The Yellow Season

It happens every spring. No, not Ray Milland's pre-Flubber baseball-avoiding cream, but the blossoming desert willows, then the palo verdes, then the mesquites.  It brings pollen along with the color.  But as a last blast before the summer heat and winds dry up ever bit of brightness, it's really quite glorious.

Here is some of it from years past.  I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

Yes, the sun bleaches some of it out, but that's what I get for living in the desert.  
 

A Smile For Your Weekend

The young person attached to these hands

lives with her two parents and their work from home, full time jobs.  Most days she goes to a Montessori day care (she's 1; I can't really think of it as school) nearby.  Recently, though, she's been spending a lot of time at home.

It was first diagnosed as something that it wasn't and was given an antibiotic to cure what wasn't wrong with her.  

When the lab report finally came back, they gave her a different antibiotic to fix what really was wrong with her.  

Through it all she's had the sniffles.  Turns out that's now an ear infection, a left over from the one she had at the beginning.  Not surprisingly, she was prescribed another, stronger antibiotic.

Her exhausted father, battling a cold of his own, called for some sympathy from his much-too-far-away-to-be-any-help parents.

He ended his sorry tale with the news that their pediatrician suggested probiotics for a few months......probiotics..... antibiotics..... ambivalent biotics.....

Two Good Books

David Allen Sibley's bird book is still out for browsing, but I had another successful visit to the library and have two treasures to share.

*****

I'm embarrassed to say that I've never read anything by Jane Smiley before.  I have seen her books on the Get Lucky shelf over the decades, but I've never been tempted.  But my last visit presented me with her latest oeuvre, a mystery, and I decided to take a chance on A Dangerous Business..

I'm really glad I did.

Set firmly in Monterey just before Fort Sumter, the place is as much of a character as the two prostitutes who decide to investigate a homicide or two.  The picture she paints of that lawless, muddy, male dominated town left me wandering those streets long after I closed the book for the night.  There's cross-dressing and fine dining written on a canvas of abolitionists and women's rights and international relations.  

It's not a difficult read at all, which is what I feared.  The day to day minutiae assume increasing importance as the story rolls along.  The writing is crisp and the plot is slightly surprising.  What's marvelous is watching it all unfold through the eyes of a very resilient young woman.

*****

Phyrne Fisher is one of my favorite characters in literature.  Kerry Greenwood has written twenty-something novels with her at the center, and I've relished each and every one of them.

Murder in Williamstown follows the sexy, rich, smart, pistol-packing, fabulously dressed, lady detective through dalliances with fascinating men while solving a few crimes along the way.  As with Jane Smiley's depiction of coastal California, Greenwood's Australian landscape is part of the story's allure.  

You could start with this one, but the characters build upon one another from Book 1, which would be a much better place to start.  

I Needed a Break

The world is too much with me these days.  Wordsworth was right, nature is the balm I was missing.  

But it's really really hot outside for most of the daylight hours, and I can only swim for so long. 

So I betook myself to Costco for flowers and the library for David Allen Sibley's oversize book with the best title ever - What It's Like To Be A Bird.  I settled myself at the kitchen table with Queen T's vase and Brother's sculpture,  and found out that hummingbirds' colors are not pigments, but are feathers angled to catch the light in a certain way.

Who knew?  

The Hardest Problem

I loved Lawrence of Arabia.  Not just the movie, but his whole story, right up to his fatal motorcycle accident.  Gertrude Bell, an archaeologist and Arabist and British diplomat, a woman who rode around Mesopotamia like it was Kansas, held my interest for quite a while.   

What no one told me was what those two were up to after WWI.  By the time the Western powers were finished divvying up the spoils, the groundwork was laid for disaster.

No one wanted the refugees created when Israel was formed.  

No one seems to want them now.

When I was in Hebrew school, twice a week from elementary through high school, I never heard anything about those displaced when Jews found a safe haven from the hate in the world.  The land was barren and empty until those hardworking Zionists came to town.  Suddenly, there was irrigation in the Negev and civilization from border to border.

Was there nothing there before?  It was certainly never mentioned.

And now all those displaced persons' descendants are once again unwanted.

And the Jews are unwanted, too, with antisemitism on the rise and now heightened by Bibi Netanyahu's absurd incursion into Gaza.  And yes, it is an absurd incursion.  If their special forces couldn't find the hostages then and can't find them now, then bombing the whole place to extinction is certainly not going to find them in the future.

