I am learning to enjoy this condition termed retirement. Doing my own thing blesses me. I can spend an hour watching the birds preen and court. The rays of the early morning sun fall on the sparrow at just the right angle to see the dust go flying as he spreads his wings.
A vocal sparrow sends a message and Momo answers meow for chirp. Pogo lies on his side, the door runner his pillow. His nostrils flutter like a race horse's do when it rounds the back stretch neck-and-neck with its challengers.
When my body fails me, I lie on the couch and put together recipes in my head. When I finally arrive at something that sounds good and for which I have the ingredients, I put thoughts into action. This morning for breakfast I had chicken salad made from boiled chicken, a few walnuts, leftover crushed pineapple and mayo. I made just enough for one sandwich. Home cooking cannot be beat.
The weeds, at least the thistles, are like the wicked witch of the west when she was watered, slowly shriveling. Must be that poison. Sorry, K, I had no choice. The weeds came back as fast as I cut them down. Now if only I could get the yard mowed.
The couch will be the place to be this afternoon.
Later, Dude.
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