Summer
seems to have arrived. The condo swimming pool is
jam-packed. I miss swimming. Not that I could swim in
that shallow pool with a billion kids even if I could
lift my left arm. Besides the large numbers of people at
the swimming pool there are large numbers of house
sparrows in the parking lot and large numbers of juvenile
starlings on the grass. House sparrows and starlings both
seem to think their parents are still going to feed them
even though they can fly. They chase the adults back and
forth across the parking lot and make begging gestures
when they land on the neighbors' roofs. Actually,
shouldn't the plural of roof be rooves? When did that
change? Did English used to be more consistent?
Seems unlikely that plural formation would have been more
consistent before the spelling standardized. Anyway,
judging by the adult birds' behavior they are more than
ready for empty nest syndrome.
A blue jay just landed on my roof,
actually on the gutter, directly above the window of my
study. I can see the tail and the feet. I can actually
hear the blue jay's feet scraping along the aluminum
gutter. It's just sort of walking around up there. What
could possibly be of interest to a blue jay in the
gutter? It flies over to the light pole, perches on a
wire, then comes back to the gutter and resumes walking
around. Wilbur is oblivious to this, not his usual style.
It's apparently too hot and humid for him to sit in the
window and study blue jays so he is stretched out full
length in the doorway with the fan blowing on him. The TV
weather people are already talking heat wave even though
this is the first hot day and it hasn't hit 90 yet, at
least at my house it's only 89.
I told my physical therapist the
Tim
Wakefield/Derek Lowe story
this morning. She got a big kick out of it, picturing
Derek saying "But don't you want my autograph too?" PT is
actually not so bad right now. I don't get that searing
"I'm going to pass out and throw up at the same time"
pain anymore. It will be so weird to be back to square
one after the rotator cuff surgery. I asked the therapist
if she knew the orthopod and if she trusts him. She said
yes so I asked "If you were Pedro Martinez would you
trust him?" Not that my left shoulder is nearly as
valuable as that of even the lowest level sandlot
pitcher, especially since I'm not left handed and I never
could get a pitch over the plate.
Continuing on with the full rich
morning of therapies, my psychotherapist had this bizarre
idea that Andrea could come over and help me after the
surgery. She's 12! She doesn't drive. I know my therapist
is from Mississippi, but even in Mississippi 12-year olds
don't drive legally. Must be the heat.
A sparrow just flew into a hitherto
unknown to me hole in the underside of the gutter above
the window. The level of bird activity has slowed way
down. Must be the humidity.
Hazy, hot, and humid. The tropical
northeast.
