Quote of the Week

A perfect summer day is when the sun is shining, the breeze is blowing, the birds are singing, and the lawn mower is broken.    —James Dent

It’s almost a perfect summer day. After all, I don’t own a lawnmower seeing as how I live in an apartment. But the subdivision across the street is in full lawnmower–and worse, leaf blower–swing. Ack!!!

These aren’t the only machines in modern life, though. I sit behind this one, my computer, almost every day. Usually, I like it. Sometimes, though, I long for something more portable, more social, less conspicuous. And, while it feels odd at first, on those days, I grab my “archaic” paper notebook and a pen. Then, I disappear outdoors. I write on a bench in a park or at the beach. Or in a coffee shop or outdoor cafe. I don’t have to worry about power sources, or glare, or my polarized sunglasses deleting my view. I may not always write the fastest this way, but I’m writing. And I’m happier than a clam (why are clams happy, anyway?) about my “mini vacation.”

Moral of this story? Don’t feel tied to the machine. You can escape it, if you like or need to, for a day, or longer. Whatever works for you, works. Just because it’s not the most efficient method doesn’t mean it’s not viable, or the right method for you. For however long you like. After all, rules were meant to be broken.

And Further Thoughts on the Season:

It’s a fast-escaping summer: the red raspberries are done and gone, and while I’m mourning their loss, the blueberries glory in their full flush. A new batch seems to ripen as soon as you leave off picking on any particular bush. So I can’t remain too sad.

Mosquito larvae are squiggling in the saucer under my large urn-shaped planter on the patio, which really makes me happy. Because, you see, I just bought another new betta after the last one succumbed to a fungal infection brought on by companion fish I’d gotten for his tank (sigh). Poor Snowball wasn’t eating, though. And he wasn’t swimming. He’s young, but he had a bad case of “betta-bowl syndrome” (my term for the fish that just lies there, never having learned to swim due to a lack of space his entire life), and I feared he’d just wither away and die. Even though his new tank was lovely, spacious and clean, he hid under a leaf, wedged at the bottom, or hovered just under the surface if I turned off the filter. I never saw him eat, or even look at the food.

Then I brought him a few wriggling mosquito larvae. They scared him a bit at first, but they tickled some inner instincts, for he was soon more fascinated than afraid. And then, he bit. And missed. And bit again, successfully this time. He munched and swallowed. And the rest is history (in the making). Snowball will live. He’s become a keen and wily hunter, swimming eagerly through the plants in search of his next snack. Although I’m going to have to wean him off live food come fall . . .