Tunafish and a hummingbird

Tunafish salad is something quite delicious in my opinion, and since I haven’t made it in a while, the thought occurs to me to make some when glancing into the produce section of my refrigerator, and spying some celery that looks like I better use it, before it goes bad.

I don’t know if it is his sense of smell, but after cutting up the celery, and opening up the can of tuna, my cat Calvin miraculously appears in the kitchen. He was soundly sleeping on the bed just a few minutes ago! Maybe it’s the auditory aspect of opening the can that comes into play here, much like with Hobbes the tiger from the cartoon. So: now a sandwich for me, and some leftover tunafish from the can for Mr. C.

As I sit down to eat the sandwich on the steps leading up to the apartment (the sunny section that I was made aware of earlier), Calvin sits next to me, wondering if I am going to finish the sandwich. “Yes I am, so don’t get your hopes up, and besides you had your share”, I tell him. A half a glass of leftover peach sirup with a few leftover peach chunks in it, makes a good complement to the sandwich.

As I’m taking my second bite of the sandwich, a hummingbird flies by, stops, and starts to chatter in mid-air just a few feet away. Now I don’t know if this is in regards to Calvin’s presence, but I suspect it is to make me aware of the fact that the hummingbird feeder has not been re-filled or cleaned in a few months. So sorry little chatterbox — I shall tend to it right away — after lunch!

Have a blessed Easter tomorrow!

January 1, 2016

A quiet morning. Coming downstairs, I hear the tap-tap-tap of a tail on the floor (attached to a dog) joyously greeting me. I’m dog-sitting, and Moana knows it’s almost time for her walk. The tea kettle whistles, as I put on my shoes and down vest. I let the tea steep for a few minutes, before adding just a little milk. OK girl, time for your walk. It is frigid outside, but there is no frost this morning. Some of the trees have raindrops from yesterday hanging from their branches, a pretty sight, reflecting winter around them on a small-scale. As we walk along the long path, I come to a spot where hundreds of little acorns, no larger than a sunflower seed are scattered all over the path. Surely of keen interest to any squirrel that may reside in these parts. I pick one up to admire it, and playfully toss it near Moana. It is ignored however — she prefers sticks and stones, or an occasional soccer ball. It is completely still all around, a blanket of silent gray hanging over the valley.

I wonder what will the new year bring? Only you know God, but I thank you for the peaceful beginning today.