Little Events

The grass suddenly sprung to over 16" tall, after all the rain. Mowing has commenced, slowly, even though it means sacrificing the violets' ability to produce seeds. The daffodils are done, lilacs in full bloom, cherries finished, apples waning, and Paul says there's a single blossom on the peach tree, or rather, bush. Winter a few years ago was hard on it, even with global warming and our new status as a zone 4 climate for plants, so it came up with multiple sticks from the ground, and we've wondered if it would ever produce. The phoebes have hatched in our entryway and the nest box the far end of the garden has a new family of tree swallows growing up in it. Mosquitoes are highly competitive for our blood.

Daddy forgot how to use a spoon this morning. It was his newest usual, flavored oatmeal with fruit added. I found him stabbing the spoon straight down into it, then lifting it straight up into his mouth, just a teensy bit of flavor attached. I took his hand and held it lower so the spoon could scoop up the food, and that lasted for about three spoonfuls. Then he held it vertically again, stabbing and now twirling around like he was eating long-noodle spaghetti, something he's not actually had as long as I've eaten Mom's cooking. She settled for elbow macaroni for everything, whether you called it spaghetti or pasta salad or whatever. I finally settled for using his spoon and feeding him the rest of his breakfast, hoping that by the next time he'd be able to use the spoon properly again.

Lunch needed a fork, and he ate so little of that before going back to sleep that I'm not sure how he handled his fork. Supper is coming up, and he'll be his most alert of the day, having talked with Steve on the phone and then gone out for a scooter ride with Paul. We'll see how it goes.