I’ve been capturing a lot of flowers lately. We’re still waiting on the Calla lilies, the daisies, the clematis and the hydrangea. Everything else is blooming or almost done blooming. Special bonus photos at the bottom.
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I found this video of Bubba and his brother Rafa in my phone today. Bubba had the softest belly – his fur was like velvet, but his belly was like a fluffy cloud. Bubba was a laid-back cat and liked his belly rubbed. Rafa was ticklish on his belly and didn’t like it pet. Rafa was sassy and would always backtalk. The sound he makes in this video is his backtalk. Volume up for best purring listening experience. I miss them every day, especially Bubba, my cat soulmate. 🩶🖤
Underwhelmed. Let’s look at photos.
Thanks for stopping by, and I hope you have a great day!
I wrote about William last fall. He has been doing his thing all winter, and he withstood a tornado. Although he did shed a few limbs, he seems unscathed overall.
This week William has decided to participate in the pollination of the entire neighborhood. The winds are a bit gusty, so William is trying to populate everything, basically. My next-door neighbor asked me today what kind of tree he is. I could tell she was annoyed by all of his spring activities – i.e. dropping seed pods. I told her he is a Willow Oak and many years ago, my mother thought her beloved Birch trees were dropping these pods, so she had them all cut down. It turns out, William was dropping the pods. My mother was upset about that for many years. She didn’t like William. William is a big boy, it would take a crane and many thousands of dollars to remove him. So William stays, and the bigger he gets, the more seeds drop. Everywhere. You can’t go outside without getting rained on by seed pods these days. They clog rain gutters, they form piles of tumbleweed looking things, and they get under your wiper blades. I think birds use them for their nests, though. But they can’t take a bath in the birdbath because it’s filled with William’s pods.
I was out front fussing with the clematis this morning when two (other) neighbors walked past and talked amongst themselves about these pods being everywhere. I didn’t say a word, except a good morning when the greeting was offered to me. I kept my eyes down and focused on my task. When I was done, I walked in my house and shook my hair. Twelve seed pods fell out. Thanks, William.
Oh – one more thing: for the past several years, there has been a toad living in my backyard. When I had all the English ivy eradicated last fall, I was worried that the toad might have been adversely affected. I am happy to report that Toady McToaderson is back and apparently in fine health. Today is the first day I have heard him singing his dulcet sounds to the lady toads. Welcome back, Toady.
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It’s about 90° here now, which is unusual for April and early May. Everything is hot, including humans, animals and tiny creatures. I was on my usual excursion to my neighbor’s mailbox to retrieve her mail, and when I opened the mailbox, a bumblebee was inside. It seemed disoriented and probably was quite warm having been in a hot metal box with no escape. I had just gotten my own mail, so I had torn up junk mail in my hands which came in handy – no pun intended.
My neighbor had a package in her mailbox, but nothing else, so I ignored that for a moment and used the scraps of paper that I had just torn up to escort the bumblebee out of the mailbox. It was essentially a real Lyft. The bee climbed on and I carried it in front of me like a golden child, which bumblebees truly are. I tried to find flowers, but much of them are gone, and the new batch haven’t bloomed yet. I tried a Dianthus, but as soon as I perched him or her on there, I could see there was no pollen. I apologized and eventually convinced the bee that I would find a more suitable flower. We traveled in the same way (golden child real Lyft transport system) toward the backyard where I put the bee on some wild violet flowers. It seemed there was some pollen in these, but the bee was so heavy, the flower took a slow drop to the ground. I frowned. The bee was determined and more lively at this point, so after two attempts at the wild violet flowers, I convinced he or she to get back on the paper and I would find a flower. I walked over to the azaleas, but immediately knew there was no pollen. I was out of ideas. In that moment, the bee buzzed away – took flight and was completely recovered. Buzzy was no more silent bee. Then the bee found an appropriate weed and proceeded to feed. If you’ve been here a while, you know that I chase bumblebees for photo ops. I thought maybe the bee would let me get a quick snap in, but no. But that is ok. Their lifespan is short, after all, and they have to capture the pollen. After the bee buzzed away, I went back to my neighbor’s house, got her mail out of her mailbox and put it on her stoop.
I’ve been on insect saving duty the past three days – one of the hazards/joys (however you want to look at it) of spring. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
To go as the crow flies is to take the most direct route somewhere. Going as the crow flies is the shortest path between two points.
This expression has to do with traveling—in a very specific way. If you travel as the crow flies, you've gone somewhere as quickly and directly as possible. A shortcut is a good way to go as the crow flies. A direct airplane flight with no transfers is another way to go as the crow flies. When you think of this term, imagine a bird flying in a straight line from point A to point B.
