I
keep starting entries and then abandoning them. Partly I
am having an attack of believing I can't write and partly
I am too distracted by everything. We had three nice days
in a row, unprecedented this year, so I felt like I had
to be outside looking for birds or at least pretending to
do so. No staying inside staring at the computer screen
allowed when one of those approximately ten days a year
that makes it worthwhile to live in Massachusetts occurs.
No sir!
Then the rains came again. Boy did
they ever! Whitewater in the streets. Eddies of thick
yellow pine pollen swirling in the runoff. Zero
visibility. Puddles up to the hubcaps. Thunder.
Lightning. And the Red Sox began to have some really ugly
losses (bullpen by committee-shmittee!) None so rare as a
day in June. Yeah, right.
N.B.: The catbird picture has
nothing to do with today's entry. I did it days and days
ago, though I'm not sure which of the abandoned entries I
did it for as none of them had particular relevance to
catbirds.
While all the world camped out at
bookstores waiting for the new Harry Potter book, I
waited eagerly by my mailbox for the ABA's
publication of Phoebe
Snetsinger's posthumous
memoir. I, like a slew of other birders, had pre ordered
it as soon as I heard the ABA was going to publish it. In
fact, I ordered two copies so I could give one to Ned.
Friday afternoon when I returned from watching the cats
move in to the new shelter so I could write an article on
it for the newsletter, I found the package from ABA by my
back door. I don't think I've torn open any package so
fast since I was a 5-year old at Christmas time. Just
like a kid with Harry Potter!
Speaking of Harry Potter, I called
Andrea on Saturday to find out if she had started the new
one yet. No, she hasn't. Apparently the hype has not
permeated Groton. And silly aunt that I am, I wished her
a happy summer when school doesn't get out until today.
They have a half day today - 3 hours. On a Monday? No, I
didn't tell her about the Phoebe Snetsinger
memoir.
Saturday night the former boss of
me at Starship Startup (who should more properly be
recognized as my one time office mate at It Doesn't Suck)
hosted the annual dinner party in honor of our former
coworker who has attained fossil-like
age and vigorous retirement,
up from Florida for the glorious Boston July 4
festivities. Besides the fossil and my esteemed co-author
and the usual suspects also in attendance was one
coworker I had not seen since leaving there. (There's no
there there anymore...) This made for much enjoyable
storytelling and catching up. And the former boss of me
is a good cook so the food was fine too. His 10-year old
didn't have her nose in Harry Potter either so maybe the
weather in the Greater Maynard Area put a damper on the
wizard mania.
I got a chance
to thank the fossil-like one in person (I had previously
thanked him via email) for getting me Tim Wakefield's
autograph and got to hear how Derek Lowe offered to sign
a baseball too but the fossil-like one said he didn't
have another baseball and his friend (that would be me)
is a big fan of Tim Wakefield so Derek was kind of
disappointed. Somehow it's much funnier when the
fossil-like one tells it. Anyway, since he works with
them on a charity auction every year the fossil-like one
now has instructions to get Derek Lowe's autograph and to
tell him it's not that I don't appreciate him,
it's just that I'm crazy about Tim Wakefield. Knuckle
ball madness. What can I say?
With next year's FurBall in mind I
also instructed the fossil-like one to find out whether
Tim Wakefield likes cats. However, Nancy pointed out to
me that the Red Sox items at this year's FurBall auction
didn't bring much bidding. Come to think of it, they
didn't last year either. Maybe cat people don't buy
sports memorabilia.
By Sunday afternoon, we were tired
of watching the water and pine pollen pour out of the
drain pipe in front of my house so Nancy suggested we go
to Marblehead for a DJ-visit and books or visit some
other book venue like Manchester by the Book. Cats,
books, what more does one need? I suggested a modified
plan that involved visiting my old pal Beethoven at
PETsMART one more time. The rain let up enough that we
were not soaked running from the car into PETsMART.
Gavin was out and about in the
adoption center so the first thing I had to do was
introduce myself to the volunteers there (they only know
me by name, not face) and explain I'd come to see
Beethoven who is allegedly going to his new home today
(Monday) hip, hip, hooray! They put Gavin back in his
cage and I spent some quality time with Beethoven,
petting him and talking to him. He loves to be talked to.
He let me know he'd had enough petting by swatting me
with his paw, not raking me with his claws, a sign
that he is much more relaxed and doing well (as long as
he doesn't have to look at Gavin). I am so happy he's
finally found a person who appreciates him. I'll bet he
loves being the center of attention as an older woman's
single cat.
By the time we finally got to
Much
Ado, it was raining buckets
so I insisted on finding a nearby parking space no matter
what. Someone I didn't know was behind the counter. It
took a few minutes before Dust Jacket (formerly Domino)
realized I was there and started "talking" a blue streak
that could only be interpreted as "Where the h*** have
you been?!? She either followed or lead me
everywhere in the store until she found the perfect spot
to sit and demand petting. Naturally I obliged. At some
point her humans returned to the store and were talking
about some children's book about a heroic dog with a
customer who couldn't remember the title or author. They
waved to me. I waved to them and continued petting DJ and
then wandered off to browse more books (with
DJ).
Sometime later, I'd made my final
selections and DJ had zipped through the cat sized
opening under the shelves into the private part of the
basement. I attempted witty banter but had none. And
then... and then... Them: "We're selling the store and
our house and moving to England." Me: "How much do you
want for it?" Them: n$ Pause. Them: "The person most
interested in buying the shop doesn't like cats and we
thought since your DJ's oldest fan..." Not age, length of
relationship. Anyway, dear reader, you get the drift. I
gave them my home phone number and promised to keep in
touch regarding DJ's future. Color me very blue. And
dazed.
On the way to the bus station to
drop Nancy off, we discussed what it would take for me to
raise the money to buy the bookstore and would I want to
do that and all sorts of things. Like would I sell my
house and live in the shop? I can't possibly pull off
financing the shop and their house. The mental wheels
turned all night, though I must have slept some because I
woke up this morning with the Phoebe Snetsinger memoir
under my pillow.
This morning I called Ned and left
a message: "The Snetsinger memoir arrived and we have to
buy a bookstore. Specifically we have to buy Much Ado."
Uh oh, this just in, Tim Wakefield
strained something in his back making a bad throw. Looks
bad on the radio. Time to watch the news. Doesn't look
that bad on the news. Red
Sox won. Back to the entry
already in progress...
Where was I? Oh yeah. We have to
buy a bookstore. That would certainly provide employment
for me after the rotator cuff surgery, which I have not
yet mentioned. Yes, folks, it's a torn rotator cuff and
the arthropod wants to do surgery to fix it. He showed me
the MRI. You could drive a truck through this tear. This
ain't gonna go away with physical therapy.
Grrr.
I've already got my plane tickets
to/from Budapest (conifers calling me again) and told
István I'm coming. When I get back the arthropod
will be on vacation. Then there's the small matter of
Kate's wedding. How would I look in a tux with my arm
strapped to my side? So, I haven't scheduled the surgery
yet.
You'd be amazed at how many people
I've run into in the past week who have had rotator cuff
surgery. And none of them are pitchers. But all of them
tell me it's a long and difficult rehab. But heck, I can
do that and buy a bookstore, right?
