I have taken my three pots of geraniums, my small Boojum tree and a willing gnome to visit with a St. Francis statue in a Tucson home that has a courtyard where a fountain gurgles and a black bird, a Phainopepla with a punk hairdo, dips his beak to drink each warm day. Arugula and lettuce still put out flavorful green no matter how much I pick to have with...
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Solitudinarian is a word. It is entry number 922.5 in my Roget’s International Thesaurus, Third Edition, a word grouped with recluse, hermit and, get this, “closet cynic.” Well there is nothing like the fall and winter parade of holidays to bring out the closet cynic in me, old solitudinarian that I am. When you elect me president my first...
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“Oh gross!” I say aloud to pine tree and cabin, bright day and sky. “No, no, no,” I add, startling butterflies and quail. “Say it isn’t so!” A ripped-open long envelope from my twin sister Joyce flutters off the porch into the dry yellow grass. Usually mail from Connecticut brings me cartoons she knows will make me chortle or a photo from the...
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Recently a friend and I gave in to the urge to walk to a place with pictographs. Even with the directions to Picture Canyon Natural and Cultural Preserve in hand, it felt strange to skirt a mall and water treatment plant to get to a waterfall, but we found the parking, leashed her dog and happily headed out on a trail new to us. We strolled and peered at...
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On my way to watch the eclipse of the century, I didn’t fuss about a reservation or add miles to the odometer of my old truck. Instead, for four mornings in a row, I worked on my whole-body tan and read a book. I did consider joining the crowd wearing the funny glasses on Mars Hill. (Don’t those glasses make people look like they are in a scene from a...
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