Some lovely day

Today’s earworm was written well over 60 years ago, but it’s spot on for right now.

And by “right now” I mean this decade, this year and this week.

Because in the past few days, Belarus has violated international law in order to silence a journalist; there’s been yet another mass shooting, this time in San José; the Israelis and the Palestinians have been bombing the crap out of each other...again; and Republicans are engaging in douchebaggery ranging from cutting off Federal unemployment benefits to millions of Americans to equating wearing a face mask with suffering under the Holocaust. And I am sick to the back teeth of it all.

Actually—them all. I am sick to the back teeth of humans.

So I’m giving you “The Merry Minuet”, which was written by Sheldon Harnick (who wrote the songs for Fiddler on the Roof, if you’re asking). And I'm giving you Harry Belafonte singing it. Guess which line encapsulates my feeling today?

The song actually starts at 1:23, but Blogger's craptastic new interface won't let me trim the video. I hate Google, too.

Brood in the 'hood

Welp, time for an update on Brood X. According to colleagues in Haymarket (Virginia) and Annapolis (Maryland), the swarm has not yet struck. But, whee-doggies, they’re certainly active here in the environs of the District They Call Columbia.

Today I have clips of them singing the song of their people. Here they are at a distance:

And here they are up close:

(Those are their exit holes from their 17-year hibernation. I give them major props for being able to burrow in and then climb out of the soil here in the People’s Republic, because it’s basically nothing but clay. These guys are tough little buggers.)

Yesterday on my walk, Brood X drowned out the sound of landscapers on their industrial-strength riding mowers.

This is a scene of mass shedding; you can tell it’s from a week ago, because you can hear the birds; the cicadas have not yet begun to clear their throats:

Again, from last week: newly emerged nymphs:

Here are some guys who've been roughed up some:

This one’s having a hard time:

(I turned him over. Whenever I find one that’s turtled, I turn it over; evidently they can’t right themselves on their own.)

Not sure about this one, with these wings:

And this is my avatar for O365 at work. It's quite the conversation starter on conference calls:

 

 

Personal assistant

I got this Stretch Armstrong, uh, figure for Christmas.

For a while, he lived on a bookshelf in the livingroom, but I recently brought him to my desk because video meetings.

Thing is—in my hands, he’s really more of a Squish Armstrong than a Stretch. I mean, he stretches just fine, but I find it more satisfying to squeeze than pull.

He’s going to have a challenging summer.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Street art

Last week the chalk people were out in the neighborhood. Here are a couple of their portraits:

Chalk guy is obviously not a fashionista; viz. the different colored footwear.

I think my favorite was the disembodied hand:

Glad I caught them all before yesterday’s hours o’ rain.

 

 

 

Gratitude Monday: peonies

We’re barreling into summer here in the People’s Republic. Early last week I had the heat on; Saturday I finally clicked over to A/C. The thermostat had reached 75F, which is somehow just lovely outdoors, but indoors it’s too damned hot.

Walks are becoming a bit more challenging—heat and humidity aren’t my thing. But seeing what Brood X is up too keeps me going out. And, of course, there’s the changing scenery in seasonal flora.

In particular, I’ve been observing the cycle of my neighbor’s peonies. Starting with the very tight bud, moving through early flowering, and on to full-blown glory.

But here’s what I noticed over the weekend: even as they’re in their last phase, they’re still so beautiful.

In fact: wherever they are in their journey, they're there wholeheartedly. 

So, today I’m grateful for the life and lessons of peonies.