Oh, you know you are
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Right now, before the great sweltering of 2010 sets in, there is nothing finer than sitting out in my back yard with the torches going, just listening to the frogs and the FedEx planes and the trains and the wind — one big quasi-urban symphony pulsing with life at all times. Nothing finer. INSTAMATIC UPDATE! Yes, I need to mow. In the past week, my yard has gone from charmingly unkempt to HONEY, I SHRUNK…
Will I see you Wednesday night? Bonus: This song’s called “Mondegreen”, so I can’t say with certainty that the title of this post is correct.
Right now (1:30 a.m.) every dog in the neighborhood is going batshit because I just attempted to drag my trash down to the curb for tomorrow’s pickup. They heard me rooting around in my back yard, dragging bags of yard waste toward the gate. First it was the neighbor dogs to the west of me, then that set off the dog in the house just east of me, and then I heard some dogs down…
I ordered some stuff from Perpetual Kid recently, and when I opened the box, this is what greeted me, resting atop all those packing peanuts. It gave me a smile.
I didn’t grow these springy beauts. They are what I like to refer to as “doghouse flowers.” And that’s all I’ll say about that.
This song has been in my brain since we heard it at The Cove Friday night. (I’m partial to the alternate video but it cuts the song off at the end.) I went to bed early last night (1:30 is early for me), but ended up sleeping late anyway, and am now battling brain fog as I’m trying to get some freelance photo work done. Plus I need a haircut and an oil change and…
The other day I woke up early, put on some ratty clothes, and tromped around the back yard, where I raked leaves into a neat little pile and then shoved them into large black plastic trash bags and carried them to the curb. I remember before I ever bought a house, I’d ride through the Memphis streets and sneer at the houses with big bags of yard waste resting on their curbs. I…
I have been sitting up for hours now with awful things happening inside me that I thought for sure were going to end in a night of gastrointestinal violence, but so far? A quiet stalemate in my gut. It’s (presumably) germ-infested baby carrots vs. whatever natural defenses I still have on retainer. My natural defenses, which, early on, seemed ill matched for the viciousness of the microscopic things unleashed by these tiny carrots, have managed…
It’s been three months now that I’ve been in the house. My house. I still trip a little when I say that. It’s weird, almost as weird as saying, “I’ve been flying my plane now for three months” or “I’ve been piloting this yacht for 90 days.” I mean, who would trust me with a plane or a boat? But here I am in this house, this lovely little house with the dark wood (?)…
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