Memorial Day 2011

30/05/11 07:28
Memorial Day 2011. The lawn is mowed, the garden is not in quite yet, the garage is spruced, and I'm just a little unhappy with how the text wraps on this document as I sit here writing on a warm Memorial Day morning. I wonder if the grass seed I put down in the front yard will ever take. I was half tempted this year to rent a rototiller and just turn it all over and start over again. You've heard about the best of intentions. They come and they go. Forever un-fruitful you might say. I'll do better next year. Like hell you will, Johnny boy. Like hell you will. But all of these issues gardening and non-gardening alike pale in comparison to the hi-tech challenges of getting iSedora to stream from my computer to my TV properly and getting this new phone of ours to work as advertised. Maybe I should have read the writing on the box a little more carefully. Who ever heard of a phone that not only doesn't allow you leave a message but has no capacity to record those voicemails? What do you mean I need to have a voicemail service? I just don't know what AT&T was thinking when the designed this little bugger. It may be time to call 911.

lg1

The hummingbirds are back! The hummingbirds are back! We've found the feeders hidden away in the garage and now all three are filled to capacity and hanging in there respective locations around the house. All within sight as one looks out the window from the bedroom, the kitchen, and the computer room. If you listen carefully, and do your best to sort out the normal cacophony of whistles, shrills, tweedles, and duets offered up by the local population, you can hear the fluttering of the hummingbird's wings as they approach the feeders. It is a dull vibration that offers up a sound that is not altogether unpleasing to the human ear. Each and every visit to the feeder seems no less serendipitous than the last. More challenging is discerning identity. They don't stay long enough to see with any degree of specificity so it is hard to tell if it is the same bird coming back for the umpteenth time or one of many to stop by as they do every spring and summer in their annual migration north. Whichever the case, Nancy has adopted the lot and accepted responsibility for seeing to it that they have a bite to eat when they stop by our house. Metaphorically speaking, of course. We all know hummingbirds derive their nutrients by drinking and not eating. Come hither, you little bastards. Drink the nectar of life and be gone. That would be the un-romanticized version. Better to keep that sentiment to myself.

That boy just hates to be late. Not sure where that comes from. And, you would never know it judging from how late we leave for school every morning. Let's just say we cut it close. Better that, I suppose, than never being on time and not giving a hoot. Boys his age have all kinds of appointments be they social or academic and he can ill afford to be late for any of them. He does see occasional demerits for leaving his shirt hanging out or maybe even talking too much but these cannot be viewed in retrospect with any degree of seriousness. As parents, we are conscious the time as well and always have been so the apple may not fall very far from the tree as they say in the movies. Then again, that is the responsibility of the parent. If he was half as diligent about cleaning his room as he is to being late then that would be a good thing. As it is, he is not. There is that tree thing again. You do what you can and leave the rest to the baby Jesus. Tell that to the hoarders of the world. We're not there yet but there is still time.