Anticipation

Socks heard me talking on the phone yesterday. Company's coming. She's ready. She has her ball. Maybe she imagines that her company will be packed up and sent directly to the house.
I'd like that too!

But it takes a long time for company to get here - hours of time on trains and airplanes and in cars.
So we just have to wait!

School's out!

It's the last day of school. Did someone turn the air conditioning off early? It's sweltering in the library where I've spent the year volunteering.

Piles and piles of textbooks and teacher collections obscure the desk. We work our way through overdues and lost books. I climb up on the ladder to take down the construction paper footprints that have led the way into the library all year.

The librarian invites me to sit in on some of her last classes. Each class discovers what happened to the caterpillar that crawled along the storyroom vine all year (hint: very similar to the end of The Very Hungry Caterpillar). Each class sings a good-bye song to the library books to the tune of "Twinkle, twinkle little star". Then (I wish I had a picture of this) they hug the shelves and pat the books goodbye.
Now it's summer!

Iris memories

The iris are wonderful this year. First the pale bluish-purple ones came out, then the darker purple ones, and now the ruffly pink one has opened. I keep staring at them, thinking that they remind me of something...those colors...oh, now I have it! They remind me of this: No wonder I love the irises.

A trip to Brown County

Once a year Mariann and I make a trek to Brown County.

This year the sun was shining when we got to the Farmhouse Cafe. Inside the shabby tables were covered with flowery fabric and the veggie sandwich was seasoned with fresh herbs. As we finished eating, we heard the unmistakable sound of rain on a tin roof. It was pouring.

We stood in the shelter of the porch and told each other the plots of books we'd been reading.

After a while, the downpour became a drizzle and we went off to look at damp flowers. No one else was out looking at plants today. We dragged a little red wagon behind us and began to pick out plants. I didn't pick out a concrete mushroom, but I did admire them.
Everything was wet. A deep rich smell rose from the dirt. Drops of rain trickled down my neck. The greens looked greener than usual. Even the air seemed to have a greenish tint.
I wondered if different colors and different flowers caught my eye in the rain - would I have chosen less purple and blue if the sun had been shining?
I spent some time looking at the pots and shade plants.And I do think a giant sunburst would look great on our wall.I ended up with Autumn fern, Southernwood, Oregano, a tiny-leafed Thyme, a salmon Salvia, and bright red and yellow Chard.

I felt as if I'd gotten three times as much because my mind was so stuffed with all the plants I'd considered and admired.

Mariann did get three times as much.

And, as we drove away, the sun came back out.

Another storytelling adventure

The kindergarten kids file in and look around. Things look different in the library. They think for a minute. Finally one little boy asks "Where is everything?"
It's really all still there. Just in order, alphabetized, and inventoried. Tucked away for the summer already. I'm visiting this library to tell stories to the primary grades as a special treat two days before school's out. The kindergarteners settle into the reading pit. They remember me. (I'd been here as a sub.) I ask -unwisely - if they remember the story I told them the last time I was here. Ah, yes. Immediately one fellow grins and begins to sing "kum-kwaa, kee-wah", the song from that story. The rest of the class joins in. Soon they are in full chorus, and I have totally lost control. I have another story, I remind them. Eventually the tumult dies down and I launch into my tale - and this class is up, flapping rooster wings and crowing "Cock-a-doooooodle-doooo", stomping their feet and shouting " Give me back my diamond button!"
I glance at the quiet librarian who invited me here - as the class is swinging their imaginary rooster back and forth and chanting "One! Two! Three!" and they fling their arms to throw him in the beehive - and she is not smiling. Ooops.

Another episode in "The Lives of the Easily Amused"

There is something about a sunny day with a little wind that just begs for hanging out clothes. It's one of the little pleasures of life. I love pinning the wet clothes out, feeling the sun on my shoulders, hearing birds calling around me, smelling green growing things. I feel a connection to all the women who came before me, my mother, my grandmother, hanging out their laundry and feeling glad for a good drying day. The virtuous feeling of saving the electricity just rounds out the good feelings.

So as I stood mesmerized by the flow of the fabric, waving and rippling in the wind, billowing first one way and then the other, I thought: "I should share this!"

It was only after I took several shots that I realized that this probably ranks right up there with watching the robot sweeper work.

Happy F.F. Day!

