99

A warm couple of days behind me, in which I stayed near my back door and appreciated the birds and flowers close by me. The weekend traffic coming to the beach ruins the fun for me of going anywhere. Since I no longer work, I get my roads back after the two-day stampede. Spring is in the air, but people are all over the asphalt.

I gave my few potted cacti a drink yesterday. I can see as I walk around my property that this drought year in California is making the ground crack and harden. Even the gophers seem to be working extra hard to push dirt up to the surface The water district asks that we water less. Springtime should be an occasion of replenishment and renewal, but this year it seems to be taking a different twist. Not just a scarcity of rain, but of fog. I sense a little of my own energy level dwindling as well, but that might be from warmer days making me feel more languid.

The blackberry bushes I have not chopped back are developing white flowers, while honey bees have begun to take notice. The vines I have cut are inching back out of the earth with complete disregard for my desires. Much as I dislike Monsanto for trying to take over the plant world, their weed killer saves me a lot of work. I will preserve enough vines for a July pie or two.

A friend turned 99 years old yesterday. He still drives his car, but reports that he has decided to stop chasing women. He stands quite tall without a cane or walker, while his mind is keen and eager to engage in lively conversation over the finer details of modern existence. Maybe the most healthy person I’ve ever known to advance to this stage in life. We’re planning a party for his hundredth.

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