Saturday morning, writing under the grape arbor.
David is sitting with me reading Osho. Teddy is laying on the cool flagstone, Zipper beside her. Isabel, the ever independent, is out front hoping the baby quail show up again. They appeared yesterday for the first time, bobbling along behind the older quail, like fluffy bit of popcorn on toothpicks. Isabel was electrified by the sight.
No baby quail snacks in her future, however.
The quail are smart enough to know when she’s out there, and she can only go out in bright light. I keep dreaming at night that she’s caught outside. David, too, has been waking to the coyote howls and getting up to make sure she’s still inside. In the same way the animals have been unsettled, he’s been nervous in this new environment. Uncertain how to best protect us all. Isabel is always sitting in a window, watching the night.
“Would a coyote try to get Isabel through the screen?” I wondered.
“That’s why I have the rifle, two sticks and my pistol under the bed,” David said.
I had previously commented on the unprecedented number of weapons under our bed here.
“To beat the coyotes off Isabel?”
“More if a mountain lion comes through the screen.”
“I think if someone in Eldorado had a mountain lion come through their screen, we would have heard the story,” I told him.
“Fine, make fun,” he answered. “But if a mountain lion DOES come through the screen, I’ll be ready. “
I know he’ll settle down as he gets into the groove. I must constantly remind myself that David has never moved to a totally new place. The biggest move he’s made before this was from Buffalo, Wyoming to Laramie, Wyoming.
We have recycling pick-up here, which we ain’t never done had afore back in ol’ Wyo. We signed up for it, for an additional $4.87/month, which seems like a great deal to me. They gave us a green can for recyclables, that’s slightly smaller than the one for garbage. They pick up on a different day for that one, and only every two weeks. David fretted about remembering the dates until I put them in my Outlook calendar with a day-before reminder.
Last Wednesday was our first pick-up. Since he’s got time until classes start, he spent several hours Tuesday breaking down moving boxes, since they recycle cardboard. But there was too much to fit in the can.
“Just stack up the extra next to the can,” I offered. “Worst they can do is not take it.”
But he didn’t like that idea. He took Zip out and drove around the neighborhood to see how the other neighbors did it.
“I wonder if tomorrow is the right day,” he said when he returned.
“It is,” I answered without looking up from my laptop.
“Only three other neighbors have green cans out.”
“Maybe not everyone has the same pick-up day. Maybe not everyone pays the extra to recycle.”
“Well, none of them had extra stuff next to their cans.”
At least he was satisfied that enough people put theirs out the night before that he was okay there. The next morning when we went running, I pointed out another green can, about three blocks away.
“I counted that one,” he told me.
“Jeez — how far did you go?”
“A ways. I wanted to get a good survey of how everyone was doing it.”
“Why do you even care how the neighbors do it?” I asked.
“I just want to make sure to be doing things the right way.”
“I’m going to have to write about this in my blog, you know,” I told him.
“I know — I don’t care.”
And he doesn’t. One of the things I love best about David is he doesn’t mind me writing about him. This is an incredibly valuable trait in someone who shares their life with a writer, especially an essayist.
That, and that he’ll protect me from the mountain lion coming through the screen.