The Rascals beat out the Beatles as my favorite music group when I was growing. I had a major crush on Felix.
Many thanks to everyone who commented on my Monday post and provided me with sage advice. Ironically (maybe?), on Wednesday, before I got around to responding to comments, I made myself work on my novel a bit. I wrote about 600 words. Then I rewarded myself by reading the comments. Surprise, surprise (to no one), most of you suggested I write about 500 words a day. Well, golly gee, I had just written 600! And then today (Thursday), I wrote another 982. I do believe I’m grooving. My daily goal going forward will be 500 words. If I’m inspired and write more, well, that’s icing. But if I write at least 500, I can stop guilting myself for having (and needing) other interests.
Speaking of other interests and the multiple ways I’ve been avoiding writing, I forgot to mention exercise. In mid-July, my husband and I rejoined our local gym, and we have been faithfully going there three times a week, working out for an hour-and-a-half to two hours. We’re retired so we can take all the time we want. I’ve lost some weight and gained some muscle in the process. Given all that’s happened to my sister, I am even more focused on building strong muscles.
And then there’s the bike riding, which we did Tuesday. What a beautiful day. And, as it was a weekday, we saw few people.
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As it happens, when we go for bike rides, my mind wanders and often I think of my novel. That’s what I did on Tuesday so I was primed to do some writing on Wednesday.
Your encouragement helped as well as it always does.
A bit of good news before I close this post. Maxine had a checkup today and her creatine values have dropped yet again, to 4.4. Still elevated, but a hell of a lot better than 6.9. Her urine is still clear of bacteria, but the vet wants us to do two more weeks of the twice daily antibiotic injections. Apparently, that is the regimen. Who are we to argue? She promised that if Max’s urine is still clear after two weeks, then we can stop. We might even be able to reduce her subcutaneous fluids. The only real disappointing news is that now she has anemia so new meds (yay!) for the next two weeks. That cat is turning into a poster child for the pharmaceutical industry.
But she’s doing good. She really is. She’s peeing and pooping in the litter boxes more often than not. She’s steady on her feet and generally trots to her meals (food is her reason for being). She’s still sleeping a lot, but not when there’s food around. I don’t have high expectations for her, as she does have chronic kidney disease, but she really seems to be enjoying a better quality of life than she was a month ago. We are grateful.
Maxine chilling out after her morning with the vet.
In a New Yorker article (September 13, 2021), author Amia Srinivasan made this observation: “[…] the Internet, […] has simultaneously given us too much to read and corroded our capacity to read it.” The context was feminism and what we think we know about it, but her description of how the Internet has impacted reading applies far beyond her subject.
It’s something I struggle with every day. So much to read, especially online, but also on my Kindle and my bookshelves, the dining room table and the living room desk where magazines pile high. And yet I’m supposed to be writing.
I know I’ve been going through a stressful time. Which requires a couple of updates:
My sister’s cast was removed last week and she was fitted with a walking boot. She’s still at the facility, but she’s been having more good days lately than bad days. The facility change was definitely a good move. Still, the uncertainty as to when she’ll come home and what kind of help my brother-in-law will given as he continues care for her subdues my efforts to be positive. We all just keep saying, “One day at a time.”
Maxine, our feline dowager, has been more her old self lately. Spunky, willful, and talkative. She’s been handling our handling of the twice daily antibiotic injections and every-three-days subcutaneous fluids quite well. My husband has even been able to give her the antibiotic injection by himself, that is, without me having to hold her still. Unfortunately, she has “good” days and “bad” days: good days are when she limits her pee and poop output to a litter box or a potty training pad; bad days are when she and Junior get in a tussle and, in her excitement, she poops on the kitchen floor (this morning) or when she sits on the potty training pad but still pees on the floor (also this morning).
I’ve been working through my stress not by writing, but by gardening (healthy activity) and binging on a podcast call Casefile (maybe, maybe not healthy). If you enjoy true crime stories (is enjoy the right word?), check out Casefile by clicking here. A few things I like about the podcast:
The narrator is anonymous. He wants the audience to stay focused on the survivors and victims in these stories; however, his fans call him Casey.
