When I was watering the garden yesterday morning, I startled first one, then a second, and then a third little fledgling. I guess they’d just been dumped from their nest by their mama. Sheba wanted to play fetch with them so I was glad to be taking her on a walk today. She came home exhausted and slept for hours on the nice cool floor in our nice cool log cabin home.
When I was watering the garden I realized I’d volunteered at the arts council and was complaining here about the tension it was causing. Also, I built all the gardens—I couldn’t stand the look of this place without them—and I’ve been complaining about the watering too.
In fact: Having nothing to do is anathema for me. I’ve adjusted my attitude and realize these things are blessings. Snap. Done.
I gave up on writing the fundraising letters by hand. Old age has made writing by hand much harder, so I did all the letters I could (until I get more Arts Council stationery) and I feel much better about this project. I’m less anxious, less clouded by doubt.
I’ve done all the letters of appeal for the chocolate and food items. Thursday I will write to all the pet and plant stores; then and all my letters will be done. After that I’ll just have follow-up phone calls and the properties to build. I love building the properties; it’s not work like fundraising is.
Not my baby finger; not my ring finger; not my index finger, but the other finger—the “up yours” finger, the “fuck you” finger in movies. Well that finger one on my left hand is not working any more. It’s done and gone for good. Sometimes it gets stuck and can hurt like bejesuz. Dr. Majic says the condition is commonly called, “trigger finger.” It’s fixed with surgery. Not this guy. I got a splint instead and plenty of expletives for when it hurts.
(I looked up “trigger finger” on Wiki and you know what it said? That this condition is more common in women! It’s the same with migraines, anxiety, Prinzmetal syndrome—all their issues I have. Butch, I’m not.)
I’m out and about without glasses and enjoying it. The cataract in my right eye is so bad they are pointless. My left eye is perfect (except for reading). Dr. Spencer advised against glasses as the cataract will worsen and render a prescription obsolete pretty quickly. After the surgery—which will likely be next Spring—I may not need glasses (except to read).
Pooey! Seriously! POOEY!
The empty lot right beside me is up for sale. The forest I look at from my office will be seriously thinned and I will have—horrors—neighbours. However…there are positive aspects to the news. For one thing, my backyard will get much more sun. I’m good with that.
I found out when I came home from the dog walk yesterday. There was a red car parked by my driveway and when I pulled out a very handsome young man came into the yard and introduced himself saying he was checking out the lot for a friend who wanted to build a summer home.
A friend of a handsome man? A summer home? It could be worse! And then the young man referenced his husband—handsome and gay! And he was a total delight to talk with. I told him about the water and light here and then he proposed staying in touch. I was thrilled. He asked for my phone number and texted me. Then we said goodbye.
About half an hour later he came back with a note saying how much he enjoyed meeting me and that he was going to be gone for the rest of the summer, but he wants to get together in September and he gave me all his contact information.
He belongs to a group that gets together every Friday here for drinks and he wants to take me when he comes back. All this on the day after I write about being down about L. “dumping” me!
After he left, more people came by to look at the lot and first one and then a second neighbour wound up in my lot lamenting the sale. (The sign went up yesterday morning.)