Yesterday was a dreary, rainy day. Not too cold, but chilly. Drizzle. A nice day to travel, or stay indoors. Pensive.
I went to my parent's house, but they weren't home. I took a nap on their couch, holding one of the Free Kittens advertised by the sign at the driveway. I had forgotten how soft a kitten is. Kitteny-soft. She purred, and I drifted off to slee....
Friday night, we had a cookout. Neighbors, we sat in the dark, illuminated by firelight, and listened. I was asked if they were cicadas, crickets, katydids, or some other insect. I replied that I knew, unequivocably, that they were bugs. I didn't think they were cicadas, because I remember that distinctive summer sound only in the afternoon. I tried to immitate the sound, starting off low and quiet, then raising both decibels and octaves. Patty laughed. She told me that she assuredly had never heard that sound before.
I cracked open a bottle of Bailey's Irish Cream. Poured over ice, the Bailey's was the perfect after dinner liquer. I'd sip some into my mouth, and let it sit there, bathing my tongue. It was cold and sweet, with a hint of bite. "Music by moonlight"
I love the smells one incurs on a motorcycle ride. Diesel fumes of the gear-climbing Peterbuilt, and the stinky incompletely burned gasoline fumes of the 15 year old beater sedan crowd the rare whiff of perfume from a red convertable. The smell of water, hidden by trees, or hills, waiting to be discovered and identified as a stream, or farm-pond. A corn field. Fresh mowed hay. There's the dairy farm. Now the restaurant, advertising home-cooking, makes me salivate and want bacon for breakfast. I think I'll stop here.
"Look at the clouds...what color are they?", Vermeer asks. "White. No. No, they're not white.", Griet answers. "Yellow. Blue...and gray. They are the colors of the clouds."
Sight is my favorite sense. As a child, I'd watch ants and grasshoppers, army men and hotwheels, clear skies, and lightning. As an adult, I watch conduit and cables, womens' behinds and sailboats, sunrises and sunsets. Halfdome and Diamonhead, Navy jets at full afterburner, calves being born, a crack deal, the Pacific ocean, I-71, a woman waking, dust and dirt, paint drying, movies, paintings, drawings, nature, tv and a computer. What could have been. What could be. Life, both real and imagined.
I'm thankful for my senses.
I do dishes and laundry, and the occassional clean up when needed, but I spent many hours watching movies or otherwise having fun this weekend instead of working on the garage, which needs painting, or working on the inside of the house, which needs a ton of work. At least I bought the paint and brushes yesterday. I really need to decrease my 'laying around daydreaming" time. 