The podcast has no dramatic reenactments, no roleplaying, no editorializing, no aimless, mindless banter. Casey narrates in a steady, calm voice. Occasionally he narrates dialogue, which can sometimes be humorous with his Australian accent.
I say no editorializing, but Casey’s empathy toward survivors and victims is real. At the beginning of each podcast, he cautions the listener in case the crime is of a particularly disturbing nature, such as crimes against children. For example, I chose to not listen to the episodes on The Moors Murders because Casey admitted he had to stop recording a couple of times because he was so disturbed by the abuse done to the children.
He has, on occasion, expressed frustration with law enforcement responses (or lack thereof) to violence against women. But he doesn’t rant, he doesn’t rail. He just points out when injustice is being served.
The episodes do not focus gratuitously on details of crimes. Casefile only shares what is necessary to understand the seriousness of a crime, which doesn’t require a second-by-second account of an assault or a murder.
The podcast often includes interviews, audio clips and other materials, providing a deeper context of the crime.
The effort Casey and his team put into their research and production is impressive. Links to their sources are provided with each episode.
My most recent binge from Casefile was several episodes on crimes committed by the The East Area Rapist, the Original Night Stalker, and the Golden State Killer in the late 70s to mid-80s who happen to all be one man–Joseph DeAngelo. The best episode was the last one where Casey read or played clips of survivors’ impact statements at DeAngelo’s sentencing hearing. It was the best episode because too often, justice is not found. In this case, it was. A little late, but that was due to the limitations of forensic testing at the time, the fact that DeAngelo was a former cop and knew how to avoid capture and identification, and lack of communication among the various law enforcement agencies involved.
Finally, if you write crime fiction, this podcast will teach you a lot about crime, the justice systems in the U.S. as well as other countries, and how law enforcement, even with truly dedicated officers, can be hampered in their efforts to find and bring the perpetrators to justice.
Now, what about my novel, which is about a murder?
I don’t consider myself a gardener really, but I might allow myself to wear the label of amateur gardener. I am thrilled when one of my plants starts to bloom. Why, hello there, Georgia Aster! I’m so grateful to have a fall-blooming plant.
Georgia Aster. Photo by Marie A Bailey.
My red penta is still going strong, and I’ve planted a lavender penta and a red-yellow lantana in the front yard. Fingers crossed that I can keep them safe during the winter. The following Ruellia or Mexican petunia was an impulse buy.
Ruellia simplex. Photo by Marie A Bailey.
We had gone to Home Depot to order a new dishwasher (a whole other story, but let me just say that we’re never buying GE appliances again). I needed a couple of pots so we went to the gardening section. This lovely purple plant caught my eye. We’ve seen it around our city so, hey, let’s get a pot and see what happens.
What happened was I did some research since the pot only said the plant was Ruellia. Well, according to the iSeek app, this is Ruellia simplex, a highly invasive plant.
WTF.
Through my research (and panic … what does one do with an invasive plant and why was it being sold at Home Depot????), I found the distributor (Costa Farms) who claims: “We sell sterile Mexican petunia varieties that don’t spread by seed. However, these are often vigorous plants and can colonize quickly in gardens and landscaping beds and borders — especially when grown in rich soil.” Okay, fine. The Ruellia I see around town seem well-controlled, but I’ll have to think long and hard about this. It’s so tempting to plant just this one in the front yard, yet perhaps I should keep it in a container.
Meanwhile, there’s that novel I should be working on.
One of the joys of gardening is discovering critters who like to eat my plants. I have three Black Swallowtail larvae on my Rue which is fine because that’s what Rue is for.
Larvae for Black Swallowtail. Photo by Marie A Bailey
More Black Swallowtail larvae. Photo by Marie A Bailey
I’ve also been knitting. Finally finished this wool lap blanket so I can put it away in my cedar chest since cold temperatures won’t be arriving down here anytime soon.