It's possible to be Jewish and against all this, in Israel and in the US.  It's like loving America but despising what the Lying Liar did in our name.  It's loving America but despising LBJ's perpetuation of the Viet Nam War.  

The news of what's going on in Gaza has pierced the veil of TikTok videos and Instagram selfies on the phones of this generation of protesters.  That's a good thing.  People should be outraged.  Young people should sit in and march and share what they know and what they feel.

They should also be prepared to suffer the consequences.  Having an arrest record changed the course of a friend's life, and he was mad at the system.  But the system was what he was railing against; what did he expect?  

Having the courage of your convictions sometimes involves real courage.  As the police march onto campuses we will see just how deeply held those convictions are.  

I'm glad that the noise has been raised.  I'm glad that the issue made the front pages.  If I were paying for that education, I'd wonder what else they thought they'd accomplish.  Finish the degree.  Run for office.  Be the change.  It doesn't take much to get arrested, it seems.  The work of tikkun olam  - repairing the world through action - is much harder.  

Three More Weeks

It's not even May yet.  Three Mondays from now, the Prince scholars will be on their summer break.

Did I mention that it's still April?  

When I was a child, school went through the third week in June, usually coinciding with Brother's birthday.  May was for starting to work on your year end project.  May was not for summer vacation.

It definitely feels like summer, though.  It happened overnight, everyone agrees.  One day it was cool in the morning and the next we were sweating through our usual 9 am walk.  The container plants need watering twice a day.  

Shade is at a premium.  The principal's husband drilled a hole in the stump of our dear, departed tree and now Grandma's Garden has an umbrella. Parking spaces under trees are at a premium.  

My navy and black clothes, my long sleeve shirts, and all but one of my sweatshirts are comfortably ensconced in a clear plastic container, ready for TBG to lift them up on the shelf and out of the way. It's white pants and cotton skirts and sleeveless linen tank tops from now until Halloween.  

I have three weeks to gather my end of year treats for the teachers and staff and the garden leaders.  I have to figure out how to divvy up the plants in the garden.  Who will take home the blueberries?  The strawberries?  All those scallions attached to onions below?  

No more pot roast for a while.  Chicken salad and gazpacho are just more appealing as the temperatures edge up toward the 90's.  

The pool really doesn't need the heater.  Pulling weeds then jumping in the most water we've ever owned reminds me why I love living here..... even if it's likely to hit 100 before school is out in three weeks.

Three more weeks.... have I mentioned that it isn't even May yet? 

Beauty and The (Absent) Beasts

I thought I'd seen everything, until Sunday afternoon.  

TBG's spin class had a party in Doug's backyard, with its spacious grounds and fantastic views.  There were a few birders in the group, and they kept me amused by identifying the calls we were hearing. 

Then the host said he had something that someone could try.

It's a hummingbird hat, complete with nectar holders in front

and a strap in the back.  

Stability is probably important if the birds come calling.  That night, they were uninterested.

Ready for Some Comic Relief?

The Supreme Court dallies, the war against women continues, and the sun waited to come out from behind the low, light grey clouds until just after 5pm.  I was in need of a smile, and the talking heads on MSNBC were up to the challenge.

*****

On March 25, Christina Bobb was named the Republican National Committee’s senior counsel for “election integrity” .  

Today, less than a month later, she was indicted by Arizona's Attorney General for her role in the fake elector scheme to undermine the integrity of the 2020 election.   

I'm reveling in the irony.

*****

For those not living in the weeds with me, here's Wikipedia's introduction to our next giggle: John Charles Eastman is an American lawyer and academic who has been criminally indicted and recommended for disbarment for attempting to keep then-president Donald Trump in office..  (emphasis added)

Joyce Vance, former US Attorney and current law professor and writer of a wonderful Substack, opined on the sad state of John Eastman's life with this:  Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

*****

And finally there was Joy Reid, contemplating the probability that one of the eighteen co-conspirators in Arizona's election interference case would flip on the others:  An indictment certainly clears the mind.

*****

It feels good to laugh, doesn't it?

