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. 

 

 

Help me

Having spent more than two hours on support lines for Comcast and Netgear, I’m thinking that today’s earworm should be from fairly early Beatles.

The fact that you’re reading this post means the calls were—eventually—successful.

 

 

Brooding

It occurs to me that this blog may disseminate a lot of Brood X content in the form of photos and videos. On yesterday’s walk, it seemed like every few steps I was capturing more of 2021’s crop.

Viz: this tree was evidently the place of choice for quite a few of them to shed last season’s shell:

Here's another mass-exfoliation site:

And it might have been indelicate of me to record this guy as he was slipping out of something less comfortable. But if he’d wanted privacy, he shouldn’t have done it in the road right there in front of me:

Also, these guys:

And here’s well, I think of it as a memento mori; also a reminder of the beauty of Nature's design capabilities:

 

 

Issues

I was taking my shopping empty cart to the cart pergola on Saturday when I noticed the clear sign of someone with a lot of compensation issues:

I'm sure that the extra high suspension is completely necessary. Also the "Black Widow" on the windscreen.

Way to take up four parking spaces, putz.

 

 

They're BAAAAACK

Still haven’t heard any of them, but yesterday I saw my first evidence that Brood X is among us.

I know I do not have enough windscreen wiper fluid.

 

 

 

Gratitude Monday: After

A few weeks ago, I was settling down to an evening of online jigsaw puzzles when I got a text from a colleague. She was in town for a special project but unexpectedly had the evening work-free; did I fancy coming out for a drink?

Did I ever!

There was a bit of a kerfuffle, as I had to get out of my sweats, and then it occurred to me that I prolly didn’t want to show up at a high-end hotel in Crocs, which is all I’ve been wearing for a year, when I wasn’t actually barefoot. So I had to dig out some trainers.

But I made it and we spent a couple of hours just chatting, sat at a table and not across three router hops.

You know—like the Before Times.

I confess that it felt odd, after more than a year of always being separated—by electrons, by plastic barriers, by a lion's length. To chat, to laugh, to look directly into a friend’s face. To hug (we were masked up for that). And to be surrounded (at a distance) by besuited people talking business or other friends just having a gab.

Now that CDC is telling us fully vaccinated that we can begin to congregate carefully, without masks, I’m looking forward to my first breakfast with a friend. Maybe a trip to the nursery to browse plants without my eyeglasses steaming up from the mask in humid weather. To hugs.

And that’s my gratitude for today. It’s not the Before Times—we’ll never have that again. But it’s beginning to be the After Times, and I am so here for that.