Teal and purple wool lap blanket. Photo by Marie A Bailey.
I’ve started crocheting granny squares for a larger blanket in a desperate effort to use up my stash.
I have a punch needle kit and a cross-stitch kit as well as three knitting projects waiting for my attention. And sewing? Did I mention sewing?
And then there’s my novel. Oh, boy. You see what I’m doing here?
I’m avoiding my novel because I’m intimidated by the idea of writing from the POV of three narrators. My instinct (these days anyway) says to stick with one, that it will be enough of a challenge to write in first person. I’m trying to work through that. I’m trying to get my writing groove back. But I’m a bit overwhelmed.
Going back to the quote at the beginning of my post, I am realizing that I’m my own worst enemy when it comes to being distracted and drowning. I need to develop some discipline if I’m ever going to finish my novel.
So what do you all do? You publishing writers out there: How do you organize your time? I see a lot of you engage in social media. How do you manage to do that AND work on your writing? Is it just a trick of the Internet that you all seem to be out and about on social media all the time? How do you manage to stay engaged and yet productive?
Thank you for reading, and thanks in advance for any advice you wish to share.
Bonus cat photo: Junior, the green-eyed bully who harasses Maxine until she poops.
Junior, green-eyed monster. Photo by Marie A Bailey
You all were so kind with my last post that I want to give you a brief update. Bear with me because the news starts out as not-good.
My sister had a setback on Saturday. She was moved back to the hospital and given IV fluids. We were all very upset, not understanding what was happening to her, and I still don’t know what happened. But the IV fluids worked! Early this morning my sister called her husband from the hospital and talked to him for 20 minutes! He reported that she was lucid, doing well, acting like her normal self. Since this morning, I’ve been getting texts from my nephews as they visit her and share their joy.
My sister was transferred back to the nursing home today, and I was able to talk to her this afternoon. She doesn’t remember anything about the weekend except that she had weird dreams. She chatted about how much she needs to get her hair washed and what clothes her husband should bring her since she’ll be in rehab for a while. She laughed and complained that her roommate had the TV on too loud so she wants someone to bring her ear plugs … otherwise she’ll go deaf. She laughed, and I was flooded with relief. She’s going to be okay.
As for my cat Maxine: after two weeks on antibiotics, she still has bacteria in her urine and elevated white blood count so a culture was sent off to a lab. We went through this with her a couple of years ago, trying different antibiotics and then a different vet (heh heh). We learned that an old cat such as herself could have a UTI that is untreatable by antibiotics. The thing is, she seems just fine. Aside from being hit-and-miss with the litter boxes, she’s spunky … like my sister.
This week, Patti has us thinking about size–from large to small. Her instructions (or suggestions, depending on how compliant you aim to be … (smile)): For this challenge, pick a color and select several photos that feature that color. Start with a photo of a big subject in that color (for example, a wall) and move all the way down to a small subject in that same color (for example, an earring).
I was initially stumped until I started looking at how others were meeting the challenge. The dim bulb in my head got a little brighter.
The color I choose is pink. When I was in my late 50s, I had an obsession with the color pink. I was buying pink clothes, pink laptop covers, pink yarn, pink fabric. I drank pink lemonade. My desire for pink ran amok. I think it was because I actually hated pink when I was a little girl. Blue was my color then. So maybe my obsession was just making up for lost time.
Tina asks us to go from large to small, here goes …
Here’s a variety of pink in a light quilt that I made many years ago. In the photo, I am under the quilt. Wendy is cradled by my legs, her nightly routine.
Smaller than my quilt is one of my favorite shirts, which is mostly pink. It’s made of quick-dry fabric making it a great travel shirt, and the color has not faded at all in the many years I’ve had it. Whenever I need a visual pick-me-up, this shirt does it for me.
Smaller than my shirt is … wait! What’s Maxine doing here? No, she’s not pink-colored, but she does have a connection to the color pink.
