August 11, 2013
August 11, 2013
Dear Ones,
Today is clear, warmish, and sunny. I hope the monsoons are not over. They have given us our only rain for ages. And the grass leaps up as if it would never see moisture again. We look like Ireland, believe me. A day after Abel cuts it, back it is, waving in the breeze.
This morning we had a squirrel at Mass—well, not inside, but right in front of the window behind the altar. At first it was in a prayer position—you know how squirrels sit on their haunches and put their little paws together. Then it scampered away.
We are on the verge of having—pardon me—tomatoes. Not the kind you dump into your cart at the market, but genuine, vine-ripened, fat and juicy REAL TOMATOES. Vicki’s brother ran across some that are not hybrid and reproduce by their own seed. She is growing a patch in the corner of the dog’s playground. Which the dog never uses, we must say. The dog either goes for a walk with one of her care-givers, or lies peacefully on her doggie mattress outside the kitchen door. Therefore why not use the space for something constructive.
The plants are bush tomatoes, each snuggled into its own protective cylinder of chicken wire.
At the same time, I think I may have mentioned that Esther is growing a crop of climbing tomatoes beside the chapel. They are fat and green and just dying to turn red. They are also a grand distraction for someone like me whose choir stall is right beside the window.
The reason for protection is the ravens. Who would have guessed that they’d like tomatoes? Right now they are reaping the fall of pecans and walnuts, but they must like anything they can get. The parents seem not to have driven away the offspring, and that will make a crowded territory.
We had our dear friend Renata with us for a month, and the month zipped by all too quickly. She is due for a new teaching position, with exceptional children. For which she was working on a course for accreditation. And helping out at Altar Breads, from which hangs a tale.
All of a sudden last week, the mixer began to utter dire sounds. Rita called Rich, and it was discovered that a belt in the apparatus had succumbed to old age. Well, it came with the original machinery, and deserved its retirement. A replacement needed over a week to get here, so in the interim, some of us cleaned the establishment, and some of us caught ourselves up on other matters. So it seems the Lord realized we needed a break, and master-minded the mild disaster.
Renata did an exceptional job of window cleaning.
Wednesday, Vicki came back from visiting our house in Norway. On Thursday evening we held a pizza party to welcome her and to thank Renata for the beautiful presence she has been to us. Next day, Vicki and I took her to the plane and continued in town to shop. And I mean SHOP. What generosity and tenacity she has. I pushed the carts. The last one (we visited five stores) had a list to starboard, and it was the fullest, so I had to manhandle it—wonderful exercise. I hope I can go again to help.
I am quite a nosy creature and enjoy looking around stores, but luckily I did not knock anybody down.
It looks like rain. Oh thank God.