Astrud

I was awakened again this morning by the chattering magpies outside our window. I initially thought the magpies were villains, raiding the nest of another bird, but I've come to suspect they may be victims themselves. I think there's a cat stalking those birds, because when I've gone out to disrupt the noise, I've heard an animal jump down and run off. This morning, just as I got outside, there was a skirmish and the magpie chattering stopped -- and now there's just ominous silence.

I hate this feeling. It wouldn't bother me if it were natural creatures meeting a natural death, but a stalking house cat is not nature. I don't think a fox is the culprit because a fox couldn't climb a tree to endanger a bird nest.

Olga seems to be under the weather. She didn't really want to eat last night, which for her is never a good sign, and this morning she's mostly sleeping. She doesn't have any outward signs of illness so let's hope it's a transient thing.

Did you hear that Astrud Gilberto died? She's the Brazilian singer whose breathy voice gave "The Girl from Ipanema" its musical allure. I've been a fan of that particular brand of '60s Bossa Nova for many years and I have several of Gilberto's albums, as well as those of her collaborators like Stan Getz and Antonio Carlos Jobim. She was an interesting talent -- her voice was light and somewhat tentative and not pitch-perfect, all factors that would seem to rule out a professional music career. But somehow, for her, it worked.

My interest in Gilberto was part of my long-standing infatuation with Brazil, or at least a mythical version of Brazil. I think I've mentioned that I had Brazilian pen pals in high school and college -- three girls, Teresa, Frima and Flavia -- and I was interested in bright, colorful graphics and artwork that had a sort of Tropicalia sensibility. When I was a senior in high school I remember going to see the risible "Blame it on Rio" in the cinema, just for the scenery of the city. (I later came to love "Black Orpheus," which is much better both cinematically and visually, as well as the Amy Irving film "Bossa Nova," where the main character lives in a breezy apartment overlooking one of Rio's beaches, perhaps Ipanema itself.)

I've still never been to Brazil. It's probably nothing like I've long imagined it. Anyway, thanks to Astrud Gilberto for helping provide a soundtrack to my South American dreams.

(Photos: A sculpture near the London Eye, and valerian outside one of our neighbor's houses.)