Maxine’s story
Maxine showed up on our back porch in January 2009 and refused to leave (she knows a sucker when she sees one … or two). We made the usual effort to try and find her original staff. After a few days of no response to our inquiries, we took her to our vet to see if she was chipped. Yes, she was! We learned then that Maxine hailed from Miami (only about 400 miles south of Tallahassee), that she had been adopted in 2004 (making her five whole years old), and … wait for it …
her original name was Pink.
However, she’s forever Maxine (or Max or Maxie) to us.
Smaller than a cat–! I bet you all were wondering when I was going to sneak flowers into this challenge. I recently purchased this Gerbera daisy (aka Barberton Daisy). I could look at it all day and every day … which, actually, I do since it’s on my deck.
The flowers of my Madagascar Periwinkle are definitely smaller than the Gerbera Daisy.
Lastly, smaller than them all, one of my favorite earrings in pinkish glass.
I hope you enjoyed my answer to this week’s challenge. Remember, if you wish to participate in the From Large to Small, be sure to link to Patti’s original post and include the “Lens-Artists” tag.
Personal note: I’ve closed comments on this post. My husband is scheduled for back surgery on Friday. Although it is outpatient surgery and a relatively simple procedure, I need and want to give him undivided attention now and through his recovery. I know you all understand.
Stay safe, well, and happy. Be sure to tell the important people in your life that you love them.
Last Friday we went on another bike ride to the St. Marks National Wildlife Refuge. Practice makes near-perfect. I’m becoming more comfortable riding bikes which is a good thing since my knees and feet no longer want to walk the miles we used to at the Refuge.
I rode bikes when I was growing up in New York, but I’m wasn’t then and am not now mechanically inclined. Cue my husband who patiently provides guidance on how to adjust the front and back derailleurs so I don’t fatigue my legs to the point of exhaustion … which is what I was doing on this latest bike ride.
The wind was against us … literally … until we got off the bayous trails and turned right toward the Pinhook River. The bayou trails can be grassy and soft. At one point I was riding slow, got distracted and felt my bike come to a stop. Now, for me, if my bike comes to a stop when I’m not ready, that can only mean one thing: I’m going to fall. Luckily, I was able to get my right toes on the ground. Unluckily, I was stuck on my seat. If I moved my right foot, I would fall. So I yelled to my husband and he came to the rescue, holding my bike handles until I could ease myself off the seat.
Luckily, no one but my husband was around to witness my humiliation.
The second time, I wasn’t so lucky and, more unluckily, I fell while on a small concrete bridge where we had stopped to take a break. I’m not sure what happened, only that I had gotten on my bike, the front tire turned when I didn’t want it to, and I couldn’t press the pedals hard enough to put the bike back in motion. I knew I was going to fall, and I did. Pretty hard on my right knee and elbow. Luckily, it was a cool day so I had layers on, although my knee still got some serious road rash (it’s been over a week and the scrape is still healing while the area below my knee displays a changing palette of yellows, blues, and purples).
After these two episodes of near- and definite falling, I adjusted my derailleurs per my husband’s suggestions.
I took fewer photos on this trip. I was too busy enjoying the views. The thistles were still in glorious abundance, alligators were here and there (but mostly there, thankfully), and the day was just lovely.
These photos were taken early on our ride, where the thistles were plentiful. You all know I’ve got a jones for close-ups, especially when insects are about.
See how industrious and tenacious this little busy bee was.
Here’s a panoramic at the intersection of a couple of trails. You can see why we keep coming back.
A view of the other side of the trail to the left.
On our way back to the car, we stopped for a moment and I took this photo. The light seemed particularly lovely right there.
And now for a Raji update!
Your eyes do not lie. That’s Raji and Junior “spooning.” Now, Junior really wasn’t thrilled that Raji wanted to snuggle, but we thought it was adorable! Every day we say how lucky we are that Raji is Raji: a lover, not a fighter. He’s also getting used to being petted, brushed and picked up. When he lived in the garage, he loved to be petted and brushed. When he came into the house, he shied away from both activities for a long while, but we’re wearing him down with love and patience.
