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| Prickly pear, amputated |
11/24, Sunday. I
fetch out a stack of Christmas CDs to set by the kitchen stereo: Oscar
Peterson, Ray Charles, Dave Brubeck, King’s College Choir, J. S. Bach,
Chanticleer, Diana Krall.
11/25, Monday. After
the prickly pear in the front yard got its overdue trim, the ground around
looks like it’s strewn with amputated limbs.
11/26, Tuesday. Tell
me, what retired person who rarely goes out except to walk the dog needs 10
sweatshirts, 13 pairs of jeans, 16 polo shirts, 18 tee shirts, and 26 pairs of
white athletic socks?
11/27, Wednesday. The
smell of wood smoke in the air outside on an overcast day, and I don’t have to
wonder this time of year if there’s a brush fire somewhere.
11/28, Thursday. Thanksgiving:
a gentle, tranquil, and quiet day that
begins with a scattering of flamingo-tinted clouds at sunrise and pecan pie in
the oven by mid-morning.
11/29, Friday. A
rain cloud gathers over this desert valley and, disbelieving, we go for a morning
walk with the dog anyway, arriving home 45 minutes later—still disbelieving and wet.
11/30, Saturday. How
can two people and a dog manage to fill a recyling bin in just two weeks?
Image credits: Ron
Scheer
Coming up: Mark
Mitten, Sipping Whiskey in a Shallow Grave
Loved the Friday one. Great start to a tale.
ReplyDeleteI love the smell of wood smoke. It's one of the things I've noticed most about our new neighborhood, here out of town.
ReplyDeleteDid you make jelly out of that prickly pear? I too love the smell of wood smoke
ReplyDeleteRon, I'm going to check out those Christmas songs. Ray Charles is the only one I've heard. In fact, I saw his biopic starring Jamie Foxx only yesterday.
ReplyDelete