So the new tiercel’s been making a huge display of territory and the falcon’s been receptive but about ready to be done with the planning stage of the season and lay those eggs, when suddenly today one can only guess the previous peregrine decided he really was serious about getting his nest and his mate back.

Unless it was a third male altogether.

It’s been over a century since there were enough of them alive to bother to fight over a good territory–and there’s nobody alive but all of us to be able to tell what it’s like when they do.

This video shows both camera views at once: same spot, different angles. The one on the right, a UCSC student is trying to figure out where they went, and the fixed-position one on the left, way up in the sky, shows part of the comeback attempt with Grace looking on and yelling Go Team Go!

But at this point nobody’s quite sure who won.

It took me a moment to grok the thing.

And then I started trying to rescue about twenty stitches: the wooden tip had come clean off the cable when my knitting needle self-destructed as I’d picked my project up.

Huh. I think the last time that happened was a good fifteen or so years ago. I looked at the tiny screw sticking out, thought, well that’s probably stripped, and simply jammed the pieces back together. And they held! For three rows so far.

Didn’t I just buy that longer size 9 needle to work on that afghan? I did. Where did I buy that. It’ll come to me. Always spring for the better-made needles (those weren’t.)

Meantime, the last Anya seedling is suddenly really getting the hang of this sunlight and green and roots thing. Even if it kind of looks from that angle like it’s being devoured by a tick.

This one’s roots needed somewhere to go, that paper cup wasn’t doing it anymore, so it just went into a large pot like last year’s seedlings. It feels like my baby just graduated kindergarten or something.

The knitting: somehow it got a lot longer than it felt like it was.

Between the yarnovers that draw the eye upward, these are redwood saplings.

Like the many being planted in our parks to start the thousand-year journey towards replacing the ones that have burned.

My friend Sue, recently home after two years abroad, put out a note that today was going to be Pi Day and she’d left her pastry blender behind in South Africa; could she borrow one?

Sure!

And so she was the other person who stopped by yesterday, briefly, but it got me thinking I wanted to celebrate the day, too. I had prefab pie crusts in the freezer and could cut to the chase instead of the butter.

Last year when we had so many tart cherries on our tree, I pitted and bagged them by the quart so that they’d be the right size to pop right into a crust. I grabbed a ziploc out of the freezer this morning.

But it was the season’s remainders and the amount a bit random, about half, which explained why it seemed so small.

Well huh. I’d forgotten about that.

I rolled the crust out very thin and lined four large ceramic bowls with it: two for cherry, two, peach slices, and, just for fun, folded the edges down galette style. They took about 45-50 min at 350.

Each of the four Mel and Kris cereal bowls served two.

Meantime, on the peregrine front, Grace the falcon is trying to get that gravel just so for the eggs that are about to arrive at City Hall. She’s had several tiercels (males) fighting for the territory and her and one was the victor long enough to get a name and possibly future progeny–only to be ousted the next day by a new new tiercel.

Who so far is TT, for, The Tiercel. Much bonding has taken place and he’s definitely the victor of the year.

They’re really going to have to give him his own name before they start naming the eyases (babies) to come.

Friends dropped by for a visit; we hadn’t seen each other in awhile because we’ve been doing church by Zoom so as not to expose my mom when we finally get to go see her, but with Tony’s death they just needed to come make sure everything was okay.

We’re fine, no worries, great to see you.

She’s an avid gardener so I showed her the littlest apricot seedlings: This one’s a week old, this one’s a few days.

They’re so cute!

Aren’t they?!

I offered her one for their condo patio and she’s considering it. But then she made clear what she really wanted: to know when the peaches at Andy’s were coming on, because I’d given her some of those last year and she couldn’t wait to go buy more.

We are looking forward to it together.

Michelle was going to be dropping by and I thought about asking her to pick something up at the store on the way; we’re trying not to drive the Prius any more than we have to before it gets worked on, and given the amount of time the car was going to need, they told us the job would have to wait till Tuesday.

And yet.

Somehow I just felt pushed, is the only way to describe it, to go do a quick dash to Trader Joe’s; they’re within a mile, and we’d gotten reassurances on the car, just go.

Which is how I came to be not only outside but driving past the neighbor’s house when their dog got out while nobody was home.

I was surprised. They’re really careful about that.

I pulled into my driveway. Keeping an eye on him, I texted the mom.

When he saw me watching him he trotted from the far gate to the front door as if patiently waiting for it to be opened for him. I wasn’t his people but he knew my face and maybe I would do?

That nonstop limply hanging tongue on a cool day said I’m thirsty; I asked her, Would it be okay if I got him some water?

Turns out she was mid-flight. The person who’d come by to take care of the dog must have goofed. She was so glad I’d seen him.