I moved to the state I live in now when I was just turning seven. For reasons, Mom and I were graciously taken in by family members who lived one state away from our previous home. It wasn’t terribly far, but to a six-year-old, an hour-long car ride seems like a great distance to travel.
From there, Mom and I moved across a two-lane highway – which is now a four-lane highway – to an apartment complex. We lived there for seven years.
Mom found her final home in a neighborhood she admired for years and would drive through on her way to pick me up from my friend’s house.
I just realized the other day, that if you plot all three of these points of residence on a map, the triangle is very small. In fact, I determined that the distance from Point A to Point B to Point C forms a very small triangle, with each arm of the triangle being about 300m. 300m translates to 0.186 miles.
Some people may think this is incredibly isolating and not very worldly, but it was entirely coincidental and not planned, as far as I know. And since I didn’t even realize it until a few days ago, I guess it could be a statement about how much I like my neighborhood and my surroundings.
You guys know Jerome, right? He’s my crow. Well, it’s more true to form to say that he is my nemesis. He is the crow that’s mad at me for eternity because I wouldn’t let him put his dirty bagels and french fries in the birdbath. He and his friends and family caw at me as I’m walking in the neighborhood. If I’m at the local pharmacy and strip mall, they’ll do it there, too. They somehow know when to show up. If I walk out of my house and Jerome starts cawing from somewhere far enough away that I can’t see him, but close enough that I can hear him, I know I’m in for quite a mouthful. Other people have crows bring them money and shiny objects. Jerome has given me intergenerational hatred. I would prefer money or shiny objects, at the very least.
“I hear you, Jerome! Good morning to you, too!” I say loudly. I’m sure my neighbors think I’m crazy, but that crow and I have beef. I wonder how old Jerome is, and how long he’s been watching me. Maybe his great-grandfather, grandfather and father saw me at Points A and B. Point C is Jerome’s territory now, as the crows fly.
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It’s true. Today is her birthday and she’s 16. She already wants to go to the mall and hang out. And her boyfriend keeps coming around to the window at night. I know he does. I asked his mother. His name is Stinky, and he’s also a brown tabby. He’s blind in one eye, but that doesn’t stop him from crossing the street and trying to date my daughter.
Susie has already started asking for the car keys now that she has a permit. I don’t want her to drive Victoria, because she doesn’t need to go back to the bodyshop. Susie can’t reach the pedals and she doesn’t have opposable thumbs to steer with. Then there’s the “novice driver” fluorescent green sticker that you have to put on your bumper when your teen starts to drive your car. Sigh.
She’s already wearing cat eye eyeliner and excessive amounts of necklaces and bracelets. Seriously, I can’t get her to stop wearing them. And she’s always rubbing my phone, trying to take it. She thinks it’s hers. She thinks I don’t know that she’s had her eye on it.
She stays up all night and sleeps all day, and she’s just turning 16. Do you know how much worse it’s gonna get? I can’t even imagine.
I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t been present for her birth. She still plays and eats well, her teeth are in good shape because I’ve only ever given her dry food. She seems content, happy. Her kidneys are failing a bit as most cats‘ kidneys do, due to their very high protein diet, otherwise she’s the same Suze.
(In human years, Susie is 80 years old today.)
Happy birthday, Susie.
Edit: this post was scheduled, but this morning on Susie‘s actual birthday, I heard her beating on the windows downstairs in the basement right before dawn. There must’ve been another cat outside. Luckily she can’t get out and doesn’t go out, because she would be a neighborhood menace. She guards this house like she pays rent. It’s good to see her still scrappy, but not great when she sets off the house alarm and pulls down the curtains. 😼
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I had an appointment today at a rather boring location that housed a few special residents. I didn’t realize until I had to fill out paperwork that there was a large aquarium housing jovial fish. I make a beeline for every animal everywhere, so I went to sit alongside these very curious fish. Of course I had to take out my phone to snap photos. They reminded me of aquatic puppies because they were so friendly and curious. I like to think they were curious about me, but they were probably curious about whether or not I had any food for them.
Anyway, the friendliest fish was Lawrence (yes, I named him that today):
He hit all the angles.
Then his buddy Earl swam up to see what was going on.
The clematis are growing
Reaching tall with their vines
That curl like fingers
Gently Entwined
They wait for your return
As do I
©️2024, itsamyisaid.com
This is my submission for Kevin’s NTT 4/11/24 edition
“It's Amy,” I said. 