Okay . . . What's Next?

The rains came and went. Today the sky has lost its early morning blues and has settled down to muted gray. Without the sunshine, the bright green mini-grasses lose their struggle to be seen among last year's residuum.

Just so you'll know I chose the word residuum carefully as the one most nearly conveying my meaning, here is the explanation from Mr. Roget himself.

[R]emainder is a general word for what is left over, while residue (and residuum) is the remains at the end of a process; remnant is a part left after the greater part has been removed[.]

Roget's New Millennium™ Thesaurus, First Edition (v 1.3.1)
Copyright © 2008 by Lexico Publishing Group, LLC. All rights reserved.

I hope you don't mind that this blog is one of my ways of increasing my own knowledge. I love rummaging around in information the way a dumpster diver loves delving into other people's residue.

Back to the grasses, Marcia commented yesterday that this year the green is not as brilliant--and, I think, as noticeable--as in years passed. (Correct me if I've misrepresented what you said, Marcia.) The hills still look gray with the chaparral and dried stalks of mustard plants. I think we'll have green soon, though, as the grass begins to realize it had better make the best of each rain . . . 'cause there may not be much more coming.

So, Lucy's parents are home now and I am one less in my little yellow house. She is a warm presence here, such a lady taking her place, asking politely for what she wants, sleeping like no one I've ever known before on Little Mother's bright afghan.

Yesterday, Henny Penny (my young cockatiel who looks like a Barred Rock chicken) swooped down and directly over Lucy's head.

Lucy raised her nose, and a tiny soft feather sailed right into her left nostril. She made no move toward Henny. She's a phenomenal dog--especially considering her lineage of pit bull and Labrador retriever. I can only think that she understands that my cat and the birds are family. She also understands that Princess feels timid around her and honors her desire for distance (this even though she has a rough-and-tumble relationship with the ranch house cats).

As I started to say . . . (hey, I'm 71 now!) . . . Marcia and Dave are home. The ranch house will have lights and the stove will be glowing warm, and I will go down soon to hear all the details about their marvelous vacation in Hawaii.

Going through my picture drawer (sigh), I found a bag with two books I bought at a sale somewhere. They're both written by the same person, Randy Howe, and the titles are: Why I Hate Democrats and Why I Hate Republicans. I wouldn't have bought either one alone, but I'm looking forward to reading both together.

Okay, I finally managed to work in a political statement. Some of you won't be surprised. Some of you may be thinking, "What took her so long? She must be slipping!" As long as you think of me with affection, go ahead and think whatever you like.

So, birds have finally quieted down. Don't know what I'm going to do with Miss Punkin and Walter Pigeon-Toe. They are looking everywhere for a nesting site. This morning they went behind my countertop convection oven and made so much noise--chortling and "talking" to one another, as well as making some alarming mechanical-type noises--that I had to get them out and put them back in their cage. I half expect to start finding little eggs tucked away here and there. (But then I would regret putting Punkin back in the cage, knowing she wanted to be with her little egg. There is no escape from guilt in this life.) (smile)

This is Teensy, the last hatched baby from Punkin and Walter's latest brood.

The five I had before the four babies came on the scene.

Front: Walter Pigeon-Toe (yellow-on left) and Miss Punkin; Middle: Birdie (notice, no flight feathers) and Turtle (named before revealing her beauty); Top of fan: Sweet Beau Peep (named because he peeped at me from inside the shell)

Definitely enough for now. I'm back to waiting for the rain.