Who goes there? Please leave comments so (An Aries Knows)!
Margot and Guinness are at the vet this morning, getting their semi-annual checkups. Since Pixie and Penny spent the night with us last night, they were snoozing with me on the bed when I was awakened by a strange and persistent clatter.
I jumped up, grabbed my camera, and opened the front door to shoot the sidewalk leading to the porch. Hail was falling fast and furious, clicking against all the windows and ripping dogs from their dreams.
Prompt from FMS Photo A Day.
How loud clocks can tick when a room is empty, and one is alone!
from Amy Lowell’s poem “The Blue Scarf”
Are children still taught to tell time in the old-fashioned way now that they have so many electronic devices?
We have clocks visible in every room of the house. In the guest room, we have an old wall clock of my mother’s that ticks so loudly Debby once complained about it. In our bedroom, we have a digital clock on the dresser and Tom has a Yoda clock on his nightstand. We rarely set an alarm because we have two of them whose hollow stomachs don’t allow anyone to sleep in. In the bathroom, we have a wall clock that was a gift from Tom’s grandma, I think. In the living room, every TV device visually blares the time, always. In the office, I can see my computer clock and the clock on the stove. Also in the kitchen, we have a clock we received as a wedding gift when decorative geese were all the rage–it still works, and I’m sure geese and ducks will come back into style one day.
The one pictured above is in the dining room, a gift from Tim that fits in with all the other sunflower decor in there. I can hear it ticking, too, when I’m sitting in a silent house sewing or painting at the dining room table. I’ve known that feeling Amy Lowell describes–when a house is too empty and a clock is too loud. But with the dogs snoozing near me, it’s more a companionable than a lonely sound.
Prompt from FMS Photo A Day.
Mine hasn’t yet bloomed, so here’s a shot of a neighbor’s orange gerbera daisy.
For my friends in the Northeast, I’m NOT adding bouquets of pink to be mean. I’m simply showing you what lies beyond your blizzard. Come August, when heat and mosquitos have enslaved me within my house, you can publish photos of balmy days in the garden, breezy times on the water, etc.
Hydrangea.
Lantana.
Impatiens.
Yellow jacket on redbud blooms.
Prompt from FMS Photo A Day.
Current Photo Friday theme: My Environment
A yawn or a laugh?
I wonder how many people are trying to read my blog and getting a message that it’s been suspended? It was, because it was ruthlessly attacked by malware. It was like something out of Star Wars! But Han Solo or somebody at my hosting site and I spent a lot of time on the phone Thursday morning getting it all fixed. Only if people don’t clear their browser history/cache, whatever it’s called, they’ll keep thinking the account is suspended.
If no one can see my blog, DO I EVEN EXIST?!?
Y’all can totally see me sitting here at my desk, right? Hello? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?
Today, Lila spent a few hours with me at The Compound. As you can see, it was a tough gig for the dogs and me.
Like so many people everywhere, she’s been sick, so a little down time was probably a good thing. Plus she shared her Cheetos® with me, so WIN!
Things you find in a kitchen drawer and you don’t know where they came from.
ETA: This is only about 1.5 inches tall. I’m wondering if I got it at a Dean James signing for one of his Trailer Park Mysteries.
Dear Aunt Debby:
We thought you might like seeing how we enjoyed your Christmas presents.
Margot: “I’m showing you nothing. I am NOT a Circus Clown Dog. Stop calling me that.”
Pixie: “Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.” (To human ears, this sounds like, Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. Repeat. Forever.)
Guinness: “No, thanks. Did I see treats? I thought I saw treats. I’m pretty sure there are treats.”
Sugar: “I’ll play with the cute Santa–”
Pixie: “MINE. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.”
Who don’t you see? Penny. Couldn’t be bothered. Until these were opened. Then she snatched one and ran so quickly there was no opportunity to get a photo.
THANKS, AUNT DEBBY.
Love,
Margot, Guinness, Pixie, Penny, and Sugar
P.S. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.
ETA: Later, here’s the first fatality–Santa Toy–next to the seizure-inducing gnome.
Our weather has been so crazy in Houston lately. There’ve been days when I wake up and turn up the heat because the house is so cold. By mid afternoon, I have to switch to air conditioning because it’s hot. That night, a cold front will move in behind rain, and it’s back to the heater. Houston has multiple weather personality disorder.
Friday morning was gorgeous, but I’d checked my weather app and knew it was predicted to cloud up later and possibly rain. Since I wanted to grill burgers for Craft Night, I did it early in the day.
As I was coming through the back door, plate of burgers and spatula in hand, I flashed back to the March when my mother was in New Jersey with Debby for Josh’s birth. My pal Rhonda F–the one who pierced my ears during that same time (something my mother had forbidden, mwahaha)–was over at our house. Daddy was grilling burgers. Whenever he manned the grill, we had to keep an eye on him because he tended to burn things. But on this day, he took the burgers off at just the right time. As he was coming through the back door, the plate tilted, burgers slid from it to the floor, and he blasted, “Shit. SHIT. SHIT!” Since Rhonda knew him best as her assistant principal, this was very shocking to her. Not to me, though. I just whipped those things back onto the plate after giving them a cursory inspection, knowing that my mother LITERALLY had a kitchen floor so clean you could eat off of it.
That would not have been true in my house had that happened to me on Friday; I’m not the housekeeper Dorothy was. But don’t worry, Tom, Tim, Current Day Rhonda, and Lindsey. Your burgers suffered no mishaps at any step along the way.