Just an update.

I took my morning walk this afternoon--the days have gone cool, and this morning was too cool for walking. Even this afternoon I had to wear a jacket. Besides, I had to go to the dr. this morning.

My walk
On the grassy areas near the Wells Fargo Bank a genuine murder of crows--I counted 25--busied themselves and did not like my coming into their territory. They screamed at me as they scattered, many of them flying up to sit in the tops of the closeby honey locust tree, whose leaves, I noticed, have begun to turn. The tree thinks it's Autumn, this 13th day of September.

I wonder if the cool weather told my owl it was time to go. My little screech owl, who made his summer home in the tallest ash tree in my front yard. We visited every day. I spoke. He didn't, but he sometimes opened his eyes to give me a hello. Fierce eyes. He was up there yesterday, even toward nightfall. But today he is gone, more's the pity.

I say it's too soon for Fall, would appreciate a few more 80-degree days. But my wishes are irrelevant.

It should be clear I don't like crows any better than I like squirrels. I can remember when seeing a squirrel was an event, something to cheer about. I was very young then and did not live in Idaho. Now I find squirrels to be the local pest, digging up my lawns, tearing the bark from my trees, running noisily all over my roof, and generally being ubiquitous.

Crows.The American crow is a large passerine bird species of the family Corvidae. (This straight from Wikipedia, the source of all truth.) But I digress.

While I respect the crows for their intelligence, I found that large group of them to be a clear threat this morning. I don't trust them. Should I? They don't trust me, you know.

Hmmmm

Another big zucchini came to my house yesterday. Enough said.

A familiar story

Sometimes things just get away from us. You know. Like that zucchini you just didn't see until it was too big. "Too big." The two words my neighbor used when she brought such a zucchini to me yesterday.

I said, "Wow" when I opened the door and saw it. I didn't mean to say "wow." It just slipped out, and that caused her to say, "Is it too big?"

"No," I said. That was a lie. It's as big as my leg.

But the look on her face and the tone of her voice were almost pleading. And what kind of a person refuses a gift from a good neighbor? So I lied, and my neighbor went home happy.

If I still made zucchini bread I could make enough for the entire neighborhood. But I don't.

If I wanted to, I could probably climb onto the thing and float down the river, if big zucchinis float. I don't want to.

I think of hungry people. Truly, I do.
I think of the woman on the corner by Costco whose sign said HOMELESS. I wish I had taken the squash with me on my errands today. I wonder if the woman would have accepted the zucchini. What do you think?

I'm going to feel very bad when I don't use this squash.

Help.

Here's the Thing

Last Thursday I had surgery to remove a rather large squamous cell carcinoma on my forehead above my left eye. That's skin cancer. I don't need to tell you to wear sun screen. You know you should. This is not about that.

This is about the fact that I now look like I've had half a face lift. She had to cut down to just above my eyebrow and then across in both directions to pull skin up over the "wound." It's big and it's ugly. Trust me.

And here's what else. My left eyebrow is up, my left eyelid is up, my left eye is wider open and looks bigger than my right eye. I don't like it. I want my left eyelid droopy, like my right eyelid. A person my age should have droopy eyelids.

Tomorrow I get the stitches out--and there are MANY. I hope then the swelling will soon go down and my face will again have its normal, balanced, symmetrical look. Which is, at this time, droopy.

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.