DON’T SAY “Piece of Cake”!

It’s a line from the RomCom Forget Paris about a couple who fall in love and then suffer a series of (eventually fatal) hardships—each time after they start something that looks like a “piece of cake” aka “easy.” That’s called tempting fate.

Gary believes in fate; I do not. Both of us are probably average in terms of superstition. We step on cracks. We laugh about Friday the 13th. But when we are beach-combing we have our superstitions. If Gary announces he’s going off to check out something a hundred feet or a hundred yards away, I will find glass. [Yeah, right, Gary walking away brings me luck finding glass.] It’s happened just often enough that we smile when it does.

I could not tell you, in this photo, which are parents, which youngsters. Behavior offers clues, but I felt fortunate simply to capture all five in one photo.

The raven parents have their three children out on the sand each morning. We met Tom’s parents. I am still running a mile every other day, and the pine tree in our front yard has enjoyed just enough rainfall (so far) that the candles have mostly stayed green. Hummingbirds are back! The lacecap hydrangea that grows up through that pine is enormous, close to twenty feet across. Lucifer and the naturalized Montbrecia (both crocosmias) are blooming, I made my 6th batch of rhubarb cordial yesterday, and we discovered bat guano on the window ledge. That last is important because we love our bat, and have missed the nightly “drop” of the insect-hunting flier. It has been something we watched for—that first swoop of a bat—each dusk. We still have not seen the bat in a long time, but we hope it’s doing okay.

We go out before 6am, but lately have seen people even then. We managed to walk five miles in a hair under one and a half hours without searching Neverland. This morning, we searched the diminishing Neverland, found no glass at all, and were home in no time.

There were six people sleeping on the sand in front of our house the other day. We think they were staying next door, but there were so many people in that house, it was difficult to tell. Seventeen at one count.

Construction continues indoors on the house on the other side of ours. Walnut trim.

There are only a few rows of the second cuff left on the sweater I am knitting, then reblocking and sewing up the sides. The red velvet dress I’ve hoarded for years now fits through shoulders and hips, but it’s snug across the chest. I put on more earrings the other day—wearing five again. I am not sure that’s significant of anything.

My 50-year high school reunion has been rescheduled from last summer to next month. We had the largest graduating class of 500-600 people, but only a few dozen have registered on the site (including me), and fewer have purchased tickets (not me yet). Some of those biographical postings are . . . rambling, not to say incoherent. So far, only one person I knew well has bought a ticket to the actual reunion, and the only new photo is of the Nile Golf and Country Club banquet room, where the event is supposed to take place, which is not appealing. I keep hoping for postings on the page “In Memory of…” but nothing so far.

Though I went with Gary to his 50th, I have missed most of my own reunions. I am still not sure if we will attend this one.

Today is Alice Munro’s 90th birthday.

I am not tempting fate nor even tempted by fate, but I do feel lucky.

People often mistake crows for ravens and vice versa. Side-by-side the difference are unmistakable. I once saw a raven standing on the roadside surrounded by several crows. The raven was taller, beak-heavy, and kingly. There is no other word for it. Crows look childish by comparison. The ravens are often harassed by crows—we see this when the ravens are aggressive feeding their babies. But the crows, though small and less majestic, are ferocious protectors against ravens, eagles, and humans.
They are generally patient with my photography—but then I am a long, long ways away, shooting with my zoom and st5uggling to hold it steady enough to get focused.

Nothing is easy in this life, but it’s not all hard. The thing I struggle to remember is to notice it all—hard and tender, bitter and sweet—every moment dear.

12 thoughts on “DON’T SAY “Piece of Cake”!

  1. I water our big fir trees about once a month. We are experiencing a drought 25 some days with out measurable rain!
    I am superstitious about full moons. Actually i am superstitious about the days leading up to full moon.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Yesterday, the 10th, was my best friend’s mother’s 90th birthday, too! I’ll have to read some Alice Munro stories in honor of both of them.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I say consider going to the 50th. You might connect with one person you share some of your history with who is somehow meaningful to you. The only one I’ve gone to was my 40th and I didn’t make any long term connections. Still it means something to me to have seen some people I remembered from them, hear how their lives have been lately. There were some amazing, some tragic, some ‘ordinary’ stories. I found it fascinating like that movie 28up.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. it is pretty easy to tell the parents from the younger ravens—the black parents have black feathers and the youngsters have black feathers too—what a coininckedink—anyway fate only works when one eats red licorice. Today is my dad’s birthday too. Had he lived, he would have been 99—wow, his father from Finland was 90 about when he stepped into traffic that dark morning in January and I love cake or pie whether it is a piece or a chunk–thank you very much.

    Liked by 3 people

  5. Since I went to four high schools, I wouldn’t know which one to pick. Well, I got moved again in my senior year to a school I really didn’t like at all. I managed to finesse graduation by saying I was going to small craft “school” so I could teach sailing at a summer camp. I did do that.
    Before we moved to the WrinkleFarm/Storage Bin I had a family of Crows who would come to get treats when I called them. Sometimes they would call me for bits of leftovers, and would bring the children too. Some don’t like crows, but I think they have a quite interesting hierarchy and family life. You probably know that a flock of crows is known as a “Murder of Crows”. Cheers and stay cool!
    P.S. I did go to the children’s graduation from high school through college and graduate school.

    Liked by 1 person

    • What a marvelous crow story! Thank you for sharing it here.

      Crows remember both kindness and cruelty. Smart birds. We are particularly fond of crows—Elvis was a baby Gary found on hwy 101, standing over his squashed brother. (The other Elvis had a dead twin too.) Baby crows have intensely blue eyes, pinkish legs and beaks. We kept him in our atrium until he was fully fledged and nearly black all over(he had some white on his wings, as was common in the murder into which he was born). He hung around us for many years, but was never tamed. We were careful not to handle him.

      Liked by 2 people

  6. we have a crow that hangs around – eats suet from the feeder and seems to say “Good Boy” He also seems to respond /listen if I say “good Boy “

    Liked by 2 people

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