It's the Little Stuff That Matters

I have a resident robin, strictly a backyard bird. He prowls along the fence for bugs and worms, quite successfully, sometimes jumps up and sits on the fence, looking around, as birds do. I don't know if what I feel is warranted. It's just a bird, you know. But I am glad to see him here, glad he's mine. Even if he doesn't know it, he is mine.

Yes, I have more to do than watch birds, but I do work in my kitchen, and the window over the sink allows me to do just that--watch birds, this robin and my bird house sparrows--watch neighbors (I prefer birds but sometimes can't help it; I mean the neighbors are right there in front of my eyes), watch the changes in the daylight, and, of course, watch the ubiquitous squirrels.

I do not want to launch into another squirrel complaint.

The house around the corner has sold. Didn't take long, about two weeks. I find myself hoping they didn't pay what the realtor told me was the asking price, $414,000. I have met the woman but not her family. She doesn't look wealthy.

He has asked me twice if I want to sell my house. Guess what I told him. Twice.

Addendum: About that house, it sold for $450,000. Seems there was a bidding war between Gidleys' daughter and the family now living in the house. Good location, pool. But really. That is a lot of money.
As to the family who bought it, I have now become acquainted. They're in my ward. She teaches drama at Kuna High School; their boys go to Sage, nearby charter school; don't know what the dad does.
You wanted to know this. You know you did.

In My Neighborhood

The crows are quiet today. I'm guessing by their silence and what I see on the sidewalk below there's a baby up in that old juniper.

Yesterday, and every other day, the crows were hollering, putting the fear of crow into every living thing nearby, one crow on the very top of a pine tree around the corner, loudly announcing, "This place is mine. Stay back."

They try to put the fear into me if I step outside. It works. I picture a big crow swooping down to peck my head, send me running back into the house. It has been done before by those pesky 

red-wing black birds. This year we in this neighborhood have a bunch of crows, a gang, and you know what happens with gangs. They grow bolder by the day. One hard peck from a crow I'd remember a long time.

The juniper hangs over the fence into my yard. I wonder if the crows think I come out to do them harm, and I might say I would but that is not true, even if I could. I'd like to shoo them away . . .

but I don't fly and my shouts pose no threat. Years ago I would throw a rock up into the tree, just to frighten them. Fat chance. And I can't get a rock very high these days.

I heard a robin chirping for nearly an hour last evening, saw him in the neighbor's ash tree, excited, worried, calling out a warning: Crow is near, beware.

Today in my driveway I saw a feather torn by violence from some smaller bird's baby. I do not know for sure if it's a robin.

Today's Few Things

Yesterday we had about 20 minutes of beautiful rain, hard rain, like washing my roof and scrubbing it hard. Harder than you're thinking.

I loved it, watched it a while and gave thanks for it, wished it would last and last. I thought if it kept raining, then my mower men wouldn't come, and that would be fine. Better than that. It would be really good.

As it was, the beautiful rain cooled the day a little and just made things better.

*     *     *

Richard was here. Now he's gone home.

A nice six days. He always fixes things for me when he's here. He is a good fixer, but more important than that, he figures things out. A good and valuable skill: problem solver. 

Goodness knows he and all the rest of us have problems to work on.

I wish us well.

*     *     *

I'm afraid my writing group is nearly dead. "They" decided to meet only once a month. That new schedule to begin tomorrow, June 9. Now "they" have postponed it another month. A couple of people are not feeling well. At least one claims a Southern Belle's aversion to heat. A third claims that she might have some Southern Belle in her, too. Four of the five are not writing.

I've been writing. I want to share it. I have five or six things. I'm bummed. I want to find some people who write who want to and can get together. Good luck with that, Carol.

Hmmm.