It’s 7:46 a.m. and we are all in the backyard right now. Iris is way over at the fence, eating grass. I feel like she never feels all that great these days; grass helps animals when they’re nauseated. I take her to my new probably-cute-but-how-can-you-know vet the first Saturday of August and I am glad.
Edsel is four inches from me, holding his bunny in his mouth and surveying his domain.
Milhous is sitting on the patio portion of the yard with his ears back like a devil.
And Lily, Lily of all people, has dashed off to portions of the yard unseen. There’s probably an all-you-can-eat buffet in back of the garage or something. That’s awful. Poor Lily. It’s just…Lily outside. It’s like me outside. What are we even doing here? This isn’t our place. Our place is indoors, on the confines of the couch or what have you.
So far today I’ve already given Edsel his possibly needless heart medicine, his definitely needed arthritis medicine, AND I’ve soaked his foot in his medicated shampoo and when did I become servant to a mutt that I got in a gas station parking lot in Mt. Airy?
Do you know what I need? A rake. One of those stiff rakes. The pears are falling off my tree again, and it recalls last year after my car accident, when I was so stiff that I couldn’t reach under the tree and get said fallen pears, and 9,39393,39303,49543 wasps made a home in my pear parts. My tree was the New York of pear trees. ‘Twas the big pear city.
It was Pear-is.
Anyway I don’t go IN to Lowe’s yet, but I might just order me a rake and have it sent, which I’m sure the deliveryman will delight over. Delivering a rake. Convenient!
Maybe I could do curbside. Are they still doing curbside? I’m not going into Lowe’s. It’s as busy as my m’pear tree in August.
Ah! Here’s Lily! Coincidentally she’s emerging from under the pear tree. I could get my phone and photograph everyone, but first of all you all know what everyone looks like and you know what my yard looks like, and never let it be said June Gardens didn’t squeeze every last drop out of this backyard circa 2020.
Hey, I need advice.
I am too scared to go in my shed now that I saw that snakeskin in there, which means I cannot access the birdseed. If you think in a million years I’m walking in there and OPENING A GARBAGE CAN, which is where the birdseed is. It’d be like when you open one of those gag gift things where the snake jumps out at you.
I don’t KNOW how I think a snake is going to open a garbage can. I just know he will.
My question was going to be where can I store my birdseed from here on out but I think I just solved it myself. I’ll just buy smaller amounts, so I can dump all of it into the feeders and have none left over, thereby solving the “where to store the seed cause it ain’t going in the garage” dilemma.
Not far from me, there’s a tiny locally owned hardware store that time forgot. Maybe I can get up my courage and my mask, head to the hardware store and get BOTH a rake and a small bag of birdseed.
June Gardens: problem-solver.
That hardware store inexplicably has mounted animals all over the walls. Ima guess the hardware store owner’s wife said, You are NOT displaying this moose in our home so he had to pop it up there in the store. This is why marriage is dumb.
When I agreed to move to Los Angeles, Marvin got us an apartment before I got there. “I decorated it a little,” he said. And he really did a great job! He got these cool midcentury modern displays for my snow globes. I used to collect snow globes. And he got all this cool quirky stuff to adorn our mantle.
But he also hung license plates in the living room. He thought it was perfectly acceptable to use license plates in the living room. He was aghast when I said they weren’t staying.
One new year’s eve, Ima hazard a guess that it was 1998 going into 1999, we had a party. In retrospect it wasn’t that fun of a party, as the guests were duds and I can say that because none of them read this blog. Don’t go to a party and not try. It’s awful.
Anyway, I had to work and he didn’t that week, so I asked him to head to the party supply store and get banners and streamers and those things you blow at midnight (my high school swim team) and little plates for snacks and napkins.
Nowadays I wouldn’t use paper for plates or napkins, because I am the very height of sophistication. Pear-is is in my backyard, after all.
I swear a pear just dropped as soon as I wrote that.
In my MIND, which is a terrible place to be, Marvin perhaps bought all black and silver accessories. Black paper plates. Silver napkins. Or maybe burgundy. That would be wintery and sort of post-Christmas-looking.
When I got home, not only had Marvin gone to the party supply store and bought the stuff, he’d even hung it up dutifully. And?
Smiley faces streamed across our dining room becomingly. The plates smiled up at me yellowly from the table.
Smiley-face napkins. Smiley-face noisemakers.
“What?” asked Marvin, whom I later divorced. “They were on special.”
It’s now 8:12 and I’d better shower before “going to” work. I had my trainer last night and wish to refresh this whole look I’ve got going.
As an update, Edsel is still four inches from me, his bunny at his side, Lily is lying under the hydrangea and now Iris and Milhous have disappeared to the all-you-can-eat buffet behind the garage.