Dear Readers,

My plan to go out with my daughter and granddaughter changed this a.m. and so I’m home in Cramer Hill with Finn and the cats.  Why, I’ll write my blog, I thought. Perfect block of writing time has popped up.

Oh no.  Not if Finn and his tennis ball are here.

Okay, okay.  I toss the ball a million times and he catches it about half a million times.  When it rolls under my chair, Finn looks at it sadly and then he looks at me sadly.  Hint, hint.  He wants me to get it.  Okay, okay.  What could be happier than a young dog catching a tennis ball or making his mom retrieve it?

He tires of the game. Time to go out, Mom.  Okay, okay.  I snap on his leash and we go out front to our tiny row house front yard with the grass that needs more water.  Finn promptly lies down and looks at me as if to say, “Why don’t you lie on the grass and roll around for a while, too?”

I feel tempted to roll around on the grass with him.  It IS spring, after all.  It might be fun. A strong breeze blows today’s pollen explosion and I cough and I sneeze.  Hmm.  Better not.  I turn down Finn’s request and we walk down my street for a bit of exercise and for Finn to do his thing.

We get back to our front yard and Finn plops down.  Okay, okay.  I sit on the step and soak up some rays and probably a lot of pollen.  I hear three or four different bird calls and I regret that I can’t recognize them.  I’d fantasized studying birds in my retirement, but that fantasy went the way of auditing classes at Rutgers, three-day-reading-in-bed-marathons and becoming a perfect sixty-five-year-old woman.  A ninety-year-old mom and a six-week-old granddaughter are taking precedence.  I do recognize a hawk swooping through the Cramer Hill skies, though, and I observe sparrows and a robin hopping around on the grass.  It’s a start.  Birds 101?

Finn and I are back in the kitchen.  He’s taking a well-earned nap from the tennis ball, lying on the grass and taking a walk.  I should write my blog–oops, I did!

Have a wonderful Wednesday!