I looked for what bowl would work well from a dog’s point of view and got out my late mother-in-law’s oversized white Corelle one, you know, the one that won’t even fit in the microwave. Holds lots. Splash all you want.

Just then a large brindled coat trotted quickly past my kitchen window along my side of the fence.

Oh so that’s how you did it!

I went out there and where there’s a sheet of plywood barring his way where that one section had fallen down and still not been repaired yet, he’d dug and gotten it pulled down somehow and had gone past my kitchen and out my open gate. He was just quickly retracing his steps, now that I wasn’t outside watching him nor letting him in his house.

Busted.

I set the water down on their side of the plywood, figuring that even though that’s not where his water bowl goes, a dog of all animals is going to be able to smell that it’s there if he wants it. Then I set the plywood back up. It would come down again if he wanted it to enough, but for now he was back in his own fenced yard, he didn’t have to be panting anymore, he was safe.

I just hope no skunk vies for that water in the night. My neighbor will be tired enough.

Tony and I couldn’t talk politics at all, but we could definitely talk fruit trees with enthusiasm.

I’m pretty sure he would have loved watching one of my apricot seedlings grow up, knowing he was nourishing something both rare and the best to be found. He loved to cook, and he would have done really great things with those in a few years.

But it was not to be. Last night our Italian friend peacefully passed on at a ripe old age as his beloved garden was starting its new season of blossoms and green and fruit and growth for his wife and daughter to hold him close by.

The check engine light came back.

I made an early appointment so they could get right to it. The guy had an idea what else it would be if that battery cable he’d tightened wasn’t the whole problem. They’re not open Fridays so I didn’t want it to become longer than a one-day job.

I got a call a little later: the code coming up was to part of the drive chain and that should be covered under warranty–I’d want to take that to the dealer. No point in having him charge me if they would do it for free.

So in the one small bit of time that the others could spare I got driven back over there to pick up my car to take it to Toyota.

Where they ran the code and got the diagnosis but also looked up the date we’d bought the Prius from them. Fifteen years or 150,000 miles’ warranty on the hybrid drivetrain by law in California, and we were at 100,000 miles.

And 186 months, not 180. No warranty. But they could give me the estimate on the spot: $4261.

I…wow. Thanked them, took it home (having previously been assured it was okay to drive for now), and called my mechanic again and told their admin woman that number.

She was as staggered as I was.

When the guy had said that to me, I was standing there holding her company’s estimate in my hands and he knew that. $660 for the same job. Which suddenly didn’t sound so bad, not bad at all.

And this. It’s not the only reason, but, this is why I try to keep the little guys in business.

Went in to the ENT today, got my ears roto-rootered–it’s like they’re constantly trying to push those foreign objects out that I put in every morning and they don’t need to be any deafer than they have to be–and then the doctor asked if I had anything else I wanted to ask him about.

Yes.

He sat up straight to hear it.

I told him how I’d had Meniere’s as a teen with episodes of the room spinning around fast, and how this was nothing like that. But: since about late January, if I tilted my head backward, I’d get a sudden attack of dizziness. Relatively mild compared, but still, and I got it when putting eye drops in my left eye but not so much my right. If I did back exercises, knees up, roll slowly to the side, right side, no problem, left side, bam! But only the first time. Lie down at night, wait to the count of, oh, about five, and bam! Dizzy, and definitely not from standing up too fast, not a blood pressure problem.

Yes, he explained: it’s particles in your inner ear. You lie down, and they slowly settle down. I have it, my wife has it, my parents have it. You’re being a snow globe.

Is it permanent?

Often not.

Okay, then! In the grand scheme of things that sounds like about the most benign malady one could possibly hope for. Cool. I reminded him that I’d been in a year previous for testing for an acoustic neuroma on the left so I’d just wanted to make sure nothing had snuck in past us.

Oh no, no, nothing like that, no worries.

We chuckled at the whole Santa-in-a-glass-bubble image and we were done.

But I thought I’d pass the word along in case anyone else is going through that.

My sister-in-law from Texas.

Our niece, daughter of Richard’s late oldest sibling.

Our daughter.

Take out.

The fortune cookie that said, A gathering of friends brings you lots of luck this evening. And it did, for sure. But not quite enough to finish that James Christensen puzzle together before they called it a night for the aunt who’s on Eastern time.

I wasn’t as much of a help as I might have been on that; I tried, but finally told them (having been to the doctor this afternoon with everybody at the clinic wearing face masks so, no lipreading possible) I solve puzzles aurally all day long, do you mind if I knit?

Not at all.

And then, since the niece was wearing her cashmere cowl I’d given her as her experiment to see if that was the one animal fiber she could tolerate, and turns out she loved it, I confessed that the 50/50 cashmere/cotton afghan I was working on was–for her. I didn’t quite say, and now that I know it’ll be comfortable for you I can really dive in and stop hesitating.

