10 October 10
10.10.10 -- On this day, in this place
I lay in bed and pressed my feet together, trying to stretch my left hip. Charlie Cat heard me rustle the cover and jumped on my bladder.
I got up at 7, emptied said bladder, and fed the cats and put the tea on.
I got out the silk scarf I was knitting for an exchange and knit 20 rows.
Noticed a tortie feral cat in the alfalfa, a day after Mary took her last two cats (outdoor) to southern California. Interesting timing, yes?
I went across the road to let the chickens out, feed them, water them, watch them. They are in heavy moult, having been wormed. They all looked up, alarmed, when the yellow-billed magpies gave a three-note alarm call. False. They resumed pecking at the scratch.
I went back across the street — noticing the sparrows in Mary’s ceanothus, thinking I should draw them — and saw that Numenius was out with the cats. Diego was getting stoned on catmint, the catnip now being entirely dried out, and Charlie was on another gopher which he didn’t catch, which is most of the time.
I had breakfast at around 9:30 am, cooked nine-grain cereal with fruits, nuts, yoghurt, same as every morning. It’s usually cold by the time I get to it. I love it anyway.
Numenius went out to do a 15-minute bird count and I moved on to the sock I’m knitting, a merino-bamboo handwash-only mystery sock whose pattern is released as a series of weekly clues on Friday. I’ve nearly finished the second clue for both socks, so I’ll be well ahead of the Friday deadline. It’s looking like a gansey sampler sock but I think I’ll call mine “Nanobot in the Garden.”
I called my mother and my friend Linda, neither of whom were in. I told Mum’s answering machine I expected she was on her 3-mile Sunday walk to get the paper and I told Linda’s I’d seen the mega-rare sharp-tailed sandpiper on Wednesday, when it got called a pectoral. I hadn’t just seen it: I’d spotted it first. (Note to self: don’t just take the word of people who are “better” birders…)
Numenius went in to work. I cut up a large pile of nightshades from the garden along with zucchini and pattypans and put them in the solar cooker for a ratatouille. I washed out the three large (3- and 5-gallon) water containers that have sat outside for months so we can fill them up at the Coop’s 11% sale next weekend. Then I got on my bike and went to work too.
At work, I watered all the plants, read my email, scanned my feed reader, put some pdfs in a folder to upload (conference proceedings from last week), worked on the Audubon newsletter, farted around on Ravelry which is far more compelling than Facebook and for me much less of a timesink.
Came home and made a sandwich from natural ground peanut butter from the Coop. For a treat, I added raspberry jelly which I never do. Harry and David. I think the last time that jar was opened was the last time Linda was here, at this point years ago, she not ever considering peanut butter without jelly. That reminded me to email her that the sharp-tailed sandpiper WAS in fact seen yesterday at the bypass. She has over 750 ABA birds but that’s not one of them. She’s 3,000 miles away. I am losing my credentials as a birder fast. Somehow, this doesn’t distress me.
Turned on the Giants game after the national anthem (phew) but before the first pitch (Phew). Picked up my sock. Numenius comes in during the first inning.
We listen to the entire game, agony and all, missing god bless america but catching take me out to the ballgame, which is so very much as it should be. Giants win, 3-2. Nothing about this is easy. Game 4 tomorrow, still in Atlanta, we’ll have to put up with that horrific tomahawk chop again, makes me stabby. During the 5th inning I get the quinoa on, chopped onions (half of the insides are rotten and fetid, will make fantastic compost) sauteed in organic extra virgin olive oil from Napa.
After the game I call Andrew then Chris about delivering my ratatouille and quinoa to them as brand-new parents. Baby is still in hospital with jaundice. Andrew is getting the cable people sorted out so I see Chris and Rafael the baby, complete with purple eyemask and UV bed (needs his bilirubin count to rise before he can be allowed home). Veterinarians make bizarre mothers: they see their babies as patients.
Go to the Coop and put in a bulk order, for the 11% sale, for 25-pound bags of beans, rice, 9-grain cereal, lentils, and a 2-lb bag of Irish Breakfast tea. On the way home I shut the chickens back into their coop (it’s now dark, a waning crescent moon on its way to setting). I say goodnight, ladies, like I do every night.
Get home and serve myself some ratatouille over quinoa with a glass of Chilean red. When I get the parmesan out Diego mugs me for it.
Sit down to write a blog. This is quite the longest one in ages. Great questions of the day: will I ever be able to sit comfortably on the floor, cross-legged? And have I really entered menopause, rather than all. these. false. alarms.? Stay tuned. .