A Crown fit for a Frog

Tim and Joni gave us the frog pot for Christmas many years ago. He has darkened with age and appears to be growing a beard, but he does make me smile, and I think he looks quite insouciant as his aloe hat grows.

I baked dozens more cookies this morning before deciding to take a break and take a little bag of goodies to Dan and Tobi's. Dan is recovering from surgery and Tobi had cut herself on a very sharp mandodline slicer, but both were making a good comeback and we stood well distanced in their driveway enjoying the sun and the company. Wearing masks is beginning to feel almost normal after almost ten months.

It was good to get out for a bit, and it is a beautiful drive to their farmstead on the top of Sonoma Mountain.

We are also getting used to the sound of heavy equipment toiling away clearing sites all around us. As I write this, I'm looking out the window at some big yellow something between a bulldozer, a front end loader and a crane as it turns around on its base transferring rubble that was once a house to the back of a dump truck. Another similar behemoth is doing much the same thing next door. 

I wonder if there is a school somewhere where operators can learn to guide these ungainly vehicles and pick up scoops full of unrecognizably burned stoves, lamps, crockery, broken glass and barbecues?. They look like some strange prehistoric creature grazing through the treetops. It is quite a delicate dance for such ungainly beasts* (Not at all like Cats or Caterpillars, but that is the name of the manufcturer).

I saw the Great Conjunction of Saturn and Jupiter last night right through my bedroom door. Then I realized when neither of them seemed to be moving that it  was streetlights several blocks away. Having a see-thru fence* takes a little getting used to. I did see the real thing, but discovered in the attempt that my backpacking binoculars, unused for decades, seem to have degraded in some way that stuck them firmly into their case. Attempts to get it out resulted in  black stuff on my fingers that I cculdn't remove. Clearly the binoculars are finito 
"How do I get rid of these", I asked John. "Do you think they're recyclable? "Sure" said he. "Who's going to know?"
 "I'm just trying to do the right thing," I said, but I fear I'm beginning to lose track of what exactly that is....

*extra