Yes, we've been waiting for this - counting down to May 15th - our "Frost Free" date. We've been to the Farmer's Market and the Greenhouse and come back with plants.
(Not nearly enough plants)
Now we can plant them! In the ground, in the pots, over here, over there...
IF it weren't 49 degrees and rainy, I'd be out there digging right now.

Use your imagination

This afternoon I told stories to eight different classes as part of an Author's Conference. They came in by twos, two kindergartens, two first grades, and then, oops - a second grade and a kindergarten together. The older kids sat in the back of the room. I began to talk about listening to a told story and how it is different from a story read from a book.

I talked about how they could make the pictures in their heads. "Let's practice" I said. "Picture a rooster. Do you see his bright red comb? His sharp yellow bill? Those beautiful tail feathers?"

The room is silent. Their faces are intent. I think, they are really trying - this is great! Okay, time to start my story about the little rooster and the diamond button.

"Now" I said, "Now that you are picturing that rooster..."

And one perfectly serious kindergartener pipes up: "I'm picturing Winnie the Pooh!"

The second graders fall apart. They know they can't laugh at him. They stuff their fists in their mouths and bend over to the floor -- but snorts and giggles escape that they can't help. Their teacher is pretending to be really tough as she quiets them down - but her mouth is twitching too.

Good thing I've told this story for forty years or so. It just starts itself while I'm still guffawing inside. And I get the audience back when the sparkly diamond button appears.

Happy Birthday Baby

Still lookin' good at 30

When the robin comes bobbin'

Every morning at 7:15 (give or take a minute or two) I hear a soft thud against the bedroom window. This thump is followed by a scratching tapping noise. There is a moment of silence. I drift back into a dreamy state. Then- thud! scratch! tap tap tap! This is repeated until I finally drag myself out of bed and fling open the curtain. The creature outside gives me a crazy look before he flies off.He is insane. Just look at that eye. That attitude. Insane, but determined. No one, but no one, is going to sleep past 7:15, even if it means crashing himself repeatedly into the window every single morning.

He's the original "Red, red robin" committed to his part:

"Wake up Wake up you sleepyhead

Get up Get up, get out of bed

Cheer up, cheer up, the sun is red"

T. mutters something from under his pillow. I think it's a good thing we don't have a b.b. gun.

Thoughts on Thoroughbreds

On the first weekend in May, we watch the Kentucky Derby. Sometimes it's a main event and we watch with other people and make bets with each other and drink mint juleps. Sometimes it's just a flip of the tv channel so we can say we did it. I feel as if it's one of those cultural events I can't ignore - after all we lived in Louisville. I even went to the Derby once. I appreciate the call to the post and the singing of "My Old Kentucky Home" just like any stuffy old lady who applauds tradition.

But you know, this year I didn't really enjoy it - even before the tragic ending. I'd read about Big Brown on a blog I like. I was appalled - but not surprised - at the callousness that would treat a horse as nothing more than a business asset. While I watched him surge so gracefully down to the finish line, I was worrying about his feet. When poor Eight Belles fell, I felt sick to my stomach. What have we done to these horses?

For two years I actually had an ex-racing thoroughbred, "Traffic Alert", called "Elijah". He had a great personality - as long as he didn't have to do anything. His body was pretty much ruined. His joints were sore most of the time. He had terrible feet. He'd had some sort of racing related accident that left him with scar tissue and a bum shoulder. First one thing and then another would go wrong with him - and the vet would say "Well, that's typical of thoroughbreds." The farrier would say "Those are just thoroughbred feet - they're bred for speed rather than soundness." The chiropractor said "I see this in lots of thoroughbreds" and my riding teacher said "Yes, he's stiff that way because he's only ever been trained to do one thing." His knees were a result of having been pushed to perform while his bones were still growing. In fact, just about all his many problems appeared to come from being a thoroughbred. It seems as if there is only one thing that breeders, owners and trainers consider - and of course, that would not be health or well-being. It would be money.

So much as I loved the look and the personality of the thoroughbred, my current horse is a sturdy quarterhorse. He's a big strong fellow, capable of tossing me to the ground in the blink of an eye. But this past week he's been on stall-rest, wearing a styrofoam pad to cushion his foot, neatly strapped on with duct tape. I've taken him out for short strolls and a little nibble of grass, and otherwise he's resting that foot in his stall. What happened? He bruised his toe. All that weight - over a thousand pounds - came down on one foot that hit something hard in the pasture. Ouch. And with a hard hoof wall, there's no place for swelling to go. They are tender and fragile creatures, these horses, for all they look so strong and powerful.