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Sunday, May 2, 2010

Itís really hard to stay inside on a gorgeous spring day like this one. Itís not that I wanted to go anywhere, but I gazed with longing at my porch (the photo below looks out my back door) and wished I could put a chair out there and read.

The way to make that happen would be to take the trimmer and hack away all the high grass growing through the porch boards. But thereís only so much I can use my hands and not have them ache, and Iím afraid I mostly used them up doing some heavy data entry work. Too much typing leaves very little left for weed whacking.

Still, even with all the elements preaching against it, I didnít stay inside all day. I needed a break from typing anyway, so I found a spot with dappled sunlight filtered by the leaves of the pussywillow and set up there with my chair and my Kindle. It was a blissful few minutes, until the sun moved westward enough to put me in its direct light, and I had to move.

With nowhere to move to, I gamely fired up the trimmer and whacked away at a shady spot, thinking I could sit there and read for another hour or two. Sadly, it didnít quite work out that way, and it wasnít because of the pain in my wrist. First, I almost fell over backwards while sitting in a flimsy chair on uneven ground. And then came the bugs.

Apparently the weed trimmer had stirred up the insects in that area, and they took out their annoyance on me. I didnít last long outside after the attack started. I was flailing around so much, trying to get them to leave me alone, that I couldnít even see the page any more. So I had to give up and come back inside. It was a noble experiment, and it worked for awhile. As much as I tried to make the best use of a beautiful day, it didnít quite take.

20 April 2010

When I first set up my little reading station, before I stirred up the bugs, I had a chance to relax with my surroundings. Sitting still out in my yard is a way to make the birds comfortable with my presence, and I had finches and sparrows get close enough to observe. The red-shouldered hawk that lives in my eucalyptus grove wasnít as welcoming. It shrieked and circled grumpily overhead. I let it know, when I was driven inside, that it wasnít the reason I was leaving. I wouldnít want it to think I could be scared off that easily.

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