Tag: compound

A Starbucks miracle

I don’t actually have a Starbucks in hand, but I was thinking about Starbucks when suddenly one of my most elusive character names popped into my head. It has NOTHING to do with Starbucks, so I don’t know why it did. Nonetheless, yay, Starbucks.

There was a lot–a LOT–of sawdust in the yard after the Sawing of the Tree. Tom left me a note this morning suggesting that the leaf blower would be a good way to clean up the yard, and he’d do it when he got home, unless someone else wanted to play with the leaf blower. (It’s fun! Lightweight and electric, so not as noisy as some of them–it sounds more like a powerful hair dryer.) I got it out of the garage today and cleaned up behind the house a little, then Tim emerged from the TimLair and said he’d do the front lawn. He worked like a demon cleaning up leaves, tree debris, and sawdust, tending to broken plants, sawing off partially broken limbs on the other trees, and watering.

I went outside to sit with EZ and take in how refreshing it all looked, and Tim pointed out two visitors in the bougainvillea, Mr. and Mrs. Cardinal. The mister was getting a nice shower from the sprinkler and grooming himself. I’d actually seen him for a second this morning on my neighbor’s tree, but this time they were both back in my yard where they belong. It made me happy.

Button Sunday

Last night I uploaded my Hurricane Ike photos to share with you, and I realized that almost all of them are of broken and felled trees. It’s not that I don’t care about the damage to structures; I do. I feel compassion for people who’ve lost their homes or are dealing with roofs, leaks, flooding, and broken masonry, fences, and hearts. But I think the truly dramatic photos that capture human suffering are taken by far better photographers and are available to anyone online and on television.

Also, I just love trees. I love their grandeur. I love thinking of how they’ve been around longer than us and will be standing when we’re gone. I love the music they make when the wind blows through them. The shade they provide us–and often their bounty of nuts and fruits. The home and playground they provide to wild things. Some of the best memories of my life are of playing under trees, climbing them, and walking through them in forests.

The day before Ike came, I took some photos outside. I stared up into my elm at all the nests, unsure if they were birds’ or squirrels’ nests. I watched the doves and jays and cardinals–the pigeons and grackles that other people dislike, but I rather admire–and all the little birds whose names I don’t know, and wondered how they would fare.

After Ike, with the elm split in two and many of its branches gone, the nests are gone, too. I haven’t awakened to the sound of the mourning doves for over a week now. Today a power company crew took our tree down. I know it had to go. It was broken, and sooner or later it would fall. We’ll plant again, of course, but I will miss my pretty elm, and I know the birds and squirrels will miss it, too.

As I told Tim a few days ago, he and James have taught me to make peace with pruning because it’s necessary for new growth, so I will think of Ike as Nature pruning herself. Still, I think the loss of old friends always deserves to be noticed.

the Ike photos

Belated Button Sunday

ETA 2022: Whatever the code was for this button has been tampered with and the link no longer works. So I replaced it with this one.

We have power and Internet access at The Compound. Millions in Houston and the surrounding area do not. I hear Ike has caused power outages in many places on his path north. We are so grateful that everyone here is well–that includes Tom, Tim, me, the Compound Dogs, visiting Mark G. Harris, and Rhonda, Lindsey, and Sugar, who are hunkered down* with us as their power is still out.

Will post later with details and photos, as I’m sure Tim and The Brides will, as well. I know some of our LJ friends are not as fortunate as us right now, and I’m sending all good thoughts your way–which I know from my messages and e-mail everyone is doing for our part of the Gulf Coast.

*Favorite newscast before the power went out on us: Reporters encouraged their viewers to e-mail their web site with variations/synonyms on the phrase “hunker down,” most overused words in the news over the past week.

And more waiting…

I’m going to get back to sewing now. Everything we can do is done. Lynne assures me that all is ready out at Green Acres. (Hard not to remember how it was our refuge during Hurricane Rita–so much has changed since then.) Denece assures me that all is well out at the Democrats’ Den. (I forgot to tell her a crazy dream I had about being at her house–I’ll save that for our next conversation.) All is well at RubinSmo Manor with The Brides and Sugar.

Here at The Compound, the sun just began to shine again after the sky had been overcast for a couple of hours. We’ve had some breezes, but the wind hasn’t reached us yet. Windows are taped here and at the TimLair. We’re filling up our tubs now. Batteries are in the radios and flashlights.

I promise, I’ll update as I can. For now, you should know that the first hideous sign of Hurricane Ike has arrived. He’s sent out his flying sock monkeys, and they are devouring me from the feet up. SCARY!

So now we wait

We have plenty of water. We’ll fill our bathtubs with water tomorrow in case we lose power so we can flush our toilets. We have food and a way to cook it in case we lose power, and dog food. We have batteries for our radios. We won’t have a battery-powered lantern or a hurricane lamp, because there are no lanterns to be found and there is no oil to be found for Tim’s lamp. Our cars are fully gassed, but we won’t be evacuating. We just hope the wind and the flooding don’t come or aren’t too bad.

