As I looked out the back door yesterday morning, watching the squawky parakeets on our bird feeder, I caught sight of this pair of goldfinches feasting on our teasel seeds. I've always read that goldfinches like teasels, and I always leave some up through the winter to give them foraging opportunities. But the goldfinches in our 'hood often seem to go for other plants, like the verbena or the tamarisk. I'm glad this time they were appreciating the food I deliberately left for them!
We pre-ordered an Uber (and yes, we got an Uber Pet!) to take us to Whitstable on Friday. It turned out to be not nearly as expensive as I feared -- about £130. Of course there will be a tip on top of that, but it's still a pleasant surprise and it will be so much easier than the train with incapacitated Dave and ancient, creaky Olga. Not to mention all our luggage, which I would otherwise have to carry on my own since Dave is under strict instructions to lift nothing heavier than a tea kettle.
He's supposed to get "the tomato" removed today, so we're off to the hospital as soon as I finish this post. No one has contacted us about exactly where to go or when to be there, so we're flying in the dark here, but I have faith that when we arrive someone will take care of us. Removing a drain should be an easy task.
When it came time for our evening TV ritual, Dave wanted to watch a Christmas classic, so we opted for "White Christmas" with Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye, from 1954. Somehow I had never seen it, at least not that I remember. Dave thought he'd seen it before but he didn't remember specifics so it was like new to him, too. Vera Ellen, who played one of the lead parts, was an amazing dancer but she looked unusually skinny, and sure enough I read online afterwards that she struggled with anorexia -- back before it was fully recognized as a condition. And every time I see Rosemary Clooney I can't help singing, "Extra value is what you get when you buy Coronet!"
Anyway, it was an enjoyable movie in the slightly tedious way of many '50s musicals.
We pre-ordered an Uber (and yes, we got an Uber Pet!) to take us to Whitstable on Friday. It turned out to be not nearly as expensive as I feared -- about £130. Of course there will be a tip on top of that, but it's still a pleasant surprise and it will be so much easier than the train with incapacitated Dave and ancient, creaky Olga. Not to mention all our luggage, which I would otherwise have to carry on my own since Dave is under strict instructions to lift nothing heavier than a tea kettle.
He's supposed to get "the tomato" removed today, so we're off to the hospital as soon as I finish this post. No one has contacted us about exactly where to go or when to be there, so we're flying in the dark here, but I have faith that when we arrive someone will take care of us. Removing a drain should be an easy task.
When it came time for our evening TV ritual, Dave wanted to watch a Christmas classic, so we opted for "White Christmas" with Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye, from 1954. Somehow I had never seen it, at least not that I remember. Dave thought he'd seen it before but he didn't remember specifics so it was like new to him, too. Vera Ellen, who played one of the lead parts, was an amazing dancer but she looked unusually skinny, and sure enough I read online afterwards that she struggled with anorexia -- back before it was fully recognized as a condition. And every time I see Rosemary Clooney I can't help singing, "Extra value is what you get when you buy Coronet!"
Anyway, it was an enjoyable movie in the slightly tedious way of many '50s musicals.
I woke up in the middle of the night and stepped outside for some air. I saw the moon, almost full, behind scudding clouds. Isn't it cool that everyone on the planet sees the same moon in their skies, in the same phase? It's unifying.
Your last line sounds as if it could be a song - Actually I think it is!
ReplyDeleteIn Britain we just call it the kettle.
ReplyDelete