Lemon Escargot

Did you know that snails eat lemons? Now you have a new treat to feed your pet snail!

Actually, they don't eat the whole lemon, they just eat the rind, leaving the citrus hanging from the tree without it's skin. They have the appearance of a peeled tangerine and all the segments are not yet separated.

Poor naked lemons!

I suppose if one were to raise snails for escargot and fed them lemon rinds, they would be a new sensation in the gourmet world.

Maybe I should go out in my yard and collect up all those voracious lemon eating snails and ship them out of here, and make a little money on the side.

Anyone know where I can sell some escargot?

I have a lemon tree, a miniature Meyer lemon tree. Miniature is a relative word here. It's not any sort of bonsai. It's presently about 6 feet tall and maybe as wide at the base.

I wanted a Meyer lemon tree for ages. Why? You may ask. They are sweet for a lemon, and prized by gourmet chefs. You can't buy them in the supermarket. They don't ship well.

Regular lemons are dumped into giant trucks, driven across country and dumped at destination, their tough skins still intact. Meyers wouldn't be able to handle that. Meyers have a thinner rind than most, so all that dumping and jiggling around in a truck would just encourage them to spoil.

Yes, lemons can spoil. They can get mold if you cram them all together and deprive them of air circulation.

Needless to say, I'm not very happy about the snails. There are an overproduction of them in the area. They are fattening themselves up on all the spring greenery and bringing their cute little kids along for the feast. I guess you can tell I like snails. But, I wish they'd leave my lemons alone!!!

I have lemon every day in my tea. I suppose maybe, I am being selfish. The tree does produce a lot of lemons and I'm not in the business of selling them. I guess I just don't want to share! Granted I can wash them off before using, and I do that anyway. But, just the idea of my lemon juice squeezing out across an old snail trail, I just don't care for the concept. Thank you very much!

According to internet research there are all kinds of methods to get rid of them. Everything from poisons to, guess what, lemon juice!

I don't wish to use poisons. Some poor stray kitty might come along, walk over it, lick his paw and become sick. No poisons. Don't think the lemon juice is going to work!

What do you think?



100 Things to do with Meyer Lemons


Recipe using lemon in Escargot:

Apple Snail in White Wine


Ingredients 

2 cups of chopped apple snails 1 tablespoon lemon 2 teaspoons pepper 2 cups tomato sauce 1 cup water 1 teaspoon salt

6 cloves garlic 2 teaspoons oregano 1 cup white wine 1 sliced onion 2 tablespoons olive oil

Simmer the apple snails in an uncovered skillet in olive oil with the garlic, lemon, oregano, pepper, salt, sweet pepper and tomato sauce. Add the white wine, water and sliced onion. Cover the skillet and cook for 20 minutes.
Serve with rice or potatoes. (6 persons)

(By G. Perera & J.G. Walls, taken from the book: "Apple snails in the aquarium", see literature list)
(not licenced under creative commons))

21 Surefire Instructions to Becoming a Successful Author!

1. Make the decision to become a Successful writer Author. Think positive!

2. Decide to make that wish come true. Yes, you can do it!

3. Give yourself a month or two to publish your first novel. Mark the date on a calendar to encourage your goal. Be sure to feed the cat to avoid interruptions.

4. Writing by hand is imperative for ultimate brain-hand coordination. Do not use the computer, except for instructions below. Petting cat whenever necessary is important to prevent conflict and keep peace of mind.

5. Go to a high end stationary store. Buy a blank book with quality paper, best if it has a leather cover. Don't let cat chew on leather.

6. Carefully select about a dozen pens, all different. You never know what kind of mood your hand will be in to manipulate said pens. Expensive are usually better. Buy laser pen light for cat while you're at it.

7. Choose a desk or table to write upon. If you don't already have the right one, shop for one. Antique stores often have the kind of desk like famous authors use. Be sure it is big enough for the cat to stretch out.

