A Friday in July

And like much of the eastern seaboard here in USA on the continent of North America, it is raining and has been for nigh onto 24 hours. Less up here in northerly Massachusetts than even NYC-Connecticut, but more than on Cape Cod, all because two weathers are paralleling each other heading to the northeast and a front between them causes them to meet then part and meet then part like a line dance, and the partner dancer northerly pours rain and partner dancer southerly whistles wind. Poor locals here in our plot show some misery.

wet child sparrow on the window ledge captured my attention from three rooms away by shouting with all its might at me through the open window
blue jay, generally so robust and in-your-face looking quite miserable in the rain on the porch railing

Always, though, we are in so much better shape than myriad other locations of late on this beautiful creation earth. And, even as I type this, the rain is stopping (although our basement sump pump is working hard, hard, hard, and our dehumidifier is doing its best to assist down in the basement of our 106 year old house). Tomorrow I will get to bicycle ride. May I tell you, I am so looking forward to that!

Petey is perched on the counter, once again! He is squeaking — “dinner, dinner, Kate, dinner, dinner” accompanying Stella stalking me by pitter pattering from room to room and Maria strategically reclined between my room and the hallway that leads to the kitchen. I need only inch the chair from my desk and she is up and poised to dart to the stacked cans of catfood, and, should I take a few seconds too long, to shove the top can toward tilt position, because, you know, one can be alerted by more than one sense to the importance of another’s beckoning. But I am having too much fun listening to a mix CD I compiled 10 years ago from samples of even older CDs and downloads from oh so long ago, from pre- pre-what? pre- just about everything that is younger than 50– a few Cat Stevens, a couple of Lovin’ Spoonful, and even two early Rod Stewart cuts, and even Ike & Tina Turner’s River Deep, Mountain High, a song I admit grabs me, partly because of the musical drama introduced by the deservedly infamous Phil Spector. (And while these are down loads, do not doubt that I also own the vinyl versions of each, do not doubt, because I do — however, I have given away my turntable, wisely, because I know myself, I know I would not have created a space for it, nor repurchased the necessary electronics and mechanics to make it run and make its output audible.)

Well, after my last blog post, a friend noted she was entertained by my long sentences. Hmm, what will she think now after this spewing words connected by comma, space, and only occasionally interrupted by period? I wait to hear!!

It is time to feed the mewers.

Until next time!!

Thanks for reminiscing with me. May all be well with you.

Author: Kate Hemenway

I like to explore, to observe. I like to be within what is around. There is always something to wonder about and to ponder. There is always something.. My favorite ways to get to places are bicycling and walking; or reading, or thinking, or asking. Please feel free to ask back, as I continue to wonder out loud, express joy or concern, or, sometimes, talk through my hat.

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