Wed 18 Jul 2012
A peregrine falcon has been hunting the bird feeder the last three days. I knew he was around because the little bitty birds don’t eat all the food in the bird feeder by the end of the day. This morning I saw him—actually walking on the ground around my car parked in the driveway. Some little critters must have scurried under to hide. I don’t begrudge the falcon doing what he has to do to survive, but I’m always glad when the little bits manage to elude him. Still, he was gorgeous. When I looked outside to call, “Mr. Peregrine, what are you doing?” he gave me such a look. “What the hell do you think I’m doing dork?” Regal falcons really know how to put you in your place. And he was a different one from last year. That one was light-headed, this guy had a dark brown head. Beautiful, beautiful creature.
“About 4000 Klimt drawings survive, and an indeterminate number more were clawed and peed upon by the cats that roamed his studio.”
Wait, did Klimt live at my house? Ah, the ironic fate of the artist! Who has cats.
Whenever I hear Morgan Freeman narrate Through the Wormhole it’s like listening to God explain the cosmos.
Mustard is a very persistent condiment, kind of like the Troll of the food world. Just sayin’.
A motorcycle cop stepped into traffic on Lincoln Blvd. hill near Jefferson, where the presidents meet. He let three tonier cars pass but flagged down the ancient Toyota covered in Bondo. Economical profiling? This didn’t strike me as a very safe way to do a traffic stop. I eyed him suspiciously as I passed to see if he was a fake cop.
A Ferris wheel and Tilt-a-Whirl in the middle of Windward Avenue this morning, and other carnival rides arrayed around Venice Circle.
I liked Crones Don’t Whine but I’ve had to stop reading it because I’ve decided to embrace my Inner Whiner. As well as my Inner Martyr, my Inner Bitter Old Hag, my Inner Depressive and my Inner Constant Complainer.
Because as Jane Wagner said, “I personally think we developed language because of our deep inner need to complain.”
My mind is on fire with a new-old idea but what can I do with it in this world of No Damned Time?
I should write a book about remembering the good and letting go of the bad. I’ll call it Remember This, Not That.
That supporting actress who was on that show that I can’t remember the name of…I ran into her twice in three days.