Peccaries and Plants

In the garden last weekend heard a rustle as a dozen javelinas (also know as peccaries) flowed past on the other side of the fence.  Had my usual chat with them.  Only one came near to listen, his nose wiggling like crazy.  (They can’t see well, so they depend on smell.)

Monday evening brought a strong windstorm, with lots of blowing sand and dust, hard on my coleus and basil (both with fragile leaves).  Also dropped the temperature quickly; I had gone outside in shorts and got a chill.  (But my daughter in Idaho said they got a dusting of snow and my friend in Denver said they got a few inches of snow, so having to put on long sleeves isn’t so bad.)

Wednesday, trash day, three javelinas had downed a neighbor’s trashcan and ignored my car as they enjoyed the bounty.  Glad it wasn’t mine – what a bother to clean up.  Yesterday a quail was in my vegetable patch – possibly looking for a safe place to nest?  It’s that time of the year.   Today a rabbit stopped outside my veggie patch, where I was working.  Not sure it froze to listen to my melodious voice – it probably just thought I wouldn’t see it if it stood still.

Scarface

scarfaceMy youngest grandson recently had a brief clash with a wrought-iron table, which he lost.  Rather glad my daughter, who is a nurse, and not I, was there to apply a pressure-bandage until they got him to the hospital.  He’s two.  (His forehead shown with 22 stitches.)

Remember my daughter having a bout with a 2×4 at that age that resulted in a gap in her forehead gushing blood.  Luckily one of the friends we had over was a dermatologist and he said that she didn’t need stitches as it was only an inch-long cut near the hairline.  But my mother couldn’t take all of the blood and left.

And my granddaughter, at the same age, put a few holes in her head, one when she fell backwards in Thailand, where she had to get the back of her head stitched up without anesthesia.

Latest Read
11.22.63

Finally
finished reading Stephen King’s novel, 11/22/63, all 849 pages of it, hardcover.  Did bog down a bit after about 600 pages – one subplot too many.  The main plot follows an English teacher time-traveling back to 1963 to prevent the assassination of Kennedy.   (Mentioned that I should read the book in a previous blog.1)  It’s what my mother would have called heavy reading, a tome that weighs too much to hold up in bed at night.  But if you have the muscle, and the perseverance, it’s a good book.  (Liked it better than his last scifi, Under the Dome.)

Lots about Lee Harvey Oswald that I didn’t previously know.  But also plenty about the late 50’s, early 60’s that I did know about.  I’ve heard white people reminiscing about that era being so great.  Or maybe that’s just white men reminiscing.  Not such a great time for women (June Cleaver vacuuming in pearls and high heels) or people of color.  King does a great job depicting the time.  Here is one section from the book:

And one more thing. In North Carolina, I stopped to gas up at a Humble Oil station, then walked around the corner to use the toilet. There were two doors and three signs. MEN was neatly stenciled over one door, LADIES over the other. The third sign was an arrow on a stick. It pointed toward the brush-covered slope behind the station. It said COLORED. Curious, I walked down the path, being careful to sidle at a couple of points where the oily, green-shading-to-maroon leaves of poison ivy were unmistakable. I hoped the dads and moms who might have led their children down to whatever facility waited below were able to identify those troublesome bushes for what they were, because in the late fifties most children wear short pants.

There was no facility. What I found at the end of the path was a narrow stream with a board laid across it on a couple of crumbling concrete posts. A man who had to urinate could just stand on the bank, unzip, and let fly. A woman could hold onto a bush (assuming it wasn’t poison ivy or poison oak) and squat. The board was what you sat on if you had to take a shit. Maybe in the pouring rain.

If I ever gave you the idea that 1958’s all Andy-n-Opie, remember the path, okay? The one lined with poison ivy. And the board over the stream.

1https://notesfromthewest.wordpress.com/2013/03/01/time-travel-and-the-red-shoes/

 

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