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Diary of a Glad Housewife

June 8, 2007

Thursday, June 7, 10:00 p.m. I take up our World Atlas, feeling the need to review all the little -istan countries that border Iran. I also want to look at Greenland, which global-warming harpies claim is melting faster than their models predict. How dare God outpace their models! I wanted to see which countries border Iran so I would have an idea who all is going to be resoundingly annoyed with us if we commence bombing relations there. A little circle of West Asian, Middle Eastern, and Slavic countries, united by Islam, surround what was Persia. I would think distance would be a virtue with respect to them. I reflect that of all the people running for president, only Ron Paul would have the sense to avert a regrettable conflict. But he is too pure a conservative for the GOP and too moral for the Libertarians, so his election probably matches the likelihood of a Greenland glacier impacting my house this week. I read off some numbers to my husband–ocean and continental dimensions–and he parlays them into assurance that, even if all of Greenland were to melt spontaneously, its demise would only raise oceanic levels about 30 feet. We live at 400 feet, so we can just stay high and dry and feel sorry for New York and Miami. But we will want to know the state of the ice while Ruben and Heidi are in Panama City.

Friday, June 8, 10:00 a.m. I have made Irish soda bread and a pot of brown rice, and black beans simmer in their sofrito on the stove. The sofrito contains fresh garlic I dug from the garden. The Cat is eyeing an enemy occupying an invisible point on the floor. He launches from his blanket outpost on the harpsichord, but his claw sticks in the blanket. He disengages before landing, but blanket drag has caused humiliating deceleration and he walks off, tail high in alpha mode. Earlier, when I was brushing him after his shot, his claw stuck in my hand. I can no longer put off trimming his claws. Normally he doesn’t mind when I trim his claws, but this time he is not in the mood. He is probably still humiliated from the blanket incident. He draws back his head and hisses at me as I trim a claw. He looks like a cobra with a fur cape. I patiently grab his scruff and explain that will not do. He flips me off with his ears. My hands sustain multiple lacerations before we are through. I remember Iran and the circle of strife around it, and am glad that Condoleeza Rice is not married, probably does not make Irish soda bread or Cuban black beans, probably does not trim her cat’s claws herself if she has a cat, and that it is her turn to worry about this. I hope she knows God’s thoughts trump hers in any event.

10:20 a.m. CRASH! The dining room window reverberates from a crashing thud. A Greenland glacier! But it is not a glacier; it is a hummingbird…a hummingbird with all the flowers in the world at his disposal outside, but who evidently sees greener pastures–or redder nectar–in the dining room chandelier. He lands on his back, beak to the sky. But he must have only been stunned; I checked back half an hour later and he was gone. His seemingly imperishable bliss was not yet appointed to end.

  1. June 8, 2007 11:51 am

    That is what I consider an integrated global-local worldview. What amazing things happen during the quiet Spring.

  2. Mike Pitzler permalink
    June 15, 2007 1:52 am

    My little patch of woods on the west side of Tumwater hill was the scene of a goldfinch chasing a black dragonfly. Off they went over the top, and all the silent commotion was over.

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