I am getting the house in shape for my sister and a small party we might have on Saturday. I had planned to take two days off, but now we have administrative leave Friday: when the federal government closes, the other office closes. I do not know if the other office had the same days off we had in March of 2003 when they didn't have our blizzard, but we do have this Friday off. I am not sure why anyone is in shock: Reagan was 93 and surely his death comes as no surprise.
CLH doesn't arrive until midnight but I took the two days of vacation anyway: five-day weekend, shweet. This morning RDC and I hiked in Red Rocks, lovely in green still. We saw a sharp-shinned hawk and a rufous-sided towhee and heard lots of meadowlarks.
I still have to weedwhack and scrub and make the bed and so forth.
If she wants to watch the funeral on Friday I am going to go to the zoo by myself. Princess Diana's funeral happened to be the day of our mother's second wedding and as I pried my sister away from the television I teased her that it was inconsiderate of her, Mom, to schedule it so. (She did understand that I was teasing.)
This afternoon as I weedwhacked and mowed, I felt the occasional drop of rain. Certainly there were piles of clouds over the mountains and in the foothills this morning, and by afternoon they had released themselves onto the plain. I was showering off when RDC came in to tell me the tornado sirens were going off.
Into the downstairs bathroom went Blake in his cage, his travel cage should we need it, his styptic powder, a tupperware of food, and my backpack of my current book, journal, Moonshadow, Dandelion, my camera, a different shirt and better bra. Also Booboo, wrapped in my blue hoodie, and light hiking shoes.
We watched the storm from our front steps and on the television, which is how this entry came to be written. Local stations split their screens between the storm and the arrival in Washington of Reagan's body. What I am struck by is how closely Blake seems to be watching television.
He watched the six horses pull the caisson from the White House to the Capitol, a half hour slow march. Every time I glanced at him from making CLH's bed or dusting, he would be in the same spot, his head cocked the same way. Eventually I made his dinner and came to sit with him while he ate, and he ate with one eye on the screen (not that he could ever keep both eyes on the screen). He's still watching the honor guard carry the casket from the street up into the rotunda.
Oh! It's not that he's watching flags flapping as much as he's listening to the music. Besides rock n' roll, Blake loves a march. A military band has been playing "The Battle Hymn of the Republic" adagio for ages now.