Hope you all are well, happy, and healthy. Stay safe!
Monday (March 29) we went for a bike ride at the St. Marks National Wildlife Refuge. As you all know, the Refuge is my favorite part of north Florida. It’s a magical place full of birds, insects, flowers, trees, marshes, swamps, turtles, and alligators, to name a few of my favorite things. Without further ado …
Thistles, specifically, the Horrible Thistle (Cirsium horridulum)–no doubt named for it’s spiny stem and leaves–lined the trails we rode on. We had a slow start on our ride because both of us had to stop and take photos.
In all the years we’ve visited the Refuge, we’ve never seen so many thistles.
Insects were enjoying them too. I guess you could say there was a lot of pollinating going on.
Other wildflowers and creatures were in abundance as well.
Sagittaria platyphylla
Southern Fleabane, Aster family
My favorite frog, the tree frog, delta duck potato (that’s the Sagittaria platyphylla) and southern fleabane.
We took the long way around, over the farthest dike which I don’t believe I had been on before. We’ve traveled these trails by foot many times, but usually taking the dikes more inland. As we went back inland, more thistles.
A bald eagle on *his* tree. The majority of times we’ve come out here, he’s perched on that branch.
More water. I know there’s alligators in those waters, but often I wish we would ply our canoe around the marshy area.
It looks serene. Not too far from this spot, there is a primitive camping area. My husband said he’d like to camp there someday. Lovely idea … if only we didn’t have bad knees and bad backs and I wasn’t afraid of gators on land.
I could see he had a big grin, as if to say, “Come on in. The water’s fine!” No, thank you.
I think this guy was playing hide-and-seek. No matter where I walked, his head was hidden by the reeds. Fortunately, he’s too large to be completely hidden.
We saw a couple of other gators on our ride, but they were actually ON the trail so there was no stopping for photo ops. We just kept spinning our wheels and holding our breaths until we were clear.
Ah, life in North Florida. Even Raji likes St. Marks.
Ha ha ha … I LOVE photography apps! I made this photo of Raji at St. Marks with the Superimpose Classic app. It only costs $1.99, and this is the first photo merge I’ve done. I’m so happy with it, I had to put my name on it ;)
I hope you enjoyed the trip. Another one will be coming up soon!
I hope you all are well, healthy, happy, and vaccinated (if not now, then soon).
In the roughly two weeks I’ve been retired, I haven’t done a whole lot. I know some of you are probably rolling your eyes at that. I did say I would take a break, but even I didn’t take myself seriously. Nature did, though, so she put out the pollen–nice and thick–to get me to slow down.
My first few days and nights of freedom were surreal. I couldn’t sit still during the day, which was fine with my husband because that meant I was doing most of the cooking and cleaning; at night, I dreamt about work. Horrors. The nightmares dreams have pretty much stopped, thank goodness.
The pollen might have slowed me down, but I could still enjoy the scenery, even in my own front yard.
Azaleas in our front yard. The house on the left is ours.
Another view of the lovely azaleas.
Azaleas on the other side. Yup, that’s our ’94 Toyota pickup that we might never sell.
Close-up of azaleas next to truck.
Azaleas behind the truck.
Things weren’t too shabby elsewhere in the neighborhood.
A whole hedge of Chinese fringe flowers!
The pollen didn’t keep me from walking and taking photos. But then my body turned on me.
Last Monday we went for a bike ride, about 21 miles round-trip. Although I am a bit out of shape, I was surprised how sore my undercarriage (a euphemism I’m stealing from a British women’s cycling magazine) became. I thought I had plenty of padding going for me: cycling tights with a nice thick layer of chamois, my underpants, and a panty liner because, well, the restrooms are far between on the trail.
That was Monday. Then Wednesday night at 11 pm, just as I was settling into bed, I felt a burning sensation around my undercarriage and lower abdomen. Although it had been decades since I last experienced that sensation, I knew what it was immediately: the dreaded UTI.
