Observations From the Deck

I have spent my day much as I usually do – a little bit of this, a little bit of that. Some laundry, some vacuuming, some playing with alcohol inks, my newest passion – looking for my voice. Preparation of a cold Mediterranean type salad for dinner – to be served with – ready, you gour-mets out there? hot dogs! Hot dogs – yes. Because I often do not eat meat, and when I decided I wanted some meat with tonight’s dinner, I had little time for defrosting, you see. And hot dogs just – appealed.

As is my custom on warm days, I just spent some time on my front deck, where I often enjoy a beer, or a glass of wine, or maybe a Chai Latte, hot or cold, or whatever my little heart says it wants on that day – assuming I have what my little heart says it wants. Sometimes it comes up with wants that I cannot fulfill. Then it has to learn about reality. A lesson it avoids as often as possible.

While sitting on my deck with my furry girls, I realized that what happens with me when I am out there alone is the very thing that named this blog – my mind, elusive at its very best, wanders. Various places. No accounting, no reason, it just goes as it sees fit. Blown about, perhaps, by the rather stiff but very pleasant breeze on this perfect-temperature day. It’s 77 out there – a serious change from the less-pleasant 95+ degree days we were having.

Oh – where was I? Oh yes – the wandering of my mind, such as it is. For a time, I am entertained by the hummingbirds as the flit here and there, chattering all the way. Then, a moment of silence – before they once again flit about, chattering all the way. There are Rufous and Anna’s Hummingbirds – in the shade of the pines, told apart as they flit largely only by size, the Anna’s being a bit bigger. For the most part, they are not terribly good hosts and hostesses, the occasions where they will sit side by side enjoying a bit of nourishment being few and far between. The males, in particular, seem bent on declaring territorial rights. Sadly, there was a juvenile male Rufous lying on the deck when I went out – obviously he dashed too quickly into the window. Still, the numbers flitting about are not few.

I thought a bit about a couple of books I’ve read recently. I first read I Have Sand in all the Wrong Places by Lisa Scottoline and her daughter, Francesca Serritella – apologies, Francesca, if I did not get your last name correct. I have read some of Lisa’s novels, largely those that do not involve a continuing character, and enjoyed them. This one, however, was completely different – written with chapters involving random topics, alternating between mother and daughter, with diversions off-topic scattered throughout – rather a stream-of-consciousness style of writing with great humor. Mother and daughter obviously have a close relationship, a very strong connection, which called to me – perhaps because I feel blessed to have the same thing with my daughter. I thoroughly enjoyed it, and was prompted to purchase another which I’ve not yet read. I believe it’s titled Meet Me at Emotional Baggage Claim – I would check that, but I’m too lazy to go look at what my iPad Kindle app tells me.

Today, I finished a book titled All the Missing Girls by – okay, now I do need to go see what Kindle says, excuse me for just a moment, please – by Megan Miranda. It starts out, goes to a point, then begins again, only at the end and moves backward to the beginning. Or the end of the beginning before it went to the end. You understand, right? Well, let me tell you, this was indeed, as advertised, a psychological thriller. I started it yesterday afternoon and put it down because duty called after an hour or so, but picked it up instead of turning on TV to watch that final episode of Food Network Star, and read until my eyes refused to stay open last night. I picked it up at lunch today – have I ever told you that’s a habit I developed during childhood that lingers on still – the reading while I eat when I’m alone? Anyway, I picked it up at lunch today, thinking I only had a few pages left, but it seems I really remembered nothing of what I read in the last couple of chapters last night. Apparently my brain went to sleep before it notified me it was time. I finished the book. Just so you know, it was not the characters I feared it might be. That’s all there is to say.

Food Network Star awaits me tonight. Again, just so you won’t worry about my missing that final episode – the crowning of the new “Food Network Star”!

There were more thoughts – how nice the lawn looks for a day or so after it’s cut (I mowed yesterday); how my flower beds are running wild and what I should do about it – then, what I probably will do about it. They are not the same. Changes I could make. It’s so easy to plan work while sitting. But planning involves a lot of time and thinking – one doesn’t want to rush into changes too quickly. Because obviously, one rushed into creating all these flower beds far too quickly when one was much younger, failing to take the time to recognize that time passes, changes to the body, the mind, and the interest levels, happen, and what seems an exciting challenge now might just later be a major drag; might later become something that requires a lot more motivation than I am able to muster up. Anyone know where I can find some motivation? Maybe by the case? Thoughts about how the jackrabbits have a relatively regular schedule, but questions about why sometimes he comes alone and sometimes he brings his partner. And where are all those quail and their young that I was seeing last week?

Then. Reality sets in. Furry girls want dinner. NOW.