easy. Then again, Mabel's parents didn't live to 87, so they don't know.