As If It Couldn't Get Worse

The first thing that happened wasn't a surprise.  The Supervisor rang our bell at 7:30 to share his plan for the day.  Once certain measurements were made and approved, his team would fill in the hole and be out of our way.  We were to expect him to be back around 10am.

10am came and went.  

At 11:06am, we had lost everything except electricity.  No internet.  No land line.  No television.  No wifi hot spot. 

After resetting the system with Xfinity's AI (shudder) didn't help, I wandered back to the burly young men in the ditch behind my home and asked if it might be possible that our problem began with them.

Much mumbling ensued.  Feet were objects of great interest.  When they realized I wasn't going away, one of them said something about maybe cutting a cable.  The Supervisor wasn't around.  I left them in the ditch.

Inside, I called Xfinity and explained the situation to a live human.  She bumped it up the food chain.  When I returned from lunch (a post to come) TBG met me in the hall.  They called with the worst possible news.  Xfinity won't come if there's an open hole and work in progress.  The guys say they won't be finished until Friday.  We have an appointment for next Monday.

No connectivity for a week was unacceptable to TBG, who watches the markets and Perry Mason and over-dressed humans talking about sports all the day long.  I wondered if Little Cuter remembered how to post here, to explain my absence.  

As TBG considered expensive solutions, I called the contractor.  The receptionist listened to my tale of woe and said the person I needed to speak to was gone for the day.  She did not realize to whom she was speaking.

I explained that her company had broken stuff, that we were unwilling to shoulder the burden of living without this stuff that they broke, that it seemed to me that they were going to be on the hook for our hotel bill... which reservation I couldn't make because I had no internet.  I needed help because this was an emergency, a disastrophe of their making.  I tried to sound as pitiful as I could.

She sent me to a voice mail but he'll be off the phone soon and call you, I  know he'll call you.  (He never called.)

The Supervisor rang the bell as TBG fumed.  He was perfect.  He'd fill in the hole and Xfinity would do their thing and all would be right with the world.

A delightful if somewhat talkative young man at Xfinity called a friend, if I would just hold on for a bit, and before I knew it I had an appointment later that afternoon.  

Things were looking up.  Then the doorbell rang.  We shared a look, I opened the door, and saw an Xfinity guy in a red polo shirt running to a white Xfinity repair truck while waving to me and saying You're good to go!

After calling into the house to share the good news with TBG, I walked out back to The Supervisor.  

Did you do that?  How did you do that?

I have friends in low places.

Best answer, ever.  

He laughed and told me about the status of the project, what to expect going forward, all the while smiling as I gazed upon him with admiration and respect and delight and profound pleasure in spending time with someone who is very good at all aspects of his job.  

And one who is willing to, as he told me, make calls to low places.

I hesitate to say the saga ends here........

 

Earth Day (Belated)

 (This is the 8th post I ever wrote, back in 2009.  I like it just as much today as I did then.  That must be true, since I have now posted it 14 times... even one day late, it still resonates.)

I like Earth Day. I was there at the start, after all.

Created in large part by U.S. Senator Gaylord Nelson, in the world of 1970 it was a touchy-feely alternative to the harsher realities of the anti-Vietnam War protests. War was such an uncomfortable subject and arguing against it made your parents wonder why they were spending tuition dollars while you were telling the lawfully elected President of the United States of America that you knew more than he did. With your picture in the crowd on the front page of the NY Times. At 18 years of age, no less. 

But planting trees? Recycling newspaper? Not littering? And all this in service to Mother Earth. Who could be aggravated about supporting Mother Earth?

Earth Day had teach-in's. They were more fun than sit-in's, which invariably involved police and disciplinary action. They were less fun than be-in's, which owed more to Timothy Leary and The Grateful Dead than to anything political or practical. Teach-in's were earnest and had hand-outs and statistics and pictures of desolate landscapes ravaged by the cruelty of man. There was science and legislation and outrage and lots of tree give-aways.

Earth Day had no mandatory family gatherings. It required no gift giving, no card sending. You went outside and did something - cleaned a playground, weeded a median strip, planted one of those free trees. You felt good because you were doing good.

Now there is Earth Week and "We're greener than you are" tv networks. Were this still 1970, there would be protests about the idea being "co-opted by 'the man'". Instead, Sheryl Crow is designing re-useable grocery bags for Whole Foods and Wal-Mart is selling others next to the discounted paper towels.

And Mother Earth is grateful.