morning, afternoon

Butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, would it?  Alice managed a chemically-enhanced sleep, last night, pinioned in place with Gramsci on her feet. I had to cope with Moth wanting - well, what? - all night long.  She has a pretty little soft mew, but not when it continues all night.  Yes, little helpings of kibble shut her up for a bit, and then, just as I was back asleep and dreaming ... mew mew mew.  And then, in the early morning, she shifted into meditative Egyptian mode.

Safely back in Eldorado, at last.  We just missed most of this storm.  And now, it's flat out for me for the next six weeks, getting my book ready to send off, in final form, at the end of July.  Eeep!  Minimalist contact between me and the rest of the world, for a while.

 

on the road again (with cats)

Just as happened almost four years to the day when we turned up at La Posada, the car park was full of Corvettes (and the dining room full of their occupiers), en route to the Grand Canyon.  

The cats had no problem settling in - Gramsci is back on his favorite armoire, and Moth roaming around somewhere -

and I had no problem settling into a margarita, with a strange Route 66 centennial logo on top, and a background that has come out very oddly, and without deliberate input, like a David Hockney iPad painting.

 

the dream of the great outdoors

There is, of course, a screen between Gramsci and outside, and in any case, the window is never open as wide as this except when someone is in the room.  However, the only way to cool things down effectively is to have the window open in the early morning, run the ceiling fan, and - well, hope that the effect lasts.  We broke down today, and turned on the AC, in the end.  I think Grams is hoping that the birds are still nesting on the balcony: little does he realize that that's something which is unlikely to happen again, after the Mitigation Measures.

 

the unfurling of chrysanthemums

We've got to that point of the summer when we turn to a form of frenetic spring cleaning, and weigh up the contents of under-explored cupboards, and other things.  This year has been particularly fraught since Alice's office decamped into the house (I dread the contents of mine arriving too, one of these years ... but I'm sure space will be found).  At any rate, the results of many, many book purges over the years - 21 boxes of them - went off for rehoming through BookPickUp LA.  I don't know what happened to Rebookit, who never responded to my emails or calls, but these guys were terrific - prompt and efficient and helpful.

And then - the collection of teas.  Out went something that sounded tasty, but had an expiration date of 2015.  And a couple of years back, a rather strange student of mine gave me some chrysanthemum tea for Chinese New Year (strange, not least because he would come to office hours; did in-class exams perfectly respectably; didn't turn in take-home papers, at all, and then stopped coming and responded to no one).  The tea remained undrunk, which might have been a mistake, because by now it was definitely older than one might want ... but I couldn't resist seeing the flowers unfurl.

 

the annual opening of the trumpet plant

I've known this trumpet plant for over twenty years, and it moved with us from Hoover Street to our current house - we wouldn't have taken it to New Jersey, because of Frost.  I have to say ... it's been healthier, and although we usually expect some caterpillars, it's usually somewhat more festooned with blooms.  However ... this seems to be this year's offering, and, as ever, it's magnificent.

 

dinner being prepared

The actual process of ordering and picking up dinner from Xibei, on Sunset, was a little chaotic and slow (you'd think it might be impossible to be both, but no ...).  However, their food is delicious - may I recommend the vegetable shaomai (dumplings, basically), and the crystal cold noodles?  Alas, their sweet and sour soup wasn't on the menu, but maybe it will return ... You can sit down to eat there, too, and some people were making their way through absolutely enormous bowls of noodles.

 

a hummingbird rescue

This afternoon, Alice found a baby hummingbird - to be more exact, an adolescent hummingbird - in our front yard.  He was alert, but not moving.  So she fetched him some sugar water, and fed him some from a tiny syringe.  By then, he was stirring from the dish - and I gave him a long piece of wood to sit on, too, and at one point he wandered back and I fed him - so poignantly adorable to see his tiny long tongue coming out to suck goodness from the end of a dropper.  No sign of any parents.  It was becoming obvious we had a tiny feathery problem.  Alice called a bird rescue number in ... Santa Monica; who contacted a bird rehabilitator in Silver Lake, and we drove him over there in a shoebox with holes in the lid.  His biggest problem by now may be shock, but the first assumption all round is that he hit his head.  I suspect we'll never know if he makes it or not, but I so hope he does - he was the sweetest young thing.