For the next 6 hours, I had to pee about every 15 minutes. After the first hour, blood started to appear in my urine. I sat on the toilet with my iPad, reading up on UTIs and bladder infections and kidney infections. With the blood, I figured I had a bladder infection and I was in trouble.
You see, I was scheduled for a COVID-19 vaccination that Friday. The Johnson & Johnson one-shot. No way was I going to miss that! I was devastated, worried that if I called my doctor about an infection, they would delay the vaccination, but also worried that if I didn’t do anything, the infection would only get worse.
I exhausted myself and shortly before 5 am, I fell asleep. The cats woke me up at 7:30 because, you know, they don’t care that I was up all night. They were up all night, too, so it was nothing to them. After their feeding, I went back to bed. When I got up again, it was the strangest thing: my symptoms were gone.
So I kept my mouth shut and on Friday got my vaccination. I was still tired but it usually takes me a couple of days to recover from insomnia. By Saturday, I was getting suspicious. That burning sensation never completely disappeared and now I was bloated. Oh, how much I hate being bloated! It brings back all those awful memories of that time of the month and how miserable I would be.
I looked it up. Yup, bloating is a symptom of UTIs. And, by the way, bicycling can also cause UTIs. It’s the friction and pressure down there and, in my particular case, the fact that I was sitting on too many layers. Apparently, it would be better to go commando with nothing coming between me and my chamois.
So off I went to the doctor, peed in a cup, and got a prescription for antibiotics because yes, indeedy, I had plenty of white blood cells and even a bit of blood floating around in my urine.
Now I’m still tired but I’m improving. My husband has been the best, chauffeuring me to the doctor’s office (twice), the pharmacy, the grocery store and the bookstore (okay, that last one was an indulgence). I told him how I couldn’t have done all this without him, and he said, “Of course not. You’re sick.”
Wow. The irony. First two weeks of freedom and I get hay fever and a bladder infection. Still beats working, though!
I hope you all are safe, healthy and happy. If you haven’t been vaccinated yet, I hope you will be soon.
Raji and Junior checking out the squirrels in our backyard.
Raji spent Friday night inside the house with us. The temps were in the low 30s and we were disinclined to heat the garage again. As you know, Raji has been spending more and more time in our house, eating his meals on the other side of a bookcase from Junior. He had gotten to the point where he’d dash into the house as soon as I opened the door to the garage in the morning. Although he still loves going into the garage and checking out his play cage on that side of the house, you just can’t beat a screened-in back porch for entertainment.
I’m happy, no, I’m thrilled to say that his first sleepover was successful! I was prepared to be woken in the middle of the night by blood-curdling screams and yowls.
Didn’t happen. Nope, I actually slept pretty good that night, and when I woke the next day, all was quiet. Mind you, the cat door to the back porch was open, giving the cats more personal space even if it was cold. And my husband left the door to his rooms open (after making sure they were more or less Raji-proof) so, again, more personal space. None of my cats like closed doors. They see a closed door and they will fuss and bang until it’s opened.
So he slept inside again the next night, and, again, all was quiet until about 7 am when Raji came into my room and briefly mewed. He’s a quick learner. I am the primary feeder; therefore, if he wants to eat, he has to wake me up.
I feel so very, very fortunate that everyone is getting along … or at least tolerating each other’s presence … well, except for Maxine, but she hates all other felines anyway.
I managed to get out for a couple of neighborhood walks this week. On one, I took the time to admire our somewhat small but still lovely magnolia. I love the blooms, but I might love the buds more.
Light is everything when it comes to photography, at least for me as a newbie. Our tree had plenty of buds to photograph, but the light had to be just right to get a good shot. If the light is not good, no amount of editing is going to improve a blurry image. I am really pleased with how the photos of the buds came out.