8. Find the right location to place the table or desk, allowing plenty of light, or buy a good lamp to go with the table. Get flea treatment for cat.

9. Make sure you have a comfortable chair. Remove cat from chair.  Purchase a basket to place nearby so cat wont bother your creative energies.

10. Line up pens, open blank book, and prepare to begin. Prevent cat from disturbing pens by covering them with an upside down baking pan. Encourage cat to lie down in cat basket.

11. Adjust curtains or lamp for optimal lighting. Allow enough room for cat to warm itself in window or beneath lamp.

12. Prepare beverage and snacks. Keep yourself nourished. Keep some cat treats nearby for the cat or give tidbits from your sandwich.

13. Return all phone calls to avoid interference with writing. Give cat hairball medicine regularly to prevent stains on your pages.

14. Check emails and reply so they wont be on your mind. Give catnip to cat.

15. Go to Amazon and order books on writing. "How to write a novel in six weeks" is a good one. Use cat basket to store cat toys.

16. Sign up for online courses on writing. Throw mousies for cat to play with. If arm gets tired, use laser pen light to keep cat occupied.

17. Join various writing groups and sign up for their newsletters. If you run out of cat food, go buy more. A hungry cat can be quite insistent and interfere with concentration!

18. Make sure to get enough rest so your mind is fresh. Allow cat to lie down with you for cat's comfort and warmth. Do not disturb cat if lying on your legs, chest or neck.

19. Create a blog and facebook fan page to keep everyone informed of your progress. Upload all the cute pictures you have taken of the cat.

20. Repeat all instructions until task is completed.

21. If unable to become a successful writer author within 10 years or so, accept your lot in life, and understand it is through no fault of your own. The blame goes to the cat!

Desperate for Clean Water

When you're little, you put your whole body into it. Easy enough to grab the handle and push it up, but getting it back down, you had to jump, put all your weight on it to get it into down position, then lift as fast as you can to get the next one going down.Your best bet was to have a gallon of water handy to pour down inside the pump, in order to not kill yourself trying to pump the water. For my Dad or big brother, it seemed a miracle they could pump gallons and gallons of water into the cistern with one arm pumping. That's how it was with our sweet, pure well water. My how things have changed.

Today there's so much controversy about drinking water. Is my faucet water safe to drink? What about plastic bottled water and it's effect upon the environment. What's your plan of action? Got one? I didn't. Then one day while at the grocery store, I noticed that there were no special sales on bottled water. You know, those packs of 24 handy dandy, carry with you, clean, clear, mountain streams healthy, unpolluted water? That stuff. Since it wasn't on sale and I knew I would need at least the 24 bottles or more to get me through the week, I hesitated. Whoa! If I bought two packs that would be a pretty big chunk of cash.

I thought to save money by calling up the local bottled water company, one of those who bring it to your door in big jugs. You can by the special dispenser, only 80 to 100 bucks if you want the one that gives you instant hot and instant cold water. I got the plain dispenser, a crock and wooden stand, for under 50 bucks. Then there is the bottle deposit. Five dollars up front. Not bad as long as I keep returning the old bottles for the new ones. Then, I could expect the bottled water truck to come to my house and deliver five gallon jugs. Soon I was paying for 5 gallons of "fine" distilled or spring water (probably filtered tap) a month. Still, it was less expensive than buying a month's worth of 24 packs even on sale. Plus, I felt better about not adding to the growing problem of disposing of the empty bottles. Let us not go into the leaching of chemicals into those bottles according to some sources. Save that for another time, when I can get all the facts.

About a year later, I began to be a little haunted by my new set up. I'm sure you know what the water was delivered in? Plastic. Nice thick plastic that wouldn't crack if you dropped one on the sidewalk while unloading it from the truck. The truck driving all over the county with the heat piercing through the jugs of water.

