Premature

I have asparagus growing in my bathroom.

I didn't really plan on growing it there.

I planted some roots a couple of weeks ago, thinking it would be weeks before they "took root". And by the time they were ready to transplant, the soil temperature outside would be warm enough.

But the asparagus has a mind of its own, apparently.

And so I have fresh asparagus.
In my bathroom.

Fifty-one

Fifty-one.

Here I am, middle age!

How is it, I feel so good? I always thought middle age was going to be decrepit, surly, and painfully depressing.

It's not! I feel pretty darn good!

The kids are gone and in good stead. That Spouse o' Mine is here and in good stead. I am here and in good stead.

I went and rode my bike 54 miles yesterday. It was to be tomorrow, but for the Flint Hills weather report of "Winter Mix".

So mid-morning yesterday, I embarked on a 5/something -hour bike ride on my lonesome, into a headwind for 25 miles. The temps were GREAT. The wind was most unpleasant.

I had lots of time to think. Sing. Whistle. Smile and wave. Grimace.

It was all there, all my emotions.

And finally, the last half mile...I saw that Spouse o' Mine's car in the drive. Home early from work. All I could think was "happy". I know he was not home early for me, but I was happy that he was there to cheer me on my last moment of my Birthday Ride.

After that? Two hours after my return, we went to hear a string quintet from the Kansas City Symphony.

What a fun "pre-celebration" of my days.

Aural Stimulation

I traveled to a dinky little Kansas town today. It happened to be 11:59 am when I arrived on Main Street. Noon. Suddenly I heard the noon siren - AKA the tornado whistle. Having grown up in tornado alley and having grown to fear that sound, this time I chuckled to myself at the memory. But then I thought of all the WW2 sirens that went off, that sounded just like this, and how so many hearts must have stopped (or still do ) when they hear that shrill scream in the air.

But immediately after the noon whistle came the church bells tolling twelve. I rolled the car windows down. So serene, so calm, and it took my back to the chapter in my life when we lived right by the university tower clock, and I would set my day to the chimes of the hour.

By this time I had parked my car, stepped out, and I heard the church bells again. This time they were playing Rock of Ages, Cleft for Me. How nice! What a sweet, sweet break in my day's thoughts.

As I walked down the sidewalk, I heard a doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo- noise overhead: a helicopter, flying low over this dinky little town.

Thank God for hearing, is all I have to say: an enjoyable 5 minutes of aural stimulation.

Extra! Extra! Read All About It!

Last March, daughter Gillian worked as a movie extra in the movie Hall Pass, filmed in ATL. The movie came out yesterday, all one can see is the top of Gill's head in one scene, but here is what Gill wrote about her experience last year:

Gillian's Experience:

Friday Rambler

This morning I awoke to a host of red wing blackbirds on my front porch and walk. Now, THAT was fascinating. Imagine: having morning coffee while watching Wild Kingdom: Avian Week on your front porch.

What happened was last night/yesterday afternoon, we had lots of sleet and snow. I felt sorry for the birds before sundown, so I threw out some birdseed from the comfort of my front door, and it flew as far as my porch and front walk.

How do birds "know" about this birdseed, anyway?! How did these wild redwing blackbirds "know" to show up on my front porch? They NEVER do that. Huh.

This afternoon, REAL work done and the housework neglected, (that Spouse o' Mine is out of town...can you tell?), I grabbed my XC skis and poles and merrily shouted to the Bouvier Biserka: "Pasture!" and off we went for a couple of hours of snow frolic. But...

No sooner had I made my way out to the pasture, but I spied flashing lights on a big ol' pickup. In my yard. The sheriff. Oh, no, oh, no, that could not be good at all. Oh, no...

I flew out of the pasture (sans skis, but still holding my ski poles, I do not know why), and ran to the front yard where the sheriff was standing. My face felt like frozen stone. WHAT?!!!

He yelled at me. Yelled at me!! "Get in the house!"

I yelled for Bouvier Biserka, "Biserka, 's'go, Biserka, 's'go!" She was charging the sheriff against the fence. Right behavior, wrong guy. She turned and obeyed me and came in with me.

What was going on?!

The sheriff pulled his gun/rifle thing out and slung it over his shoulder. Whatever was "going down", this man was serious business. He had binoculars and kept talking into his shirt collar.

I called a neighbor, who knew nothing. I paced. I watched. I paced. This is rural Kansas, for Pete's sake. Sheriffs are not supposed to command me to "Get in the house!"

Over an half hour later, I got a call from a rancher neighbor: apparently a derelict had "gone crazy" and forced a police stand-off. I know nothing more than that. We know the guy, he has seemed harmless in the past, but apparently there was something that prodded a police force in our tiny neck of the Flint Hills.

I miss my big old Bear. He was good in situations like this. I had nothing to fear with him around.

And so my weekend begins. Fun snow. Nutty neighbors.

Meh...