A Constellation of Vital Phenomena: i am ruined

One of my favorite things -- besides free books -- is GREAT books.  

To be clear: an all-caps GREAT book first totally hooks me, makes me want to call in sick just so I can luxuriate all day in its pages, second ruins me for all other books for a while.  

A GREAT book obsesses me. I read everything I can about the author, I Like their Facebook page, follow their Twitter feed, watch interviews, go listen to them read if I can.  I talk about it to anyone who will listen.

So listen: A Constellation of Vital Phenomena is a GREAT book.

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Country Mouse Monday: honey tasting, world eating

Two new jars of honey appeared on the kitchen counter last week.  Not exactly by magic -- my husband had left them there after getting home from work, just before slipping out with the dog for a little walk around the neighborhood.  The jars have a generic label on them, no name. The honey is a gorgeous perfect honey color.

But of course, my first thought was:

Why is anyone giving us, of all people, honey?

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joy among the animal nerds

The other night I had the good fortune to attend a reading by Virginia Morell, whose Animal Wise: The Thoughts and Emotions of Our Fellow Creatures was just published. There, in the darkened corner of Book Passage in Corte Madera where we listened to Virginia and watched her slide show, I tried and mostly failed to keep the tears back.  

Tears of elation, really: among the animal nerds, I am with my people.

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Country Mouse Monday: compost -- clippin' and a-flippin'

My Mother's Day was my favorite probably since 4 years ago when a swarm landed in our apple tree -- I was outside from 9 until 2:30, happily busy about the garden, moving lightly from task to task. It's a little funny to say out loud how much I loved the day, since I spent it neither with my own mother nor with my own child, but alas, these ARE the true confessions of a Country Mouse.

Yesterday was all about clippin' and flippin'. Compost, that is.

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Country Mouse Monday: what (not) to wear

I mucked up my freshly-laundered bathrobe (again) this morning, so impatient to be outside that I didn't change into my usual gardening garb.

From the sidewalk, I'm sure I was a sight: bed-head, flannel robe and tevas, gloves and clippers -- but probably all the passers-by are used to it, expect to see us in various states of (un)dress, happily playing in the dirt.  I like to think they give us the Eccentric Green-Thumbed Neighbor pass, in return for the glory of this plot of land, cultivated and shared year after year.

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