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Hot duck

93 outside today, blacktop bubbling under the sun. Men standing in the highway median selling limes and cold water. Stopped by our little community garden. I am not a member. I would not eat veg grown in the soil here-- not since Sandy. But there chickens there i like to see. Today the chickens were fine, resting in the heat inside their coop. But there was a white duck shut outside the coop, away from the water. He did not look good at all. He was lying in the dirt,  panting. Garden was padlocked, i could not get in. I stopped police who said they would check. I will let you all know how it turns out.

I could not stay, i had an appointment today. But i will check on the duck on the way back.

Also i forgot to say there was an entirely naked woman changing her clothes on the sidewalk. We passed by just when she was stepping into underpants. An older woman with her was shoving the discarded clothes into a nearby stormdrain. No idea what is going on there. I hope the police do not get distracted arresting her for the nudity, and forget about the duck. Topless is legal in NYC-- bottomless is not.

Update: Duck is ok. Moved so it can reach water. Seems more alert.

This makes total sense

Chickens, when allowed to roam and do what they want, eat beetles, worms, and probably mosquitoes too.

We kept chickens when I was a child. They were robust intelligent birds. They went by themselves to their little house at night, where the nest boxes were, and climbed onto perches to sleep. I went out at dusk, fed them and shut the door. In the morning I got up early before school to feed them again and let them out. I also changed their water then and collected eggs. We had about 10 chickens. We had 2 acres of yard. They never left it.



Wasn't going swimming today anyway.

They are following the other confused fish, in the weirdly warm ocean. You can see where the fish are, by watching the birds. Birds means little fish, little fish means big fish. Don't swim where the birds are diving. Am I the only one who learned that from her mom? Probably not.


Maybe go swimming tomorrow though.

High summer

It is high summer in Brooklyn. The heat pours down from a hard blue sky, pins you to the heat rising from the blacktop. It is the kind of heat that makes your eyelids sweat. Our apartment is on the fourth floor, just under the roof. We are cozy and warm all winter; sometimes so warm we open the windows. But we are paying for it now.

We did groceries today, a whole family event, to drag them all up the stairs and put them away. We dozed all afternoon, and only now at nearly midnight, is it pleasant in the house.

Husband took Sabir for a good walk, and a swim. They rescued a horseshoe crab. Sabir saw his first police horse. Hazel never liked horses, but Sabir is much more mellow about things. He has a sort of confident curiosity that is just so admirable. I wish I felt that way.

Now that it is summer Sabir is not allowed on the beach proper. Dogs are allowed on the boardwalk only. But he can go to Calvert Veaux park and wade in the creek. (Also unlike Hazel he likes water. Hazel could swim of course, if you towed her out with you. But she would paddle angrily to shore the minute you released her. He will retrieve from the water and go in wading.)

I made churros tonight. Simple recipe, easy as pancakes really. Also cooked a chicken which will do for the next few days.

And now it really is midnight. I suppose I should sleep. Wishing you all safe and happy.


Some good news

This is a humane and elegant solution. Imagine how happy the little guys will be to find an unexpected treat! I am not clear on if the candy will work on the ferrets too?


Days of words and salad

It is hard, isn't it to write what really counts? We can sidle with words, strike a pose.

But I find that if I do not come back to write about about my real life, if I am not honest in words, then the words are denied me when I want them. Words of fiction are a reward for inner honesty.

Of course writing about my actual self is not fun the way Navyboys are fun. Fiction is like making a salad, everything put in gently, plump alive and green. This other, is work with a boning knife; cutting down, into what is or was alive.

You may notice I have not put a lot of fiction up recently.

It has all been harder of late. Bits of stories come, I am too tired, too preoccupied to reach for them. And if you don't take them and work them, they stop coming. (That much is true about the muse, though I don't really believe in her.)

Nothing is really worse here. Daughter finished high school, son is getting ready to leave. Husband taking summer classes. I am different. My steps slowed, my voice flattened, the sadness swells my throat, the tears behind my face. I have to push it down, or it will swamp me entirely. (Heeling over, heavy in the troughs between the waves water on the deck... I have to run before it, ride it out. Not get knocked sideways.) Words help. Words always help.

And I hope I have not worried anyone. I hope I have made sense. There will be fiction again. Salad days ahead. I just had to write this first.

Window View

We had been running AC all day with the shades down to keep out the heat. Heat broke with rain around 5.

This is the view out my window.

Jun. 26th, 2016

Civil judgement is not relevant. I don't care how much the victim sued for. That should have no bearing on criminal trial.

Also-- if you curb stop someone in the head you are a violent person. And if you are a cop while you do it you are an abomination.


Contagious Anxiety and Possibly Cake

We float together in a sort of amniotic soup. Not only are we not islands, we are all actually touching. I can taste your fear, and you have your elbow in my eye.

Three states back I knew a sailor who was anxious. He struggled with it as best he could. He had come up with something that worked for him, at least a little. He baked.

His wife would wake to an empty bed, and she would know that Brian had had a bad night. She would go down in her bathrobe and find six or eight professional quality, gloriously decorated cakes, each meant to feed 8 or 10 people.

This was right around 9-11, and the Iraq war. We all ate a lot of cake on our street.

There is a lot right now that feels miserable and worrisome. I cannot help or comfort my friends overseas. Borders seem pretty fungible when we are all in the soup. I worry that i will offend. I worry that i don't understand.

I may very well make a cake or two today. It won't be as good as Brian's cakes.(Really the Navy wasted his skills making him an RDC, he should have been moved to pasteries!)  So no, not as good, but made with love and hope. I wish you could all come here to eat it.

Doing the Work

Warm thoughts today for all who are voting, sitting-in, protesting, assembling, speaking, thinking, and listening. All of you, both sides of the water, are doing the hard good work of representative government.