Recalibrating

That is what the Garmin GPS thingie says, in a very irritated voice,  when I do not follow its directions in the car---either because I did not understand, I missed the sign, or I did not agree.

I guess that's where we are now in regards to the political terrain:  recalibrating.

We missed some crucial signs on the road.

 

After the obligatory morning calls/emails/signatures, I went about this lovely day:  nurturing the garden, and the newly planted pots, flowers, herbs.  

Talking to the cats, who are indeed behaving strangely.  (Bracha very deliberately pooped on the pad beneath Mazal's litter box; diarrhea.  Mazal very deliberately---but not when I could see her---sprayed on the front of the washing machine beside her litter box.)

They have each registered their displeasure; but I can't figure out the specific cause.  Aaughhh.

Messy, messy, messy.

 

The garden, meanwhile, is mostly happy.  There are incursions of weeds, which I have decided, this year, to regard as flowers.  There are signs of animal scat---good---and one small dead vole.  Since he was not eaten, I figure he died of old age.

 

I am still thinking about the future use of this wonderful house; it is still undecided.

I have learned that I must deal with important projects---like writing---in the morning, or else the day gets eaten up  by things not of my own deliberate choosing.  (Like emails and calls to congressmen, and the consequent nausea.)  

And I am beginning to assemble the repertoire for a concert for later this year called "And It Was Evening, And It Was Morning."

 

This evening, walking at dusk by Viele Lake, courteously skirting around the two goose families who succeeded in hatching and raising their goslings this year, the memories of Zalman and me strolling there at dusk, counting the new hatchlings, rose to greet me.  I stopped on the little bridge over the lake, hearing that gulp-splish sound of a fish breaking the surface, seeing the rings of movement in the water, but never seeing the fish itself:  a metaphor for seeing the vast beauties of Creation, but never quite catching a glimpse of the face of the Creator.

 

Good night.