Bits and P

Martin is off to Boston. I dropped him off at the little local airport, where he caught the shuttle to Pittsburgh, where he will catch the plane to Boston and to our good friend, Kurt. They're doing some kind of wild, groovy art installation with actors and 'soundscapes' and poems. . .and I'm not entirely sure what else.

Here the light is creamy over our redbuds' furry branches, which are so laden this year they look like hot-pink boas.

I'm rather tired so I am having trouble writing properly. The two little ones are in the bath giving themselves bubble beards. Merry is reading her homework out loud. Tonight we had a special picnic with friends at the park, which meant I packed the whole pot of lentil soup which we dipped into and then hunched over our steaming bowls while the rain beat against our backs. The girls scrambled down every now and then to go and dance in the drops and by the time we left, Bea was covered in wet grass.

This morning when I looked outside to find Martin and Merry at the bus-stop corner, I noticed there was a dark fog filling half of the sky. Then I heard the wail of firetruck sirens. When I dropped off recycling this morning, the street was blocked and rivers of water streamed down the street. Then as we drove by the building this afternoon on the way to drop Martin at the shuttle, the windows of the apartment building, whose residents were all elderly, gaped at us; the whole place had been gutted by flames, except for one window in the bottom left, where pristine white lace curtains still hung. Our town with its old buildings seems prone to bad fires. Merry tells me that she heard a couple people died in this one. I am very sorry.

Oh, sigh, as my Dad used to say when there was little left to be said.

Well, late tonight my parents come in and the party can start. I have two more discs of The Gilmore Girls (my mother and I gorge on this series, much to the chagrin of Martin--but he's not here!) and a box of Crunch 'n Munch. And I DID clean the house--fairly well, I might add. There's still horse manure in the driveway, but what do they expect from Wazoo Farm?

Yelps from the bathroom. Better go!