Mama & Papa Bluebird are working their tail feathers off this morning feeding the peeps. Click on pic for a closeup. The husband has taken to building things lately. He built matching planters for the front porch out of cedar scraps and another for the backyard out of tongue and groove cedar. He also built a new bluebird house. I need to pick up a 1½ inch paddle bit to make the hole at Lowes today along with something to go in the new planter boxes. I guess I should pick up some more tile for the master bath as well. And then I need some more bird seed, some cement, another tomato cage, some potting soil...

What's that you say? Timmy has fallen in a well?
Bark Bark BARKBARKBARK
Oh, sorry. My mistake.

All night long. At 3:45 a.m. I had to shut the windows, turn on the ceiling fan, take an Ambien, and listen to the "as good as white noise" of yet another episode of Criminal Minds. Dr. Reed was spewing some psychobabble that no one could follow. Meanwhile, in the not too distance backyard a block over....bark barkbark bark bark..........................barkbarkbark.
I get up, turn the lights on in the backyard. BARKBARKBARK. I see my dogs. Callahan, curled up next to the backdoor. Blondie comes dragging her big round dog ass out of the garage, stretching and yawning. Glad someone could sleep.
BARK BARK BARK. Blondie rolls her eyes. Honestly. And then I yell at the dog. Dead of night, remember? It's unheard of in our subdivision unless you're hearing me. Repetition of any sort, but particularly barking dogs and run-on tweens, takes me right to the brink of insanity. Or sanity depending on the direction I happen to be traveling at the time. Tuco the Ancient has arisen. He's stone cold deaf. That should give you some indication of my restraint, or lack thereof. BARK bark barkbark B A R K
I douse the light before my dogs get too curious. That's all I need is for them to all start barking, too. But they don't. Because there's nothing there to bark at. They know, as well as I do, that the dog is barking because it got left outside for the night. I contemplate driving around the neighbourhood to find the offending animal. My sleep deprived mind playing out scenarios of retribution. Me, leaning on the doorbell and whacking the owners with a rolled up newspaper. Me, being led to the back seat of a county cruiser.
I go back to bed. The husband is laying on his side, a big pillow jammed over his head. That's normal for him though. I have a tendency to snore. I listen to the ceiling fan. ...clickclickclick....clickclickclick. Bark bark bark.....barkbarkbark. I think: why don't they paint cars with phosphorescent paint so they'd be easier to see at night? barkbarkbark bark bark Dr. Reed babbles on. With the volume turned low it sounds like barkbark bark bark bark.

The beginning of the month we saw Teacher's Appreciation Week. We received a list of things the teacher liked and the days we were supposed to give them to her. Candy one day, fruit another, something yellow, pink, whatever. A flower. The kidlet took her teacher a piece of candy on the red day. She came home and said she was embarrassed because the other kids brought her bags of candy and not just a piece like it said on the list. She said she was glad the teacher didn't know it came from her. It kind of makes me sad and angry that the social pressure of giving because it's expected is causing my kid stress. And it's not just her teachers.
The husband is dead set against giving money for a gift certificate to be presented to the teacher at the end of the school year. He's a county employee as well. He's not anti-teachers. In fact, he comes from a family of teachers. But as he sees it, they, like him, are being compensated for what they do already. Cheap? Maybe. But I agree.
So now we're getting emails about a collection for the soccer coaches. The coach, who only coached on Tuesday night, and the assistant coach who only coached on Thursday nights. Both bailed on practices and games. This week the coach canceled practice on Tuesday even before the fields were closed due to rain. He can't make it to our last game on Saturday either. He's a nice enough guy, really friendly and likable. I just feel that if you can't give 100%, do what you say you're going to do, then don't offer to do it at all. Don't cancel practice "for lack of participation". If you have to bail on one team because you're coaching another then you're spreading yourself too thin and not being fair to the kids. Or the parents who shell out the cash.
So, in appreciation, I will shake your hand, clap you on the back and say 'Thanks for your time' but not reward you with a gift card for showing up half the time.