On Saturday I went for an early evening walk. I had been tidying up the house all morning, then ran a couple of errands in the afternoon. I almost didn’t make my walk because I was tired, but Greg was still out on his bike ride, so I just made myself do it. I’m so glad I did.
It was the Golden Hour and I was walking on an easement between two houses. I had been picking up trash and had a full trash bag; but when I happened to look up and see the light, I dropped the bag and pulled out my iPhone. I love these pictures but they don’t do justice to the beauty of the sunlight on the trees and the half-moon against a blue sky.
I’m down to nine days left at my job. We’ve been very busy so, for my staff’s sake, I’m glad I didn’t take the month off as I had planned. I was able to pitch in and carry some of the load, but at the same time I am learning to let go … as I should.
While I do worry sometimes about being on a fixed income, at least I know I’ll never need to buy expensive cats toys and beds.
Thank you for reading! I hope my friends in all the states that have been hit by these brutal winter storms are well and safe, and that spring will soon be here for you.
Raji snoozing on the screened back porch. I think he really feels at home now.
It’s almost spring here. We had a few days of warmer temps and the magnolia trees in my neighborhood loved it. I was only able to get out a little bit this week so this post will be light on photos.
Work is winding up instead of winding down, and I guess I should have expected that. The Florida legislature goes into session on March 2, and my department’s leaders have been relentless with demands for data. Fortunately I work with a wonderful team of bright and creative analysts and, so far, we’ve been able to meet the demands.
But I feel too old for this. While my younger colleagues can enter data, format graphs, read and write emails, and carry on a conversation seemingly all at the same time, my brain and my body resist. It’s all I can do to keep from screaming, “STOP!” Instead, I ease tension by making snarky jokes about the powers-that-be. (What are they going to do? Fire me?) If I can make my team laugh, at least smile, I feel a little better.
I’m known (for better or for worse) for noting when the emperor is walking around naked. I’ve always been that way. I’ve always had a difficult time dealing with authority, clashing with anyone who tries to rule me. It’s one of the many reasons why it’s time for me to retire. I’m losing my ability to balance my innate distrust of authority with meeting that authority’s expectations of me to do as I’m told without question.
Meanwhile, as I noted above, the magnolias are blooming. These photos were taken on different days, one with some blue sky and sunshine, the other with the threat of imminent rain.
Redbuds are blooming too, making my husband a bit sad. He had planted a Redbud in our front yard many years ago but it never ever bloomed. Fortunately we have neighbors who have been much luckier. The photo below doesn’t do the Redbud tree justice, even after I tweaked it to bring out the color more. Trust me when I say I first gawked at the gorgeous color before taking the photo.
And I can’t overlook our resident hawk. This guy really likes this particular spot. Pretty much every time I come down that street, he’s hanging out, making the squirrels nervous. I call him Cool Hand Luke. I can stand directly under him (but off to the side to avoid being pooped on), and he pays me no mind.
In my own humble backyard, a bromeliad that a coworker gave me a couple of years ago is now three bromeliads and is flowering for the second time.
I’ve never had a bromeliad before so this plant is a new experience for me. I’m hoping the flower will expand more. The first bloom did not.
Well, I hope you enjoyed this little bit of neighborhood nature. On the cat containment front, things are pretty mellow. Raji hangs out with all of us from morning until night. Junior still bullies him but Raji just rolls with it (sometimes literally). He keeps trying to play chase with Wendy but she thinks his sideways galloping is too weird. Maxine just wants to be left alone, as usual.
Recently Raji discovered one of Junior’s favorite spots.
Junior likes to rub his face against a small sandalwood bowl that I put in there for him. Well, now Raji does too. It probably pisses Junior off.
From me, my husband, and our Gang of Four, we hope you all stay well, safe and happy!
As of this writing, I’ve been off work for a few days, getting a feel for life after the job. It’s a good feeling. One day I spent several hours knitting and listening to an audio book (normally that’s my bliss, but the novel–Last Rituals by Icelandic author Yrsa Sigurdardottir–was so full of cliches I could only listen to it if I was distracted by something else like knitting or housecleaning).
