Last Friday we flew to LA…
“Wait. You FLEW to LA? I thought you hated to fly.”
“She does,” Larry said. “Last fall when we drove down here she said that was it. From here on in we’d fly when we came. But I guarantee next time we’ll be driving again.”
I know, but the flight was so turbulent, plus, there was no water in the galleries for coffee of tea. No water? They even fly a plane with no water? Used the restroom and there was a hand pencilled sign telling us not to use the sink. But what about . . .? Oh, never mind.

The graduation was impressive, the 150th graduating class of Loyola, oldest school in Southern California. Charlie conducted the choir Friday night for baccalaureate, and it was exciting to see him in his element. On Saturday morning the 300 boys marched in, heard speeches, and were proclaimed commenced. There were 6 or 7 special awards announced, and Charlie received that of the student who most exemplified the values of St. Ignatius and a Jesuit education. Nice! Do they know he isn’t a Catholic, we whispered. I wanted to post a photo of him in the middle of his proud family, but my computer pitched a fit at the idea, swallowed all that I had written, sulked, and wouldn’t wake up until this morning.

The party Saturday night was vintage Allison, who knows how to throw an amazing shindig (though she wouldn’t use that word.) We got to meet Charlie’s friends, chat with the other grandparents, friends we’d met over the years. Good food, and the wine flowed. On Sunday we went to All Saints to see Charlie’s last performance in the church choir. It’s an uber-liberal church, welcoming all, wherever they may be on their journey’s of faith, except Republicans. Or so Peter tells us.

Another plane ride (sigh, heavy turbulence) and we’re back at the farm, picking up the threads of farm life. It’s been an unruly week, of which my computer misbehavior was but a piece. Tyrone, our builder, arrived yesterday morning to begin installing the skylight windows in the room above the garage. We needed to pick up some propane, and go to Harbor Freight in Albany to acquire a set of ramps. Truck batteries, both of them, were dead. Okay, on to Plan B. We’d go the the garden shop to pick up some plants, etc., using the SUV, of course. On our return we found a note from Tyrone. A family medical problem had to be addressed, he hoped we’d understand, would try to get back to us next Monday.

Next day, Triple A came to start the truck, and while that was going on, I decided to walk down to the river, and passed by a pastoral scene:


Back at the barn, Larry told me that he’d tried to water the new plants by the gate and found that the well was dry. WTF? It’s been raining for a month. How could we run out of water? This is serious! But apparently the automatic watering system for the lawn had been far too comprehensive, and maybe the well would replenish, given an hour or so? In any case, the truck was running, so we could head for Albany and pick up the ramps. Which you might think are some exotic spring vegetable, but to clarify:


Fingers crossed, we turned on the faucet from the “dry” well, and found the missing water. Whew. I don’t have a photo of the watering procedure, but here it is: We fill a barrel on the back of the ATV with water and drive to the gate. I climb up and hoist a bucket-full of water out of the barrel and hand it to Larry, who pours the water onto the plants. While I can climb up onto the bed of the ATV with the best of us, getting me down is something else. I will leave that to your imagination. You’re welcome.

Changing the subject, we now have our bull in the pasture with the cows and calves. Sort of completes the picture. He is massive, but seems to be perfectly gentle, composed, like Ferdinand. Which we will call him, whatever his name may be. Actually he probably doesn’t have a name. He is just 38, according to the tattoo on his shoulder. So far, no cow sex to be seen, which is fine. One doesn’t really want to watch.

Larry went out to spray the weeds in the yard and under the fruit trees. Just came in. It’s pouring! This was not forecast by the weather people who live in his phone, so he is not happy. We’re going through a patch, I tell him. He isn’t consoled, but has come in and is eating lunch, so life goes on.

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