Few things smell as good to me as a bowl full of uncooked field peas; they’re just so wholesome, with that dirt-and-garden scent. After thoroughly enjoying the smell of my black eyed peas soaking and then cooking, I had peas and cornbread and turnip greens for dinner. So good, and such a perfect, comforting meal.
It appears that Fenimore has reproduced. Will and I saw a juvenile Cooper’s hawk bathing in a puddle in our neighborhood this morning. S/he was very brave (or maybe brazen) and let us watch him for a few minutes. Here’s an excellent, though large, picture of a young Cooper’s hawk.
There should be some kind of central database where people can report improbable Parenting-Related Injuries. The reports should be verified, too, because otherwise nobody would believe that my scalp is bleeding because my baby bashed a cabinet door into my head while I was wearing a toothed plastic headband.
Merlin, who seemed like an oversized puppy for so many years, is definitely getting older and slowing down. In the last couple of years, his muzzle has gotten pretty gray, and I think his hearing might be starting to go a little. It’s hard to tell, though, because he’s so stubborn. I’m spending a weekend home alone, and this afternoon he did something unusual: when I went to the basement, he followed me downstairs. I was maybe just a tiny bit lonely, so I did something unusual: I let him sit on the couch with me and watch a movie. He’s a good dog.
Either I just had some kind of hallucination or we just had an earthquake.
ETA: Oh my goodness. It was an earthquake.
The chipmunks and woodchucks have come out of their winter hiding places, and yesterday I saw my first pheasant of the season. Fun times.
April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month.
I am a sexual assault survivor. This is the fifteenth April since I was raped. It is the first time I’ve ever publicly acknowledged that I am a survivor. I didn’t tell anyone I’d been assaulted until six years later. I’ve made my peace and no longer carry anger toward the man who raped me.
I’m OK.
Even so, my hands are shaking right now.
I had sort of forgotten about Aaron Copland for a while, but when I found a Copland CD under the coffee table this morning, I discovered that Fanfare for the Common Man and Appalachian Spring make a fine way to start your morning. It’s particularly appropriate given that the fanfare was first performed by the Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra during the 1943 tax season. It made me feel better about having finished my tax return, which was tedious and complicated this year.
Sitting on my lap, listening to the Mars movement from Holst’s The Planets, Will is smiling hugely up at me and dancing. Dancing. To Holst. I love my child so much.
Spring is finally here. My baby is adorable and kissy. I had a lovely weekend in Arkansas with B, seeing the flood water around the Mississippi and eating gumbo, catfish, and barbecue. The Razz and I have an arrangement whereby I’m getting to play one or the other of my horns pretty much every morning. Life is sweet.