It’s “Hey Rene J” Today!

This morning arrived on little cat feet, sparking memories of low-lying fog in the fields back home. (Well – any place that actually has an abundance of humidity!) Early morning fog always feels like a nice way to ease into a day, and it also makes me think of Carl Sandburg’s poem, which leads me to ponder tenth grade English class.

That class was a mash-up of seniors, juniors, and sophomores either fulfilling a requirement or truly hoping for inspiration in the greatest study possible – the English language! My teacher hated me. The class was boring. However, I persisted in writing and churned out great poetic works, hoping to share the stage with the likes of Sandburg. I offer a gem for your amusement In the “Haiku of the Day.”

Alas! My heart swells to stroll the grounds of this time-honored dwelling.

The beautiful bindweed, with its gentle white flower choking off the lawn and shrubs, a charming tribute to Nature displaying her little jewels. Peeling paint from the spring hailstorms brings an allure of its own, reminding one of centuries of damsels and gentleman who have courted on this porch, flecks of white paint showering them like rose petals. The rains, which have brought heaving concrete and failing brick to the ground, merely add to the quaintness, while the faded stables with their share of “horse power” beckon the inhabitants to come and ride!

My chateau would fair well in stodgy old Europe. Alas. We continue to battle the insurance adjuster as we listen to the noise of highway traffic, reminded of where we actually live. And yet, we would not switch to another era.

Sometimes you really need your spouse around for those critical moments in life. This morning held one of those opportunities for him to shine.

I found myself struggling, albeit briefly, at 6:30 a.m. this morning. The NYT crossword had three clues catering to my husband’s knowledge and he was unavailable for pestering. The answers were “fanbelt,” “Snead,” and “Andy.” The clues were “engine part,” “golfer who did something spectacular which I cannot remember right now,” and “Toy Story toy.” That last one was too easy, but it pumped my ego and would have done the same for my spouse.

Yes, spousal support is required for difficult duties. I look forward to passing on the grocery shopping as soon he returns to our cave. And I sincerely hope a crossword puzzle is the most trying part of life this week!

You know the days where you eat only foods beginning with the letter “C?” Some days you end up noticing the numbers surrounding you. Like today. I ran out of hair conditioner, body lotion, and my sunscreen all in one day! That was the first triad I noticed.

Driving to my destinations, I encountered three dead rabbits on our local roadways. (Oh, that blue shoe is still hanging out on the road, too! However, I have amended my thinking and determined the shoe was closer to a size ten.)

And the trifecta occurred when I met with three wonderful friends during the day. I felt a little like Tom Hanks in “The DaVinci Code,” deciphering events of the day. Perhaps I’ll do a little work on my Fibonacci code studies before retiring.

Usually some good late-night Italian food (that would be anything with tomato sauce consumed after 6 pm) will induce some unique dreams. I had a peach for dinner. This morning I was surprised to discover that I remembered my dream, but also concluded that I was going to have to see a psychoanalyst for a proper deconstruction of its meaning.

It all began with the lawn being mowed, a job I have been avoiding for a week. However, I had called a lawn service. They arrived with proper equipment, edgers and all! (This is how I knew it was a dream.) When I went outside to check their progress, I was met with a full-out Civil War Re-enactment occurring on my property! As I dodged bullets and marveled at the costuming, I rounded the corner to two lions being tamed in the backyard.

Actually, this is easy to dismantle without any formal analysis. I bit the bullet and mowed the lawn this morning after breakfast, re-enacted my battle with the weeds again, and obviously, my life is a three-ring circus. Therapy averted.

There is something fairly humbling about emptying your purse, handbag, pocketbook, satchel, in front of your friends. Most of the time, the owner of one of these handy carry-all bags can empty and reorganize in the privacy of her own home. Thus, no one can see the five pair of eyeglasses one might have happened to put in there. (I really did this – accidentally, of course! I returned from an eight-hour trip to visit my dear mother, and discovered that I had pilfered two pair of her eyeglasses. The over-arching question, “Why did I have three?”)

Recently I went to empty my purse at a friend’s abode so as to make room for an umbrella. Aside from the broken bracelet I’ve carried around for the past two weeks, I had five toothpicks of various kinds residing in my robin-egg blue purse. I had the denta-pic, two Gum flossers, and two old-school wooden toothpicks. All used. Well, really, they don’t take up much room. And if I have a dental emergency, which could include spinach being lodged in my teeth right before my meeting with the Queen, I am prepared! I think my dentist would be proud.

I am part of a gaggle of gals who volunteer to sort clothing one Saturday a month. In doing so, we provide free clothing to those in need, and really do serve a worthy purpose, having fun as we do so.

Occasionally, we get a single shoe donated. Aha! I now understand the circle of life. It all made sense after yesterday’s discovery. Someone must be hoping that someone else has found the mate to that shoe on the road and donated it. Possibly they are hoping the mates will reconnect one day at our sorting adventure? It is a hopeful thought at the very least. And who knows? Maybe one day it will happen?

On the road, traffic hurriedly moving for a high-pressured work day, one blue shoe rested. It looked to be a new one, about a child’s size 8, upright and proud. Who threw it out the window, I wondered? Who throws anything out the window?

Children. My children. I recalled the time when one of mine threw a toy out the window, assuming I would have to turn around and retrieve it. The first of many “buck up” lessons, of course. I did no such thing. I don’t remember what the toy was. I endured the pleas to retrieve it. “Endured” and “ignored” are the same in parent-speak.

Many times I have seen the result of sibling rivalry laid bare on the highway for all to see. I felt bad for the lone blue shoe, missing its partner.

There was a song on the radio which I liked, and thanks to modern technology, I could see the name of the band. “Toad the Wet Sprocket.”

How people come up with names is interesting, and I did waste, I mean “take the time” to read up on this one. However, researching this really reminded me of when four young girls formed a club in our backyard one summer. The bossy one, with a name similar to mine, wanted the club to be named, “The Curtain Rods.” The other three did not in any way, shape or form want that name attached to them.

We picked another name, more sedate, but for the life of me, I can’t remember what we were. We’ll always be “The Curtain Rods” as I hang on to that memory. (Pun intended.) At least we weren’t “Wet Sprockets.”

For years I have tried to attract hummingbirds to our humble abode. One year, I put bananas in the trees, so that the gnats, which would hover over the rotting scent, would inevitably gather round, and would attract the desired species. This “trick” cost me a bunch of bananas, was an icky mess to keep changing out, and was all for naught.

I tried different types of feeders. I planted their favorite flowers. My beautiful mother-in-law, whose name rhymes with “June,” has them sweeping around her by the dozens the minute she arrives at her cabin here in Colorado. Seriously? I can’t get one.

However, I have heard a little guy all summer on a few occasions. Today while I was admiring my beautiful stand of castilleja – commonly known as “Indian Paintbrush” – I thought about how many years it took me to get that going. Usually I forget it’s there and mow over it. What I means is, every year I mow over it. Today as I enjoyed the beauty, a little “seen but not heard” visitor arrived. A hummingbird! After all these years – Indian Paintbrush and a hummingbird all at once. Coincidence? What a beautiful day!