Like most sensible humans, we are now busily watching the World Cup.  So far I think Ivory Coast has the most smashing looking team.   We hope to be in proximity of some viewable transmission today to see Iran and Nigeria play, and of course Ghana and the U.S.   We’re watching most of the games on the Spanish language channel, which comes in full pixilated, grainy grandeur, and the difference in the commentating between this channel and the English language channels is wonderful. FUEGO!! vs. blahblahblah, basically.

I’m struck by how wonderful it is to watch all the fans at the matches- rabid as they are there’s something rather joyous and sweet.  (Not to mention THE WIGS.)   Then there’s the astonishing news that Iranian Revolutionary Guards are going to assist Iraq in saving Baghdad from ISIS.  Leaving aside my irritation with these morons for using the name of a Goddess as their acronym, the whole thing is just mindboggling.  The Iranians may turn out to be a bastion of common sense (or what passes for it) after all.  You never know, except that conflict resolution on this planet seems to be at an all time low.

In happier news, a successful botanical transplant occurred over the weekend.  Realizing that the window of non-incineration-level temperatures was open a tee-tiny crack,  your correspondent tottered out to the ancient trio of bay tree, rosemary bush, and enormous lavender which had resided for all of their recorded histories in a wooden planter.  Said planter was disintegrating and the bay leaves were yellowing.  Something had to be done.   It took a couple of hours and required a bread knife for some delicate surgery on intertwined roots, but in the end everyone was happy and no wilting.  (My run in with a rose bush, while leaving me bloody, left no one worse for wear although it amused Tyrant Hummingbird quite a bit.)  The bay tree had been about five inches tall to begin with: Now it is about four feet high, and Julia Child’s dislike of California Bay leaves aside, the tree’s leaves are terrific in cooking.   This sort of thing makes me happy, thank goodness.  Also, for further happiness, the second batch of carrot seeds have come up and two cumin plants appear to be pushing toward fruition.

Speaking of Mr. Tyrant T. Hummingbird, it seems as though in keeping with his disregard for normal solo hummy life (he has harems! and everyone sticks around!), his new little  offspring is allowed to sit and drink at the feeder and Tyrant even flits around a bit indicating this or that flower.   So I still have hope and Love really does prevail.  And this doesn’t even scratch the surface of watching the new colts learn how to eat grass at their mother’s sides.  The face off between my little brain and encroaching reality thus continues.  I read something the Dalai Lama said the other day, too.  He said a psychologist had told him that when we’re angry or upset, about 90% of what we perceive is totally off base.  I believe this and certainly personal experience bears that out.  But it is a sobering thought indeed when you realize that we’re only perceiving about 3% of what’s there to begin with.  So if in the final analysis we’re only seeing…uh….10% of 3%? of what we’re looking at?  Shouldn’t we all go out and garden for a while? Silently, if need be?  Because the thing in all this that frightens me the most is the creeping realization that there are simply some people to whom one cannot get through.  At all.  Somehow the playing field needs to be restored; perhaps something productive like gardening that really does attach you to basic reality, eases alienation, and feeds you body and soul- it just seems like it might help.   And being quiet for a while might really help too.   After a month or so of cleaning up, soil preparation, planting things….it might be possible to reconvene all the combating entities and see a bit more of that small percentage of reality. It’s working, actually, for us.


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