Sentry Oak

It's just a little scrub oak, but with its compact shape and its position guarding the path through the Field of Dreams to our upper terrace, it has a certain gravitas which I like. I wish I could have caught the motion of the blowing grasses, somewhat reflected by the feathery clouds.

The weatherman informs us that we are in a trough between an advancing high pressure ridge and a retreating low. As a result it is quite windy. By Tuesday it is supposed to reach 90 degrees. We kept Ozzie firmly on his leash for his walk this morning. He seems to have forgotten his ordeal at the vet, and it would be wishful thinking to believe that he makes any connection between running through the dry grass, which is embedded in his genetic code as a retriever, and getting foxtails up his nose, so it falls to us to keep him out of the fields.

Another fruitless visit from the Comcast guy later today. I was noting to OilMan the similarity between making diagnoses, whether it is the health of our cable system or of our personal health, all they seem to be able to do is follow a list of scripted questions. If the answers are unproductive, there is no thinking outside the box to solve the problem. In the case of the cable system, the fact that the problem is intermittent does no help. When they come, the old adage holds true--if it ain't broke, don't fix it.

We're looking forward with much more anticipation to a visit from my brother, who is going to make paella for all of us tomorrow, which happens to be Mother's day here. As OilMan is fond of pointing out, "You're not MY mother", which excuses him from any gift buying conundrums. The fact that I am the mother of his children doesn't seem to figure in his calculations, but Dana and her family will be here, so perhaps she and I will get a bit of recognition.