Word on the street is that Olivier was indeed the coyote's intended breakfast, though his ornery personality, claws and the neighbor who sent the email running around the street at 2 a.m. evidently all contributed to his survival. From what I've heard, he is resting comfortably at a local vet, after the owners, worried about his mopey behaviour, discovered blood on his fur while petting him.
Olivier is a pain, no two ways about it, but I'm really glad that we weren't discovering bits of him around the neighborhood (this has happened; is completely gruesome), because that would have broken my heart.
First real full day of school's-out-for-summer, and predictably, I have a headache. Have already had the "don't tell me you're bored" talk, and the "torture each other and you're going to summer school" talk, and the "don't bother me when I'm on the exercise bike unless the house is burning down" talk, not to mention the "no, you don't get unlimited computer-Xbox-PSP time" talk.
The headache, though, is less from my beloved offspring, and more from the fact that I woke at 2:55 am, shuddering from a horrific nightmare and didn't get back to sleep for a couple of hours. Fortunately, however, no 6:45 am treks to the bus stop, and so I slept as late as I wanted to.
The fog broke for a bit, and for an hour or so, we had a beautiful, soft late spring day. I went out to retrieve the mail, and the air was scented with gardenia, butterfly bush (I've a massive one--Purple Knight--near the front door) and star jasmine. The fog has rolled back in a little early, and the sea breeze has picked up, making my still-damp workout regalia just a little chilly to be wearing.
Oh, heavens. The new Chucks have just arrived. The daughter will be dancing.
Mine are the black ones on the right (of course!), and hers are the red on the left. She wears one size smaller than I do (and she's about 7 inches shorter than I am).
Wow. Nothing says summer like new sneakers.
Go listen to some good music: "Nine in the Afternoon" from the album Pretty. Odd. by Panic at the Disco. I'm the world's biggest advocate of not using punctuation as ornamentation, but I do wish Panic had kept the exclamation point. It was pretty. And odd. On a completely different note, there is no more perfect description of the importance of new sneakers in the summer time than that contained in Ray Bradbury's Dandelion Wine.