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Gift from Hil Part 2 - 2014-12-30
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There was A LOT of turkey. - 2014-12-04
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9:14 p.m. - 2010-05-05
Air, Earth, and Feet

The cool scented air coming in through my office windows last night was so delicious I wrapped myself in a quilt and slept on the loveseat. Not a comfy piece of furniture for sleeping. Despite its hypnotic effect on conversing seated folk, lying down on that battered thing is a guaranteed backache and at least two numb limbs. Besides being about a foot too short for me to stretch out full-length it's an old sofa-sleeper and the folding bed within is so collapsed and beat-up I don't think it's even possible anymore to pull the bed out and unfold it. No matter, there'd be no room to open it anyhow, there's about 30 inches of clear space between the loveseat and the wall opposite. But the delicious cool breeze, the stillness of the critters, the faint perfume of lily-of-the-valley made the less than ideal sleeping position worth it. I can't remember the last time I had such a peaceful night's sleep. As I drifted off I could hear Fred Parris leading the Five Satins into, "Shoo doot shoo doo bee doo…in the still of the night…"


What is it about music? There's not another thing that is so transformative to my mood than the right tune. They say smell reaches in and grabs the most primal places in your brain, and sure, there's certain smells that'll take me places. The smell of the beach, Pond's cold cream, eau de bowling alley (really, it's quite a distinct scent), but for me it's music that does it best. I know I am not unique in this and it's for certain my personal playlist isn't large or sophisticated, but the associations that come with those songs are powerful. Not The Association, btw, sure 'Cherish' is a great song, but if I die before ever hearing 'Windy' again I won't be sorry.

Wait. What? Oy, tangenting will be the ruination of me for certain.

That Mick has no soundtrack to his life is still astonishing and makes me sad for him. He's got like two memories tied to its own particular song, that's it. There was no music in his house when he was a kid, none in the cars either. He looks at me like I'm nuts because on the rare times my need for music wins out over his insistence on silence in our life almost every song will prompt a response from me. I'll sing along or laugh or cry and launch into The Story that goes with that song. He'll cut me that look which says, "Oh boy, it's whack-a-doo time again" and either demand to know why I waste brain space on knowing all the words to 'Tears of a Clown' or what the hell 'Yummy Yummy' has to do with going to the county fair. Could I be a bigger fruitcake?

But there you go. As there are 'horse' people and 'dog' people and those who don't understand either dogs or horses, so there are 'music' people and those who can't see the attraction or need to clutter up one's life with song.

I went to the farm today for tea and conversation with GBW. She's looking much healthier now that Lyme disease isn't kicking her ass. The farm is looking lovely too, all burgeoning life and hopping goat kids. The newest tenants on the farm are ducks. A special breed of ducks known to be especially good at controlling the insect population. The size of Peeps two weeks ago when she brought the ducklings home, they are now at least 5 times larger and beginning to fledge. I must say along with being adorable as all baby creatures are, they're going to be even prettier as adults and quite fashionable by NY standards, these ducks dress all in black. A glossy black with a jewel colored sheen on their feathers. I'd never seen all black ducks before, even Daffy Duck has an orange bill and feet.

I'll be watching GBW's experiment with ducks as insect control closely, I may want some ducks for my own yard. I loathe the idea of introducing poisons to my little patch of the biosphere, but also could use some help cutting back on the outrageous volume of ticks and grubs. Poor Wolf has to strip to the skin every time he comes in from playing outside, and damn if there isn't a tick or two attached to him often enough to warrant such intrusive inspections. The kid is going to be 13 next month and is entitled to a bit of body privacy, you know? If having ducks will cut back on the strip searches I know he'll be grateful.

The new farm intern is working out well too. So much so that GBW (with her regained health and vitality) is looking forward to some day-tripping and a couple longer excursions this summer. We had a blast discussing Seaside Heights, which she knows of old (as do most folks who grew up in this area) but hadn't been to in a while. I assured her that seedy honky-tonk Seaside hadn't changed much at all. It never does, I'm sure even those jerks on MTV's 'Jersey Shore' haven't managed to put a serious ding in Seaside's eternal greasy charm. The Sawmill still sells humongus slices of tissue thin pizza with the complementary thimble of soda. The rooftop mini-golf, the fishing pier, the giant fiberglass Alfred E Newman dressed as a lumberjack, and even the world's tattiest air-rifle shooting gallery are all still there.

Now that she's feeling better I can admit how worried I've been about my friend. Seeing her so glowing and happy and organized and hopeful was a wonderful, wonderful thing.

Puma update: Best time for the mile evah!!! My shins had a bit of residual ouchieness, mostly I think they were afraid it would hurt, but my new super sneakers are everything one can ask of a workout shoe and more. I know I should save them for the gym, but they are so cute and sooooo comfortable I wore them to the farm today. Me! Voluntarily wearing gym apparel outside the gym! Told Mick soon as possible I'm buying another pair just to make sure I have replacements when this pair wears out.

Hey, some people hoard food, some hoard money, people hoard all kinds of things to feel secure. Me? I'm gonna start hoarding Pumas.

Good night, lovies. ~LA

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