Frantic Friday

Tony said the fleas are in the yard, and that's the reason they're so hard to get rid of in the house. Someone from Cook's is coming over today to treat the yard, or to arrange a time to do it, I didn't understand which.

Yesterday I succeeded in getting the white cat into the pet carrier, and took him to the vet, wailing all the way--both of us: The cat wailed, and I sang to him. But however, the vet was closed, as it always is on Thursday afternoon, which I didn't know or had forgotten. So we wailed our way back home, and I set the pet carrier down on the patio. I called Ramey at the lib. and told her he was in the carrier, and we decided we'd just let him out for the time being. So I went outside to let him out, and the dear thing had got out of the carrier and was sitting on the deck rail. So I warmed him a bowl of milk, he drank it and left.

I've made progress on the dollhouse. All I have to do is finish papering the spare room walls, replace the floor, restore the baseboards and window moldings, and paint the upstairs hall ceiling. And put some curtains on the spare room windows. I'm determined to get it done today.

Yesterday I ordered a set of dollhouse dolls for Dave's little girls, because I want to keep all my people, which are too small and mostly fragile for children to play with anyway.

***

This is a poem I wrote in 1982, in remembrance of JFK. It doesn't seem to have much relevance to him except the name, but it's what I felt at the time:

November 22

 

The tide’s out, the tide’s in;

Watch ne’er so faithfully,

But nevermore comes Johnny,

Our Johnny o’er the lee.
 

The beckon light’s a glimmering

Half over to the sea;

And all the song that I can sing

Is Johnny o’er the lee.