But the first day of my long weekend was spent with my husband, on a bike ride at St. Marks National Wildlife Refuge. A bike ride that almost didn’t happen. It started off nicely enough.
First, just before we left, I took a photo of the trees from beyond the roof of my house. See all that blue sky? After a few cold gray days, the blue was a balm to the soul.
At St. Marks, the blue sky and green pines and palms soothe my color-starved eyes. We hopped on our bikes and started cruising down Tram Road. My husband had found an old pair of panniers to attach to my bike so I was a happy cyclist, toting my own lunch, hot tea, and wool sweater instead of cramming everything onto his bike. I like to be independent when I can.
I was soaking up the blues and greens when I heard a soft chafing sound. Must be the panniers, I thought. My speed slowed as if I were going uphill. Only I wasn’t going uphill. The sound got louder. I came to a stop at the same time that I recognized the sensation of something being dragged. I bent over and looked at my rear wheel. It was not only flat. Its guts were hanging out of it.
I called to Greg and in a few minutes he had my bike upside down and the rear wheel off. The tire had come off the rim, and the tube had somehow twisted back on itself. He was perplexed and not confident that he could fix it. “I think we need to call it a day,” he said.
“NOOOOOOO!,” I responded.
We had riden less than one mile. I had been enjoying myself for less than nine minutes. The thought of turning around and going home seemed unbearable.
For the next 30-45 minutes, I watched my husband first pull out a new tube that he happened to have in his pack, pump it full of air, and fit it and the tire back on the rear wheel. Then I watched him examine the old tube, pump it full of air, search for leaks, and apply two patches. He said we still have to have a spare, even if it is patched.
My husband is a cyclist. He’s ridden centuries (100 miles) in California, taken weeks-long biking trips, and generally rides one of his two bikes a few times a week. While I watched him work, he told me about how he once had a Peugeot bike with sewn-up tires. It was during his early Navy days in San Francisco. Every time he rode that bike, it got a flat. After a few times of sewing the tires back on, he started carrying a spare set of tires to spare him the agony of sewing.
A guy like that is going to be prepared but also open to taking chances. After his work was done, I asked if we really had to call it a day. He gave me a smile and said, if I was willing, we could go ahead. Worst thing would be I’d have to walk back.
Here are a couple of scenes from the trail.
You might remember our last ride to the Pinhook River (6 + 4 Weeks: Holiday Relief and Bad Cats #Nature #corneredcats). Our timing on this trip was roughly the same as the last. By mid- to late afternoon, we’re at the river. The sun is sinking and casting light in weird and mysterious ways.
For the first time, I notice the colors of the river’s bridge. Maybe it’s the sunlight playing tricks with me. Maybe it’s whatever chemicals were applied to help preserve the wood. Still, I was entranced by these lines and colors.
Eventually we headed back to the car, pedaling steadily, Greg asking about my rear wheel every so often. It was holding up just fine.
About halfway, I stopped to take this photo, shot in “pano” mode.
It looks otherworldly to me, the blues and greens so lush and vibrant. At St. Marks, I always feel that I’m stepping into another world.
And then there’s home.
By the time we get home, the light has faded. Those trees lit by the sun in my first photo are now sliding into shadow.
Raji update: We’ve been letting him into the house interior, trying to familiarize him with the layout and the other cats. Maxine ignores him for the most part. Wendy runs away, and Junior tries to stand his ground, but only if he’s awake and not in a primo sunny spot on the couch. Sometimes Raji acts like he’s right at home.
On this particular afternoon, Junior and Maxine could not be bothered.
Thanks for reading, friends! Stay well, healthy, happy as you can be, and doubly safe (as folks are saying around here, “Don’t go downtown!”).
P.S.
The day after our bike ride, Greg went to take the bikes off the car and found that my bike’s front tire was flat. Then he went inside and bought me new tires.
Camellia from a neighbor’s yard. It was the one perfect bloom in a large bush. Photo is edited.
