Ray Brinzer

Circumstances required us to be back in New York today, so we made the drive last night.

Near midnight, when we were nearly done packing, Felabi reminded me of the Echinacea, or “purple coneflower”, we were given by a parent at the Angry Fish picnic the night before. I hadn’t planted it, yet, and it seemed too large to survive long in the plastic pot it came in, so out I went.

Our yard was pitch dark. The moon was full the night before, but it wasn’t going to rise for awhile yet, so I went back inside to look for my flashlight. No luck. Instead of my spiffy little light, powered by nine white LEDs, I found Johannes’ green triceratops. I squeezed the handle, it roared, and its mouth dropped open to emit a weak beam. And again, out I went.

(Stock photo from Little Tykes)

I found the spade, and headed for the raised stone garden ring in the middle of our yard. The light went out. It seems that the critter has a timer, so that kids don’t kill the batteries the first time they leave it on. So I squeezed the handle again, it roared, and I fetched the purple coneflower.

Now, there wasn’t a good place to put the dinosaur, so I shoveled one-handed, holding the light in the other. I dug the hole, set the flower in, centered it, and filled the dirt back around the roots; all the while the triceratops watched, roaring every two minutes. I had the amusing feeling that he was my familiar, and we were after “root of hemlock digged i’ th’ dark”. I should probably name him.

Mission accomplished. As a bonus, I saw a firefly… one lone fellow, first to the party this year, signaling to no one in the wet grass.

The cherry tree in our yard is full of fruit. It’s somewhat hard to photograph, however, as most angles (and all good ones) present green-on-green.

The cherries are still very sour. I’m hoping they’re good to eat before I leave for Colorado Springs, for the Junior World Team training camp at the end of the month.

I have to think the odds are against it, though.

We recently had a minor gas leak in the house. I had someone come over and repair it, but at the end his wife was calling, anxious to know when he’d be home, and I made the mistake of letting him leave without turning on the appliances. We have an old, very large gas “boiler” (strangely named, as the maximum safe temperature to which it heats water is 190°F) which supplies hot water to the radiators in the house. Crammed behind it was an ancient cast-iron water heater, which looked like R2D2′s great-grandfather, sporting a fez, waistcoat, and waxed moustache.

I couldn’t figure out how to turn it on. So I read the instructions. Read more »