Thanks

I understand why you might get fed up with me. I get fed up with myself. I want friends but I make being friends with me mighty hard. You who put up with this kind of abuse surprise me. I am thankful and know I am a lucky person.

Later, Dude.

Stop

Dadgummit, why are my emotions a train wreck every time I get sick?

RIP baby bird

After about 12 hours on the ground, the baby bird died. I suspect a neighborhood cat found an easy snack. I knew when I first saw the fledgling it did not have a chance. I watched mom and dad bird feed their baby; they did not abandon it all through the day. The pair of sparrows still worked as I closed the shade for the night.

I want to cry.

Later, Dude.

The birdwoman of Ridgecrest

The teenager came to mow today for the first time. He made eye contact, was polite and did a wonderful job. The teen vacuumer told me yesterday she would stay and do a couple of extra jobs. She vacuumed, including the baseboards. She also cleaned the front door, taking the glass out of the lower portion of the door. She cleaned under the crisper and the lower shelves in the refrigerator that are so hard for me to do. I am blessed to  have these two in my life.

Dr. House brought another male with him to feed today along with a couple of females. The mowing means I can observe the birds feeding habits a bit better. Today one of the birds used its feet to scratch up a cloud of seeds. It walked a bit farther and did the scratching again.

 I saw a sparrow hover like a harrier, its wings knocking the seeds from the stalks of grass.  I noticed nosy young birds hopping on the patio with my cats a few inches away (but behind glass).

Sparrows squabble. A spot on the fence becomes one upmanship. They squawk and fuss most of the time. They pick on each other like a couple of  brothers in the back seat of a car. The female shakes her booty and the male puffs up like a pompous politician. They do their little fence top tango. Afterward, they fly away in opposite directions.

I am losing the battle. I have been for weeks. I thought giving into my obsession would curb the cravings. I got one day's relief before I lost control again. I tried some of the best; some I had not enjoyed for awhile, thinking this move will fix the problem. Sad to say nope.

My stomach begins to burn in that familiar way. I stretch and twist, hoping to ease the discomfort. Yet my irresistible urge for satisfaction begins to overshadow all. I head for the kitchen where I hid the evidence of my yearning. There in the cabinet behind the bread and instant coffee it waits. Finally I give in, knowing the satisfaction of the moment will give way to guilt and pain.

The cacao bean got me again.

Boy, Dude.

Laters.+

Some more just me

Here you see my baking cabinet. Just enough room for what you see. The space continues on the left, but containers get lost in the corners where I cannot reach. I also manage to wound myself reaching into those dark spaces. Yes, you do see salt on two of those shelves. I use the umbrella girl salt to clean my iron skillet or if a recipe calls for salt. On the bottom shelf sits a sea salt grinder. Sometimes I allow myself a half-turn.

I took everything out of the cabinets I cleaned today, wiped the shelves down with an antibacterial soap and water solution (I had no bleach and refused to go get some). I tossed outdated spices and sorted the foods so I can find them more easily. I also did four drawers.

I also swept the kitchen floor and did a mountain of dishes.

Then I took a three-hour nap. I hope to clean the refrigerator tomorrow.

But you do not really care about all this, do you? I bet you are bored to tears.

Recognition for the writer, whether blogger or Pulitzer winner, hangs in the background as an impetus for toiling over a single word. You hope someone reads what you wrote and identifies with the emotion you try to describe. You want someone to pat you on the back and tell you job well done. Your brain struggles to find ways to touch others.

At times, inspiration comes from the desperation of loneliness. Experiences tint the atmosphere of what we write. Our imaginations allow us to be mini gods in control of our own worlds.

Anywho, Dude. I miss you.

Later.

While I am thinking about it

Everywhere I went today, people seemed on the edge. Either tempers flew or airheaditis prevailed.  The day featured backtracking and near misses. I needed to get out, but I should have stayed in.

I also ran into some long distance snags which resulted in my frustration and anger. I fumed about the business I had no luck dealing with. I finally decided to cancel the order and try another tact. Never mind that the whole mess caused me to miss a deadline. One I wanted badly to meet.

Spring means hairball season, a twice a year delight. The sound of hacking in the middle of the night means getting up and tracking down the cat and/or vomit, hoping you do not step in the mess before spotting it.

I bought a new mop and broom today. If the new instruments of cleaning do not make a difference in the amount of missed debris on the floors, then I guess my next step should be the eye doctor. Not five minutes after I sweep and mop the kitchen, my bare feet tell me I missed some bit of kibble. Just for five minutes I wish I could rest from work and then relish my trip to get a bottle of water.

I discovered tortillas. Oh, I met them often at Taco Bell, but my love affair grew after I brought a package home. Throw a bit of whatever lines the shelves of the 'fridge onto a tortilla, add cheese and picante and nuke for a few seconds. Heaven explodes in the mouth.

I am exploring the wonderful world of cheese. Varieties I have seen but not tasted get their chance in my shopping basket. After tasting the cheese in a sandwich or tortilla, I turn to the cookbook to examine further options. I do not possess a world class palate, but I love to try new foods at least once.

I also bought some wildflower seeds that love sun and some marigold seeds. Now I have to figure out how to plant the wildflowers so the lawn mower will not decapitate them every week. I may need to invest in more pots. Smallish pots would mean I could do most of the work sitting inside and then move the pots to the patio.

I have a cute little interloper in the gang of sparrows that hangs out on my fence. This little guy seems braver than his pals or maybe foolhardy fits better. He stands out in the crowd on the fence. Even with my poor eyesight, I recognize him by his red head and chest when he arrives. Dr. House (finch) resides somewhere close by. Mrs. House stops in for a nibble or two and sometimes Dr. House feeds her. I suspect a family nearby. Dr. House bravely pecks around on the ground long after the warning cry goes out among the sparrows. Dr. House jumps off the fence first or sips water from the pie plate first. Then the other birds swoop in and run the little fellow off. I spotted a robust robin the other morning. What a beauty!

Time for some relaxing.

Miss you, Dude.

Laters.

Wordless

The clean laundry sits in two baskets right where C placed them when he brought them in. The dirty dishes, stacked neatly, beg to be washed. When I walk into the kitchen, I am reminded the floor needs attention.

I spent yesterday alternately between the bathroom and the couch. Not real sure why. I did not feel especially bad, just my body getting rid of all the crap I had eaten in the past few days. Now, I admit, I am much more comfortable. Hopefully reason takes over now. Not the most fun way to spend a Sunday, I can assure you.

I hear the couch calling my name.

Later, Dude.