Daddy Dinna Dance
If someone needs to etch an epitaph, in my honour, let me suggest this: Daddy Dinna Dance. My small circle of friends and family will confirm the underlying truth. Although I can walk across the room without stubbing my appendages, I don’t step. In fact, I came across a video, this very afternoon, that offered a beginner class in the “Strathspey”. Don’t understand the term. Can’t match it to my gait. Or canter. In fact, I did the obvious thing: I forwarded the link to my sister. If she finds the video to be relevant, she can come for a visit. And teach me. No need to wait for summer. It was 16C today.
We are sitting the “blue-eyed boy” from up the road, while his pack head off to a wedding on the other side, for the weekend. I don’t actually know his name. He likes to sing, in a a husky voice, and begs for scratches behind his ears. Strange child.
We had something marketed as chicken tenders for supper. Maybe doing a rewarm in the microwave wasn’t a best practice. The tender was iffy.
And tgere was a new bird at one of the feeders. I didn’t see it (normal) but it hung puside down and and white feathers in part. Definitely not a gull, nor a penguin. I heard the word “nuthatch” being bandied about. Will wait for confirmation. It has been eight years without a aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaacardinal (one specides that I might recognize). Anything else is a novelty, but I yearn for rare red. Ur a penguin. They walk oddly.
