Tuesday and a Poem

Was outside, just an arm's length from the birdfeeder, when a chickadee landed on a branch close by and then on the feeder itself. There were a lot of them around this morning, along with tufted titmice, cardinals, and a white-winged dove. Plus the Damnable Furry Thieves. Maybe I should get a separate feeder just for those little robbers. Anyway, the chickadee reminded me of being at the Reifel Bird Sanctuary in Delta, British Columbia, where the tiny little Black-capped Chickadees (we have Carolinas here) are so tame they will sit on your outstretched hand to eat sunflower seeds.

Sunny and mild, 79 degrees (26.1 Celsius). Need to take Mr. N's shirts and a couple of suits to the cleaners and stop by the store. Almost finished with Vindication. Wrist and hand still hurt, but here's a poem from the American writer and editor Karen Craigo about cosmetology. Or maybe it's about something entirely different. ;-)

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Tuesday Night

(1) After some analysis of how my right hand and wrist really feel, I'm betting I didn't sprain it at all. Instead, I think I've got a case of flexor tendinitis.

(2) My left shoulder is feeling MUCH better. No, I don't understand it either.

(3) Made a roast chicken for dinner, with a baked potato, a green salad, and a nice California Sauvignon Blanc (Hess Vineyards).

(4) I have a grey rainbow. ( This should probably distress me more than it does ...  )

(5) There is no #5.