I started reading three novels yesterday. I couldn't help it. They were in my hands and the words just rolled off the pages. I started with Patricia Cornwell's debut novel, Post Mortem . The action starts right away. A dark and stormy night complete with dead body. What's not to love? I put that down long enough to pick up The Outsiders, a classic teen novel written by S. E. Hinton who was sixteen or seventeen when she wrote it. Ponyboy pulled me into his world immediately. The husband was appalled that I had never read the book and retrieved his ratty old paperback copy from the garage. He had wrapped the book's covers with tape but that really didn't do much to preserve it.
The third novel, The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins was my choice for a long read last night. It's a young adult novel, very reminiscent of The City of Ember by Jean DuPrau. Both set in Post Apocalyptic environments. Not too far-fetched considering our current state. I'm looking forward to getting back into it after work today.
Scored big yesterday with three huge bookcases from the husband's aunt and uncle. Thank you Dot & Ken! Plus, I got a stack of Patricia Cornwell novels. Seven new titles to add to my collection. I've got a lot of reading to do!
I've got a couple non-fiction books in the works as well. Naming the World, edited by Bret Anthony Johnston and The Writer's Journey: Mythic Structure for Storytellers & Screenwriters by Christopher Vogler. Both excellent books on the art of creative writing.
So, like the title of this blog post states, "too many books, too little time". The sooner I get to work the sooner I get to read. I'm taking on the kidlet's room today. I may not surface for days.

Mothers' Day was pretty much a bust as far as acknowledgment goes. I knew the husband had picked something up. I told him, "No Whitman's sampler or anything like that." He took my gift card that I got for transferring a prescription to the drugstore. The day started normal enough. I put a pan on to boil up some old eggs to feed back to the chickens. I washed dishes. I started laundry. I discovered that my toaster had died. I had slept late, or rather had just stayed in bed listening to the birds and letting my mind wander. Nothing was pressing. I thought about my mom and wondered if she was thinking of my brother who passed away in Feb. He never sent her Mothers' Day cards or called her, so maybe her mind didn't automatically slip to him. I called her late in the afternoon and we talked garden for about an hour.
The husband cooked hotdogs out on the grill. That was nice. I don't make lunch. That's my own rule. If you're home and you're hungry you can find something to eat. My family is ok with that. After lunch I heard the husband whispering something to the kidlet who was now ensconced on the computer playing Runescape. She walked into the kitchen and handed me something wrapped up in the drugstore's plastic bag. She said, "happy mother's day". I asked her if she knew what was in the bag. She said no and walked away. *sigh* It turned out to be a bag of York Peppermint Patties. Don't get me wrong. I like them. They are, indeed, a taste sensation. But...
I drop hints like bombs. Honestly. To the point where I say, "if someone were to get me a gift I would like this" and hold said item up for exhibit. I'm a gardener and a collector of plants...any plant would do. Even a 10 cent pack of seeds. At least there would be some thought put into it. So Mother's day went by without fanfare. My 10 year old child didn't make any attempt to be nicer or even the teensiest bit less obnoxious. No scrawled note on a piece of scrap paper with two stick figures beating the hell out of each other with swords as is her subject matter these days. Nope. It was just another day in paradise.
I spent a lot of time down in the garden because nobody ever comes down there. It is my fortress of solitude except when the neighbour catches me bent over at the waist pulling weeds and eventually makes his presence known. When he got on the phone and started blabbing loudly in whatever language he speaks, loudly, I went in the house and made a couple loaves of banana bread. I chose not to make dinner. I took a long hot shower while the husband heated up the leftovers. Then I took the computer in the bedroom and shut the door. A cat or two came in and required belly rubs. I guess the day could have been worse.

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I'm so sleepy. Around 10 pm I was feeling drowsy but once I got up to do my last minute stuff I became wide awake. I decided to forgo the ambien but around 2:30 a.m. I had to take one. Sleep had slipped away on mellow waves for someone who was ready for it. Meanwhile I tossed and turned and ran meaningless scenarios through my head over and over again. I sat through a John Cusack movie, trying to make sense of it and waiting for something to happen. It didn't. I muted most of it and tried to read Middlesex but couldn't focus on it enough to do it justice. I was really tired, too. Sore. I did a ton of work in the garden. My hands feel stiff even now. Too tired to sleep. Is that even possible? And now it's Monday morning with rain looming on the edge of time. A moment from now and the sky will open up and weep on my garden. I've been watering my plants quite judiciously but rain is always welcome. Besides, the fish pond is low, submerged pot low. Dogs can barely reach the water to drink low.
I'm so tired.
I've got so much to do today but I feel wholly incapable of doing anything. My Serta is singing a sibilant song....sleep....sleep....beckoning me back to bed. Who am I to disagree?