Mark G. Harris is here, so I guess Hurricane Ike is doing all this in his honor. Welcome back to Houston, Mark! Mark, Tim, and I will be sewing our Runway Monday designs by candlelight if we have to. No doubt Tom will read aloud to us and all the dogs from something like Dickens or Thackeray. Just like the first hurricane!

Meanwhile, all day long, two things have dominated my thoughts. The first is that I don’t have to worry about my mother’s situation should things get bad. She was always our first concern, and I send out all good thoughts for the elderly and those caring for the elderly during storm preparations.

The second… Well, no matter what’s going on here with Ike, I’ll never forget the day my beautiful great-nephew Steven was born in 2001 while the country watched events unfold in D.C., NYC, and Pennsylvania. We still continue to heal.

My Day

Today I have the bastard of all headaches. This is punishment for announcing to the world last Friday that I haven’t had a headache in forever. I’m full of drugs, which means my typing is for shit. I’m having to correct like every fifth word or so.

I gave the dogs marrow bones, however, because when I’m suffering, I like to make them happy. And also hear the constant gnaw-gnaw-gnawing of teeth against bone. That’s some great headache relief!

Tim came over earlier to let me know he’d sent me a couple of youtube links. I watched them and laughed. Unlike the gnaw-gnaw-gnawing of bones, laughter really does provide me moments of headache relief.

Thanks, Tim.

I was gonna ask my fab readers what you might want me to post today. Photos of family members? Photos of last week at Hermann Park with Lindsey? Dog photos? Diatribe about politics? Heartwarming anecdote about meerkats? MORE BARBIE DOLLS?

Eh, here’s what you get. Enjoy.

On this day in 1828:

Novelist, philosopher, and religious mystic Count Leo Tolstoy is born in the province of Tula. In 1908 his admirers organize a Tolstoy fund and a grand jubilee to celebrate his 80th birthday; he responds angrily: “When there is nothing left to think about but death, they want to bother me with that!” The committee subsides, but the public is already aroused. Presents are received, messages of congratulation arrive from Thomas Hardy, Bernard Shaw, George Meredith, and H.G. Wells; crowds gather outside his house, along with a brass band and photographers.

I LOVE cranky old writers! I’m naming today’s headache Tolstoy in his honor.

Quoted material from A Book of Days for the Literary Year.

Randomish Question

Today I’ve been getting nagging little odds and ends done to the sounds of another bungalow coming down in the ‘hood. Will it be replaced with a two-unit eyesore or a three-unit eyesore, I wonder.

I’m also sewing. So far, I haven’t stabbed myself with a needle. This is progress.

Now for the question. David quoted at me from the movie Steel Magnolias, which made me wonder…

Which Steel Magnolia are you: M’Lynn, Shelby, Clairee, Ouiser, Truvy, or Annelle?

Beyond the Valley of Runway Monday

I think I’ve gotten over the tragic failure of my design to have the judges praising my name in the streets and bearing me on a litter to a celebrity-packed event in my honor. I’m strong that way.

I took Rexford out for a visit to Green Acres Monday night. He was supposed to stay, but it didn’t work out. His old pal Sue seemed a little cranky, and after his visit to the vet, Rex was in no mood for nonsense from anyone. Tim thought it might be best if Rex returned to The Compound to give Margot more material for her emo poetry (“The smiling dog is back…fool…I suffer…”) and Guinness someone to bump against and wail, “He started it! He DID!”

The dogs all got a clean bill of health. The vet said not to be overly concerned with their weight or their numbers on various tests, as all that can fluctuate on a raw diet, and the dogs all appear to be doing well. This, probably more than anything, annoyed Rex, because he keeps looking back at his ribs, then at us, to indicate that more oatmeal would be mighty fine. Mighty fine now. No, RIGHT now.

EZ and I are getting along well in the TimLair. Unlike the neurotics who stay with Tom at night, EZ’s personality fits her name. Everything is just okay with her. Feed me now, feed me later, I’m good. Walk me now, walk me later, or just keep trying to find us an America’s Next Top Model marathon to watch–all is well.

Except then the rains came. I woke up…well, on Tim’s schedule…and looked at EZ. Her eyes were inscrutable. Or maybe floating. So I took her out. Twice. The only thing that accomplished was to get me drenched. Lindsey called after the second attempt and brought over mocha frappuccinos for us to celebrate both her recent accomplishments in the art world and the hope that a single blade of grass in my yard might stay green because of Tropical Storm Edouard. Then, in the finest act of friendship ever, when the rain stopped, she took EZ for a walk, whereupon the dog finally let nature take its course.

If only I could develop the bodily functions of dogs into a full-length novel, I’d be gold.