The Birds

From now on when I go outside to walk under the trees, I have to remember to take my camera. Today I saw a pair of jorees (rufus-sided towhee), a pair of cardinals, a brown thrasher, and a hawk in the bushes by Jerry's garden house.

Two chipmunks sat and watched me until I was almost upon them.

One day last week there was an eastern bluebird sitting on the grass.

In the future, I'll add pictures if and when I manage to get any.

The muscadine vines have a few grapes, but I think the birds are already at them, as each cluster has just 2-3 grapes. That's OK. The birds probably need them worse than I do, and the vines are pretty.

Lovely lunch with an old friend

I forgot to take my camera--just now thought of it. Bonnie and I met at Cracker Barrel and had a fine time talking over old (and new) times, and trying to figure out how to make my boys get married and have me some grandbabies. She has oodles of grandchildren.

This evening I made a simplified version of beef Stroganoff (no wine). I always found that wine made the sour cream curdle up instead of blending into the sauce. Anyway, it was really good, over vermicelli pasta. Mo and I ate the whole thing. Sometimes I wish I hadn't learned to make so many good dishes. No, I don't. I just wish I wouldn't eat so much when I make something good.

O Promise Me!

That I'll never have to read another book by Henry James. 400 pages of thickly-packed, page-long paragraphs; stories that you absolutely must know, but it's like trying to pick out enough hickory-nut goodies to make a meal. I have read one about every 15-20 years, but I'm going to try to resist opening another one.

Bonnie Patmon O'Neal called me today. We're going to meet Sunday for lunch. She lives in Moody.

I've got to go buy Mo some Purina cat food. He has Meow Mix, but likes to change frequently. When he quits eating the dry food, I know it's time to get another kind.

Grass shack, my eye! We want it all!

Awoke this morning to an Amazon sale of an old bound pamphlet that we bought at a Bham Library sale, 20 or 30 years ago, The Rulers of Hawaii. When I read last week that descendants of the Hawaiian royal family are reclaiming their titles and suing for their land (or payment for it), I immediately doubled the price of this book and tagged it with every relevant word I could think of. A publishing company in Honolulu bought it; maybe they're going to reissue it. It was published in the 1920s, so is probably out of copyright. I should have doubled the price several times. But I may have paid 50 cents for it, so $16 was a pretty good deal.

It's really interesting, illustrated with photographs way back into the 19th century, including photo of a painting of King Kamehameha I in his feather cloak. I used to have a color photo of that cloak that I clipped out of a magazine, that I'll include with the book if I can find it.



Later: This is probably the cloak I was thinking of. It was made for King K. IV, was restored in recent years and is in a Hawaii museum.

"Are ye right there, Michael?"

I just spent a couple of hours listening to one of my videos of the Irish tenors. All the way from "Phil the Flouther's Ball" to "Ireland, Mother Ireland." I don't think we love America as much as the Irish love their land. If we did, maybe we too would have a civil war that has lasted four or five hundred years. I tried to do some jigging to the livelier tunes.

Ronan Tynan, the tallest Irish tenor, showed out by doing a jig now and then on his two artificial legs. Amazing. The concert was filmed in Belfast, and you never saw so many and varied shades of red hair in your life as sat in that audience. I only watch these videos once every couple of years, and this particular one (filmed in 2000) is not as excellent as the first one (1999). But it's worth sitting through it to hear Finbar Wright sing "The Isle of Innisfree," one of the most beautiful songs I've ever heard.

Tagged

1. What I was doing 10 years ago: Copy editing and printing research proposals at UAB Medical Center.

2. What are five things on your to do list for today? 1) Pay some bills. 2) Move some furniture. 3) Clean some spots on the bedroom carpet. 4) Never-ending laundry. 5) Start reading one of the books in my to-be-read stack.

3. Snacks I enjoy: Corn Chex and skim milk, cheese and crackers with wine, pineapple sandwich, steamed baby carrots (I keep them in the refrigerator), tostitos and salsa.

4. Places I've lived: Leeds, Tuscaloosa, Birmingham, Montgomery, Huntsville and Selma, all in Alabama.

5. Things I would do if I were a billionaire: 1) Pay the IRS what they demanded. 2) Get a facelift and a hair weave. 3) Waste a lot of money. 4) Have some work done on my house, and finish the basement. 5) Give the rest away.

What is so rare as a day in June?

