August 31, 2009

8:20 a.m.

Fine Pink Sky

Light emerges as I make the coffee. I think of fifty years ago and how the view to the southeast was clear, unforested. What dawns they must have seen here. Now it�s just sparkles of pink through the trees, and the patch of sky at the top, like a ragged oval drawn by a child. I can�t help wishing I could clear some of the woods. It wouldn�t be beyond us, in the future, but too much trouble and all those healthy trees. The view is not a good enough reason. I work with what is. We may clear a little brush on either side of the driveway, though, as it has encroached.

Yesterday I thought I smelled a frisson of skunk, so opened the front door carefully to see if there was a Pepe about. What I saw was a spotted fawn and a doe in the front yard, over at the top of the wall. I had opened the door so quietly they didn�t hear me. They moseyed on, jumped down the wall to the area below where we�ll be planting tomatoes later on, and disappeared into the brush. Now that�s possibly seven discrete deer I�ve seen � the two bucks, the mama with two teenagers (spotless), and these two. How utterly gratifying. There was no skunk in evidence.

(Now the light is pinker as the morning asserts itself � softly, inexorably. What was it Dan Fogelberg said? �And it�s going to be a day / There is really no way to say no to the morning.�)

There was a terrible experience with the sand paint on the ceiling. Suffice it to say it isn�t going to work, but I took it off before it dried and found that, if moistened a bit, the stubborn remaining patches of paint and whatever you call that thin layer of repair plaster will scrape off with less difficulty. My new goal is to get the ceiling completely scraped after all, with no edges to hide, and then prime it and use regular paint, not the textured. I�ve discovered the ceiling isn�t really flat anyway, but slightly rolling like a mostly calm sea. I also hadn�t realized I�d needed to prime first; the only ceilings I�ve painted were ones that were already white.

I�ve gotten back into looking at swatches, which always makes me serene and happy. I�m trying to match the colors in Rose�s guest bedroom. I must do this from memory when I�m at the store, as I haven�t found anything that color to bring along with me. I got close. Maybe one more try and I�ll find them.

The family went to the Brooklyn Fair yesterday. It was fun; nothing spectacular happened, but we saw lots of animals and Marc talked to various vendors about tractors and chain saws and silos, and I saw cows being put into a sort of machine that turns them on their sides so someone can trim their hooves. One enormous black cow was so afraid to go into the little enclosure. I kept thinking of Temple Grandin�s book, �Thinking in Pictures,� about how she designs compassionate animal stations that keep the critters calm when they have to be transported or vaccinated or, yes, turned into food. I thought the owners and handlers weren�t touching the cow enough, stroking her. The woman smacked her on the nose once. I did Reiki on the cow from the crowd until she was done. Only when she was on her side with her legs bound did the woman comfort her, scritching her head and standing close. I know they�re not pets, but they�re sentient, people. I don�t understand treating any animal like a �dumb beast.� You see something that is afraid, you give comfort. End of story.

Now it is quite light and my time is racing away. Must get to work.