rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,
rejectomorph
flying_blind

Reset Sixteen, Day Forty-Six

The rain had not begun when I went to bed early Friday morning, but when I woke up that afternoon it was doming down quite nicely. It only continued for an hour or so after that, but the sky remained cloudy through sunset. Later, the clouds thinned our enough that I could see the crescent moon in the west. The rain has not returned, though showers remain a possibility for the rest of the night. Saturday is supposed to be sunny but cool. The rain is expected to return Sunday afternoon, which will be almost cold, with a high of 48 degrees. Monday will be a bit warmer and probably dry, but then there will be eight days in a row of possible rain. I'm sure some of them will turn out to be dry, but it seems likely we will get at least a few rainy days during that time.

Friday evening I dithered a lot and never got around to fixing any dinner, then around ten o'clock I felt very tired and decided to take a nap. I picked up a magazine to read in bed, expecting to drop off after a few lines, but the article I started turned out to be so engaging that I read the whole thing and never got to sleep. It's Ann Patchett's long personal essay "These Precious Days" in the January issue of Harper's, and I highly recommend it. It's the story of an unexpected friendship she developed and which came into full being during the early months of the coronavirus pandemic.

I was going to fix my skipped meal, but I find I'm still dithering, and it's getting pretty late and I really should be making something less elaborate than I'd planned on having, and in these circumstances I usually end up just microwaving a ramen bowl. I really must get my cooking act together earlier tonight, or the fresh stuff I got Monday will start to rot.

There is some bad news about the western monarch butterfly population; Their population crashed this year, and they might be headed for extinction. I remember how many I used to see in my yard when I was a kid. Sometimes there'd be a dozen or so at a time, and hardly a day would go by during their season when I didn't see at least a few. It's hard to imagine California without them. But maybe I'll get lucky and die before they go extinct. Even at that I doubt I'll ever see one again. Two years in Chico I've not seen a single one.
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