Thirteen inches and it is on its way. Man, that feels good.

It has the usual ribbing at the bottom but I tried it on like this and instantly loved it.

I’m debating whether to create a sunflower to tack onto the blue or whether just to go make another one and do it to that one.

(Yarn: Malabrigo Rios, left over from my ocean afghan.)

So, being curious after last night’s post, I googled Arlo Guthrie today.

Turns out the word “massacree” is actually a word, not just Arlo playing verbal Dr. Seuss.

From Vox: ‘A massacree is a series of absurd events, so the Alice’s Restaurant Movement is against absurdity and in favor of reason. It is against arresting someone for littering and in favor of ending wars.’

Meantime, I’d told my Zoom knitting group last week that I was working on a yellow and blue hat, and everybody thoroughly approved. Then I spent the week feeling like no matter how much I wanted to, I just couldn’t knit, between being glued to the news updates and the message from my sister-in-law that she was flying to California in three days to visit a childhood friend who was quite ill and could she come see us?

It wasn’t till the next Zoom meeting tonight that I got back to it. That’s right, I was up to the blue part already, oh good. Knitknitknitknitknit.

At the end, they asked if anyone wanted to show off their work.

It just needed the top decreases. I brought it out from below the camera’s view and onto my head needles and all.

The entire group gasped, it sounded like.

We have all felt like Ukrainians these past two weeks. We can make our support visible to those in our communities who are. I know there are a lot of them in this area.

I imagine there will be more hats like that made in the coming week.

I suddenly realized yesterday that I have a silicone cake pan that I’d wondered a year ago why I’d bought it (BakeDeco was the source.) I mean, it’s nice, but I hadn’t needed another pan, given how much I love my yarn-ball one from the same company.

Wait. It is.

It’s a mold in the shape of a sunflower.

Yesterday, Mathias, who will unfathomably somehow be five next month, found this song outrageous–that’s not how you do language! So his mommy and daddy sat down with him and his little sister to have fun playing them some Arlo Guthrie: I don’t want a pickle, I just want to ride on my motor sickle… And IIIIIIII don’t want to diiiiiiiie, I just want to ride on my motor cyyyyyyyy….. cle.

Which I’m sure is why I instantly thought of that song when social media shared the story today of a woman who decided that, you know what? She didn’t need a pickle so much either.

A Ukrainian woman. She saw a Russian drone, went out on her balcony, and beaned it out of the sky with a jar of cucumbers. Nailed it.

It was in the 50s today, chilly for new seedlings, but here it is. I get such a kick out of baby trees, and rare ones especially.

I pointed the camera at the other one whose small Root Riot plug had been planted inside a paper cup to give its first root some room: I couldn’t really see anything, but maybe the camera could.

There it is. On its way.

Note that the ones in the paper cups are the two that had been attacked by green mold or fungus or whatever it was, of which there is no sign whatsoever now. The direct sunlight really did cure them. All the seedlings I lost to rot the last few years and that’s apparently all I’d needed to do.

But I had to know to, which is why I’ve been making a bit of a point about it in case someone happens to stumble across a single one of these posts at random.

Cleaning up in the kitchen, I came across a few not terribly old chocolate bars but they’d become untempered and in the wrong crystalline structure, some had begun to crumble. Nothing wrong with the taste but definitely wrong on the texture. Another just looked funny with the cocoa fat blooming on the surface. Oh, and the very last of a batch of homemade.

One of the things about coconut cream is that you can have it on hand in the pantry, and I did, but since those others were commercially made bars and the wrappers were lost there was no guaranteeing they were dairy free (sorry). Even so, coconut and chocolate are not a bad pair.

I broke them up and covered them freely with the coconut cream, stirring to get every piece submerged at least once to keep the chocolate from seizing, then microwaved just enough to melt the chocolate. Wire whisked. Meantime, I mixed a cup of flour with a scant teaspoon of baking powder, a bit of salt, I mean, we’re just winging it here, and set two eggs to whip till nice and frothy. Then a quarter cup of sugar, then another nearly quarter cup into the eggs: most of that chocolate had been unsweetened and we’re talking baked goods here.

I went to put the flour mixture in, hesitated about halfway in thinking, that’s too much, and then poured the rest anyway.

I was right, it was a bit too much and the cake’s a bit dry. But Richard loved it, even though it was still not all that sweet, and that’s what mattered.

I’m thinking that, though quite small in height, it fits James Beard’s description of what day-old angel food cake is for: it makes a great toast.

Thin slices baked to crispness, cooled, and spread with Nutella for breakfast: I have plans.

(Skein of yarn silicone pan link here. The trick is to let the cake cool completely, then put it in the fridge and set a timer for ten minutes. I put it in just before it was completely cool so it came out of the mold almost but not quite perfect.)