Home for Now

It’s very quiet around here. Ambient noise is reduced to almost nothing, so if a bee buzzes by, it’s a big deal. I have the good luck to be healthy — I’ve been here a week, so I think I’m good to go — so of course I’m catching up on things. This is the underside of a yew tree in the front garden. I have cleared out the twiggy dead stuff, to make it safe to move around in the space. I see a haven from the heat waves, maybe.

We are finally furnishing the little apartment attached to the house. So, lots of unpacking and sorting. We’re not there, yet, by any means, but it feels good to at least have the clutter moved out. The space is starting to look habitable. Some pieces are a little tired, so livening them up is surely a next step. And, um, something on the walls, please, and while we’re at it replace the bargain basement lamps with something better, and and and… All in good time.

It’s a work in progress, as is the sorting of everything that came out of the space. Some of the clutter has waited five years, now, for me to decide what to do with it. I’m always looking for the next project. By the time I get through the learning curve, I’m bored and ready to move on. It is good that I have this enforced tidying time. I tell myself I’m making room for the next thing.

As you can see, I am improving my chess. I have a long way to go. A little knitting — someone’s birthday is coming up and said someone wants a sweater. A little reading. And maybe a little nap.

It can be a scary time right now. A lot of plans have gone awry. A lot of housebound kids are driving their parents absolutely nuts. And, of course, some folks are pretty sick. I hope you are in none of those categories, that for you, too, this is a good time to slow down, to catch up on whatever is in need of that. And give in to a few silly songs.

Jacques Report

I have become an accessory to murder. This is Jacques, digging madly, looking for mice, in a spot I pointed out to him. I guess he figures where there is one mouse, there could be a zillion of them.

He basically mashed the little guy to death, the way he mashes his squeak toys. Then he just moved on. Maybe he was disappointed that the guy didn’t squeak. Dunno, but I may have created a sociopath.

Look, he has just moved on, in search of another victim. My cute little dog, looking good in what is about to become his famous blue raincoat, is a serial killer. All my railing about cats has fallen on deaf ears. It’s not just the cats who weren’t listening.

Can I claim I just didn’t know, like a driver of a getaway car? Didn’t even know the little white dog, just seen him around a couple of times?Would I then have to admit I was just out planting poppy seeds? Yes, That kind of poppy seeds, so maybe I’m becoming a drug lord, too? Maybe I should say yes, we did those things, and I do fervently hope the poppies come up, but it’s not who we are. Would anyone believe any of that?

Oh, my. I guess the best I can hope for is that the owls will find the carcass, make a free meal of it.

Clearly Jacques doesn’t care, as long as he can keep going. But first, the mug shot.