May 28: I walked home last night, after a baseball game. The air was warm and still. The sky was bright with stars, and the trees whispered greeting. Even the musky smell of soil and creek was pleasing. Nineteen months had passed since the last time I carried my scorecard home in moonlight. We’d lost last night’s game, and that one, as well, in late October 2019. But we gained the World Series trophy; and my nighttime walks from the Metro are just a bit better for the memory.
May 29: Today was a day of sweet kindnesses. Two fellows at the auto body shop laughingly taught each other how to replace my windshield wipers, and made me promise to return the next time so they could teach me. I had lunch with a friend whom I hadn’t seen in over a year, and the rains waited until I finished my walk home. I exchanged work memories (and mutual affection) with another friend who called me after a long separation, and sea-salt air infused our words. At night, at our local brewery over beer and grilled cheese, a young woman who shared our Thanksgiving stopped by to renew the acquaintance and lingered for conversation. And this does not count my pedicure touch-up or a chat with my bookseller. I hope I gave at least half as many kindnesses as I received.
May 30: I took a long car trip to visit a friend. The cold wet weather was warmed by coffee, pancakes and easy conversation. And on either side was quiet. It was 500 miles well spent.
May 31: Ah, the sunshine; ah, the warmth: these augmented the holiday delights of reading the paper on our sunny patio. Coffee done, I moved inside to begin my day. And I felt the delicate movement of a leaf on my neck. When I brushed it off, I saw a cicada on my carpet, dismayed in its search for shrubbery. (My hair cut would not qualify.) What would Jeremiah do? I knew, of course: scoop it up and place it on an appealing bush. So I did. And I resolved to scan all body parts when leaving Cicadaville.
June 1: Yesterday, our town brought its customary Memorial Day parade to us. True, we couldn’t salute the spangled Bolivian dancers in high-heels boots, or the marching bands and Little League teams. But the town offered its fire trucks, wood chippers, and those cool trucks with flashing arrows to guide traffic. It was a tiny vehicular parade winding through city streets, and I enjoyed it very much.
June 2: My bird feeder — I mean, my deer feeder — no, actually, a it’s a vertical chipmunk buffet. Today, a chipmunk swinging like an aerialist from a shrubbery trapeze grabbed the feeder’s footrest and settled in. With cheeks the size of walnuts, the chipmunk returned again and again to eat, from all angles, inches of sunflower seeds. A red finch and a nuthatch visited too. But the chipmunk was the host of this party.
June 3: Glorious day! I was the very first customer at my wonderful independent book store, One More Page. Anticipating a grand reopening very soon, the store admitted patrons by appointment. I do love browsing a bookstore in the company of other readers who will happily recommend books I should be reading. But what paradise to have the stacks and the booksellers to myself. What fun to discover books, puzzles, and chocolate I hadn’t known to request. And what a joy to receive a tour of the new layout from my dear friend (and store owner) Eileen. I see a sunny future for this particular delight (like that rascally chipmunk and a World Series trophy).
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