My cousin Deb took these photos of a hummingbird nest with baby hummingbirds in Arizona. They're so tiny, you have to look quite hard to see them. See the ruler at the bottom of the top picture? Note: I think if you click on the picture, it will open in a new window and be bigger.
In the bottom picture, they are bigger but still tiny. Miraculous little things.
Our mama robin is still sitting on her nest. The babies must be growing because she looks uncomfortable. Kind of squatting over it rather than sitting on it.
My friend Joanne sent me this poem the other day, from Your Daily Poem. She said it reminded her of my philosophy of life. I was touched. I love the poem and read it aloud to Regis last night. I have another one of Barbara Crooker's poems on the right side bar. I like the way she thinks.
This week, the news of the world is bleak, another war
grinding on, and all these friends down with cancer,
or worse, a little something long term that they won’t die of
for twenty or thirty miserable years—
And here I live in a house of weathered brick, where a man
with silver hair still thinks I’m beautiful. How many times
have I forgotten to give thanks? The late day sun shines
through the pink wisteria with its green and white leaves
as if it were stained glass, there’s an old cherry tree
that one lucky Sunday bloomed with a rainbow:
cardinals, orioles, goldfinches, blue jays, indigo buntings,
and my garden has tiny lettuces just coming up,
so perfect they could make you cry: Green Towers,
Red Sails, Oak Leaf. For this is May, and the whole world
sings, gleams, as if it were basted in butter, and the air’s
sweet enough to send a diabetic into shock—
And at least today, all the parts of my body are working,
the sky’s clear as a china bowl, leaves murmur their leafy chatter,
finches percolate along. I’m doodling around this page,
know sorrow’s somewhere beyond the horizon, but still, I’m riffing
on the warm air, the wingbeats of my lungs that can take this all in,
flush the heart’s red peony, then send it back without effort or thought.
And the trees breathe in what we exhale, clap their green hands
in gratitude, bend to the sky.
From Line Dance (Word Press, 2008).
I hope she doesn't mind that I share them this way. I would encourage you, if you like her work, to buy her book. I should read that poem every morning, like a prayer. It's so easy to get irritated by small things...my neighbor running his lawn mower when we want to sit on the patio, loud music at the Pulse, rude comments, people who don't act like I think they should (yes, I know...). So much better to be grateful for the wingbeats of my lungs and the china bowl sky.
I start to get het up about our party in a few weeks and worry about details. I asked Regis to email Reverend Raven to ask if it would be ok if we cooked a meal instead of sending them to a restaurant and it they had any dietary restrictions. I don't want to make ribs for vegans. So, they responded by asking if this was a public event and could they put it on their website. There is only one cuss word that fits this situation.
We're having it at Patrick's (no problem, they said) and it's the night before the Bluesfest. No problem. Now, all of a sudden, it's a problem. Repeat cuss word.
We got few responses to the invitation which either means nobody is coming or they're socially backward and don't know what RSVP means. Hahahaha!!! I've decided it doesn't matter. No more cuss words. We'll order up some food, have a few drinks, and shake our boogies. That's what the Reverend Raven calls it. I have my dancing skirt ready.
I made Regis a big jug of cold brew coffee overnight. You use 9 cups of water and a half pound of ground coffee, let it sit at room temperature for 12-16 hours, then filter it. It's great to use in iced coffee drinks in the summer because it's concentrated and you get more coffee flavor.
I've always loved cups and have quite a collection. Well, not "quite a collection" as in hundreds...but maybe a dozen that I really like. Here's a blog post from the past with pictures and stories.
So, I was talking to a lady in River Rock the other day and she said she collects demitasse cups. I had heard the word and thought I knew what they were, but the more we talked, the more interested I got. She buys hers mostly in antique stores but I have found some online. Demitasse is a French word for "half cup". I like that. I like my coffee in small cups. I love tiny dishes. I have a new obsession.
Aren't these cute?
I don't need a set, however, because I can't see Regis drinking coffee out of something like this. He likes a man-size mug with a lumberjack's handle.
I learned how to use the google television last night. It's like having the internet on your tv but the controls are more like a computer. What??? My next blog post is going to be called "technology divide". I've been working on it for a while but it's like trying to lasso the wind.