Varmint Warriors

Last night as The Amazing Bob, Jen, Oni, brother Kevin and I sat out on the veranda, enjoying the day’s fading light, Jen spotted an interloper. I suppose, because our wee grey visitor was respectfully hiding in the tree’s hollow, our Varmint Warriors (Varmint Warriors — great band name, n'est-ce pas?) didn’t feel the need to spring into action.

Or they were off the Rodent Repeller clock. One or the other.
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They danced down the streets like dingledodies, and I shambled after as I've been doing all my life after people who interest me, because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones that never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the
stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!" 

Jack Kerouac— On the Road 

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Jen and I met at Froggies the other night. As usual, my brain short circuited when the fab-ola barkeep Wendy asked me what I’d like and, as uzh again, I asked her to surprise me. What’d I get? A Wentini! Dunno all that was in it but there was a lovely hint of grapefruit meandering through it. She’s the Merlin of Martinis, I tell ya!
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Now that Rocco’s rockin’ his summer fur coat and cap, his battle scars are much more apparent. TAB and I are still amazed that he survived. That and he just loves to have his head patted. I didn’t for the longest time, figuring that’d be painful. Nope — our former feral warrior just can’t get enough. I hope, hope, hope we can entice him to come inside this next winter.
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I just started Charles De Lint's book The Onion Girl. It's a fairy tale about a woman surviving an  awful childhood plus being hit (and run) by a car, becoming paralyzed and losing her ability to paint, to wield a brush. Painting was the core of her being. Now, I've already read the next book in the series Widdershins (found it on the discount shelf at Trident — it was my introduction to Mister De Lint's work) so I know she works, pushes through and is able to paint again.

Like me!

People who’ve never read fairy tales, the professor said, have a harder time coping in life than the people who have. They don’t have access to all the lessons that can be learned from the journeys through the dark woods and the kindness of strangers treated decently, the knowledge that can be gained from the company and example of Donkeyskins and cats wearing boots and steadfast tin soldiers. I’m not talking about in-your-face lessons, but more subtle ones. The kind that seep up from your sub¬conscious and give you moral and humane structures for your life. That teach you how to prevail, and trust. And maybe even love.

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Yesterday morning was so gloriously beautiful that I had to run out, camera in hand of course, for an early beach scramble.

Here...just look!