The front yard is a pile of flowers right now. I’ve always loved nasturtiums; they make spring so cheerful. I’m trying to enjoy these while I can. It’s supposed to be in the mid-90’s on Saturday and these will be burned to a crisp by those temperatures. But they sure make the front yard colorful while they last.
The pigeon is getting more pigeon-y every day. On Friday evening we left him on the patio thinking “A little more open sky; maybe he’ll fly away.” And fly he did, right over the roof and back into the atrium. When we’re out on the porch, he often perches on the back of my chair. My husband says I look like a cut-rate pirate.
I’ve started opening the front door and the atrium door when we go out on the patio and he comes out with us. On Sunday he took a short fly around the neighborhood. This morning he was making adult pigeon sounds in addition to the usual squeaks. I’m still hoping that he’ll get brave enough to fly away.
After the heat wave last week I’ve come to the conclusion that I need to move a lot of my plants. Several things got crisped. The leaves on my<a href="http://Haemanthus albifilos” target=”_blank”>Haemanthus albifilos are not looking to good at all. Everything gets stressed when it’s 112 degrees out. My leaves persian shield, which were just starting to sprout, burned to a crisp. I don’t know if it’s going to recover. That one already is in the atrium. The only more sheltered place I can put it is in the house, and I’m horrible at house plants. My Stromanthe sanguinea is looking extra crispy, too. It’s going to go into the atrium, too. The whole atrium needs rearranging. And cleaning out the dead leaves would be ago idea. Aaannnd there it goes again. The tasks propagate faster than the plants do.
I’m almost 53 years old and this is the first really important death in my life.
Really. I know I’m lucky.
But nothing prepares you for this. I’ve seen it on the horizon for quite a while now.
But, like watching a train wreck in slow motion, even though you know what’s coming, it just doesn’t prepare you for the awfulness of the situation.
You know it’s coming. You know it’s going to hurt. Sometimes you can see which limb will be torn from limb.
Doesn’t help. Hurts more. You feel like if you knew what was coming, you should have been able to stop it.
You can’t. Life is life. It’s a cycle. It is the way it is. Until our sun burns out, we are part of this planet. That comforts me. It’s not eternal, but it’s a really long time.
And while I’m grateful that life is good here on our wonderful planet, there’s still a Dad-sized hole in my world, impossible to fill.
It seems like I’ve been sweeping up ashes for months. When I think about it, I have been sweeping up ashes for months.
The patio had ash everywhere after the fires. The subsequent rains turned it dust. With the water situation the way it is I don’t want to hose down the patio, but I’m losing my resolve.
I know that ash is a component in some fertilizers. It’s efficacy is being demonstrated in every corner of the yard. The ash has settled into every crack and crevice in the pavement and all of the weed seeds in the neighborhood are sprouting in it.
The cement has gone from being regular cement gray to being a dark smudgy gray. At least I’m getting some exercise. It takes persistence to sweep up ash.
Is just me that thinks that the news media should stop yelling fire in a room full of pyromaniacs?
Every time the wind blows in Southern California every news program on the air runs around yelling “High fire danger! High fire danger!” The pyros rub their crazy little hands together and run and get their matches. If there really are high winds there is always the danger of power lines going down or someone’s campfire getting out of control, but I’d really like to know what the percentages are.
There were high winds a couple of days ago and not in the area of the fires near my home. Yesterday you could genuinely call ‘breezy.’
It just seems to me that the news media loves a good fire and if they don’t have one, they’ll just encourage someone to set one.
The Santa Ana winds are blowing and the world smells of burning. That’s October in Southern California.
My skin is so dry it hurts. I’m cranky because the winds kept me up all night. My cat was so terrified she spent most of the night under the bed. Not the best start to the week.
Branches broken from trees littered the sidewalks everywhere on my way to work, and still-green leaves ripped from trees lie in drifts in the gutters. The sky is yellow with smoke. One of the fires started from downed power lines, but at least one is a known arson fire.
When I went out to get lunch the winds, while not enough to blow me off my feet are certainly enough to affect my balance and trajectory. This is some of the strongest wind I can remember.