RDC and Blake were in the living room, Blake on the windowsill and RDC in the chair. Blake emitted his scream of bloody terror and launched himself all the way to the sunroom, the length of the house (that's on a full wing trim). The falcon was just launching from the ground by the nectarine tree, not yet successful that RDC could see.
Which bird should we call Frightful in this scenario?
It must be difficult for a raptor to stoop from whatever height into the 15' foot gap between houses, through the branches of one tree or between the two trees, and come away with a meal. I might be confusing raptor statistics with lion ones, that 90% of hunting attempts are unsuccessful?
If I replace the old tube feeder with the new, allegedly more squirrel-proof feeder in the nectarine, maybe I can put the tube one in a more open spot in the backyard, for easier falcon-feeding.
I understand that a house designed for an individual is the most likely to be the best tailored to that person's quirks and needs, but jeepers.
She does clarify that she means "not so big" as "not necessarily small no sirree bob, merely smaller than you thought you needed," but some of these were gargantuan. The hiring of an architect and the building of a house from scratch makes the idea of such a house completely out of most people's grasp.
None of the McMansions in Highlands Ranch will, I pray, ever make it onto the National Register of Historic Places, while some of these domiciles could, but let's keep in mind that not everyone can afford a second house on Orcas Island for day trips from Seattle, or on Penobscot Bay, or in Westport, Connecticut, or Lexington, Massachusetts. I was not surprised that most of the houses were sited in the north, either New England or the Pacific Northwest, with an exception in Taos (another bargain community). One was in South Carolina and another was in the hill country around Houston (there were trees, so I wouldn't've ever guessed it was in Texas), but otherwise these were really desirable dream houses for the comfortably filthily rich.
I can't say the title misled me: Creating the Not So Big House. It didn't say anything about making the most space with what you have, which I would find more useful. Creating the Not So Big House was a big ol' exercise in architectural masturbation, and fun as such, but totally out of touch with normal people.
I am so proud. Also grateful. Last week Melissa mentioned a clearance sale at J. Crew. I went and looked, and it was manna for the Ross shopper (yammer re exploited resources and near-slave labor for my vanity).
I have a new skirt! A new winter skirt, when winter clothing is so tedious I usually can't bear to shop for it, even for skirts, and alternate between a short gray one and a long black all season. Winter clothing is tedious because it is black, or because black is so practical it is also tedious, or something. This new skirt is longer than ankle-length: in fact it breaks like a pant leg on the top of my foot; it has a long enough slit that I can still take a full stride; it is unwaisted. It is wool lined with acetate; the weave is sharkskin (whatever that means). Furthermore, it is not black. It is olivey brown.
Also a sweater about which I am not as excited. It is, after all, not a skirt or a dress, so inherently less interesting. Very thinly woven merino wool, so thinly woven you can see my ivory-colored bra through it--otherwise I suppose no one would ever know I wear one. J. Crew called the sweater "camel" but I would call it toffee. (Isn't one of the lists in Microserfs J. Crew colors? All I can remember right now are two from the soup flavors list, Beak and Creamy Dolphin.) If it were really camel it might be more interesting. My usual button-down, though crew- not v-neck.
I didn't select the pieces to go together but they do, and here I am in my new togs fresh out of the box, in a skirt that is not black or grey and a shirt that is not grey or lavender or periwinkle or that peachy rose that I refuse to accept as pink. It's shocking.
Today I wore my new clothes, figuring that since I froze the other day in premature spring clothing I'd be cozy. Wrongo. I baked. Even Egg, who is tall and attenuated and always chilly, was warm.
The thin sweatshirt that was a fine weight for the morning ride was too much this afternoon, and I had not had a proper shower for 2.5 days: Monday evening after the gym I washed but didn't shave, Tuesday morning I declared myself still clean, and this morning I showered at work where I have no razor. Leg stubble I can handle. Pit stubble makes me cranky. I am so Usan.
Gorgeous ride this morning. My hands were a little cold in cotton glove liners under bike gloves, but my thin sweatshirt was fine. In the afternoon I sweated biking home but was still amply more comfortable than I had been in the office all day, since the heat was cranked.
Two 3.8-mile city rides, and I've got significantly faster.