"...Then, if ever, come perfect days;
Heaven tries the Earth, if it be in tune,
And over it softly her warm ear lays;
And whither we look, and whither we listen,
We see Earth sparkle, and hear it glisten..."
from The Vision of Sir Launfal, by James Russell Lowell (?)

It took about a minute to remember who wrote that. All I could remember was "Lowell," and the old jingle, "Cabots speak only to Lowells,/ And Lowells speak to God."

Well, children, Mable had a great Book Club meeting at the library Friday afternoon. The book was Evidence of Things Unseen, which reminded me of one of Ralph Hammond's light poems. Susan has been too busy in recent months to do the newsletter, so I volunteered to revive it.

I just finished re-reading Mile High by Richard Condon. Brutal. It struck me that the first two-thirds of that book are pretty dense, being a detailed account of how Paddy West's son E.C. created Prohibition, then the stock market crash and the Great Depression. And in the process(es) became the richest man in the world, a psychopath and a murderer. It's really only necessary to read Book Two and Book Three, which make up the last third of the volume, to get the results, how West's two sons became good sane people, and the romance and marriage of the younger son. I don't know whether Condon had any factual basis for E.C. West, or made him up altogether, but for the last 30-40 years, when I think of the Depression or Prohibition, I shudder to think of E.C. West.

Yesterday I shipped the Andy Warhol book to a customer in Amherst, Mass. If I ever have to go back to work, I'm qualified as a box-maker. I get stacks of cardboard boxes at the stores and cut them down to fit odd-size volumes.

Sourwood Mountain is one year old!

I started this blog a year ago this month. Doesn't time fly, when you're having fun?

I think the first picture I posted on here was of the hydrangeas. They're sort of puny looking this year, because I didn't fertilize them, I guess. But the plants are about doubled in size.

More blue skies smilin' on me...

Whoopee! At about 2 p.m. today, I got an Amazon sale for $79.00. Spent about the rest of the afternoon constructing a double-layered box to mail it in, so was too late to mail it today.

This evening, a young female store clerk asked permission to guess my age, and she guessed 56 based on my hands and facial skin. So eat your heart out, all you young chicks of 60 and 64! On the down side, she was so young, she probably thought 56 was as old as a person could get and still be alive.

Bows and flows of angel hair...

"I've looked at clouds from both sides now,

From up and down, and still somehow,

It's clouds' illusions I recall.

I really don't know clouds at all."

(Joni Mitchell)

Yesterday for dinner, I sliced a tomato and some yellow squash and baked them on low for about 2 hours. Some account!

I just re-read George Orwell's book of essays about his betters. Kind of cruel to Dickens and W.B. Yeats, and R. Kipling (he thought Dickens seemed to be a Fascist, Kipling might have been, and Yeats definitely was). But Orwell wrote in the late 1930s-early '40s, when the British (and lots of American) self-styled intelligentsia were hoping that communism would triumph uber alles. (I would point out that this mentality also included Ronald Reagan, but that would involve juxtaposing that name somehow with the root word intelligent.) Of course, Orwell criticized communism, too. I wonder if he likes it where he is now.

He did point out that the instances of brutality in Kipling's stories didn't necessarily mean that K. approved of violence and anti-Semitism. But why didn't K. pause after every blow and deliver a sermon against it?

All of the above is unfair to Orwell. He was a brilliant writer, and he saw deeply into motives, attitudes and politics of different times. It just annoys me to see writers pigeonholed. Especially writers in whose works I have graciously ignored the bad and admired the good.

Nice weekend

The weekend was right pleasant. The chicken dish was better Saturday, with a little more seasoning, and even better Sunday with a can of Italian style diced tomatoes and two cuppa white wine (just kidding about the wine). Wine is too good to waste on food. "I often wonder what the vinter buys/ One-half so precious as the stuff he sells." I'm not quite that enthusiastic about it, but it is great with cheese and crackers once in a while.

And I got one little Amazon sale on Saturday. And we had lots of rain, which was good for the grass, which is so green it almost hurts your eyes. Sister Trois (Ramey) won prizes and publication for two short-stories, which made me about one-fourth as happy as if I had done so myself. Had lovely emails from Jed and other good friends, saying I meant something to them. No dreams about going through a building to get to the other side of the block quicker, and getting lost in the building (a recurrent dream, but not very recently).

Today I did the mailing, picking up prescriptions, returning library books, and grocery shopping--not awfully exciting, but nice to have them done.

Hope the rest of this week is pleasant, for me and everyone else.



(A Heron Dance water-color.)