Bubble by bubble, a pot of water churns itself near the boiling point, whereupon I will deposit the macaroni in the first step of creating macaroni and cheese for lunch.
If you think this sounds boring, you should have seen my last job.
Sometimes, I enjoy just observing little everyday things.
The pigeon couple who live nearby, and share whatever yummies they find on our sidewalks hereabouts.
The hummingbirds and butterflies that hover high, low, and over the sweet nectars they find in my backyard.
My housemate working her hands in the dirt, creating a larger garden. Tomatoes now are growing here.
The mysterious neighbor smoking, wearing only a robe, at all hours of the day. She's quite young and pretty...why is she so rarely dressed? What is her profession?
The half dozen cats that come and go along my back fence. I know them all by their distinctive coats and habits, but only one, Oliver, has ever trusted me enough to enter my yard, run up against me purring, and even entered my house.
The other neighbors who become visible now and again, hanging laundry, cutting weeds, painting their houses, or calling to their pets or children.
It's odd how you can live in an urban space for years, seeing these same people and animals and trees, and never knowing much at all about what is going on, except in your own life -- and only then if you are lucky.
Children's pursuits are often less opaque. There's building a family out of modeling clay.
There's Club Penguin, one of the fastest-growing websites in the world.
There is the result of the modeling work. (Yes, they have names.)
There's this year's science project by my youngest son. "Will pigeons, with their superior ability to see color, be more attracted to ordinary birdseed of orange-colored birdseed?" (Check back for the answer.)
And there's ps2, land of fantasy for boys.
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