Did you know, by the way, that one gallon of water weighs 8 pounds?  I don't know how much the plastic fiver weighed. It seemed light when empty. One of the hassles I ran into was I couldn't lift the 40 plus pounds up over my shoulder in order to turn it over into the dispenser. So, my options were to stay home and wait for the delivery guy to load one for me. Two problems with that: staying home all day until he showed up, and hopefully have an empty bottle sitting on top of my dispenser to trade in. My other option was to wait until the weekend when my Superman came to visit. Again this depended on whether or not the previous bottle was empty. Sometimes if not entirely, I would take enough out, and pour it into the aquarium, which seems to evaporate faster than I can drink water!

Superman said, it's less expensive to get the water ourselves from one of those water dispenser stores. So I discontinued the service, and we went to the local store and bought two five gallon, and one 3 gallon jugs. We've been going every weekend to refill and reload onto my water crock dispenser.

Now I question the wisdom in this. Wish I had some clear, pure water. Wish I had that pump in the backyard, that pump going deep underground into the well. I would jump up. I would push down. I would prime the pump. I could use the exercise.

Cries with Cop

I started to cry while driving on the freeway. I have no idea why. It wasn't simply that sense of tears starting to spring that you can hold back with a tightness in the throat. No, this came from somewhere deep. Like a volcano wanting to break loose. Tears unbidden. Tears with plans of their own.

I knew I had to get off the freeway as soon as possible to avoid being a danger to others. I can drive while crying. I've done it before. Haven't we all? It wasn't even a matter of understanding why I felt so sad.

There was an exit up ahead a couple miles, but I had to pull over right there and then.  I had the flashers on so that other drivers would at least notice I was on the side of the road. Not wanting to break down sobbing, I was looking around for some tissues, and thereby noticed from the rear view mirror, a vehicle coming up on me  from the rear. A police vehicle. Oh dear, oh yuck, oh %^*&! Can I get a traffic ticket for having pulled over on the freeway without having a flat tire of overheated engine? I would soon find out.

Officers in this area frequently come up to the passenger side of the car to talk to the driver, because the danger of a high speed vehicle clipping them while passing too closely. Therefore when the officer came to my door, I opened it so he could lean in. It was just beginning to sprinkle.

He took one look at me, and I noticed in his eyes a flicker of recognition. He knew instinctively that this wasn't a stalled car problem. Maybe he was thinking, a crying woman, Oh no, oh yuck, oh %^*&!". But he said with concern, "Are you all right, Ma'am?"

I didn't know what to say. (I just started crying for no reason, officer, over nothing?) No, I didn't say that. I lied. Okay, maybe not a full lie, a little white lie. I told him my mother died last year... and a bit of overwhelming grief struck me while driving... and I thought it would be safer for me to pull over to calm down. He said some comforting words, and to get me out of danger of the traffic, he followed me to the next exit.

Maybe it is true after all. Maybe I am missing my mother. She was 87 when she died a couple years ago. She was my best supporter, and loved to me read anything I might have written. A letter, a poem, a story, one of my opinionated pieces or a journal page about my cats. She would have liked this posting to know a caring cop had stopped to help her daughter. She would have understood how tears and sadness come from nowhere, with no known reason. She would have understood my white lie.

Please note:  I love to take pictures of vintage cars. The last picture is of my Mom in our 1955 Nash Rambler. 

The Ending of an Era

Farewell Cruel World! They came to take me away today. I warned you. Didn't I? I was all nice about it, and thoughtful. But, did anyone take me seriously? No! Now I am being replaced by a fancy new 1.6 gallon low flow toilet. It just breaks my heart that I am being retired. I feel so useless! Though, I must admit the young Miss Low Flow is quite a beauty. I peaked around the corner and saw her as they lifted her out of her shipping box. Two big burly guys. They weren't needed. I could have lifted her myself. She's so lightweight and her tank is slim and sleek. Her bowl amazingly functional.

Not only am I jealous, I am in total awe of her. How could I possibly compete with her? Why would I want to? She is definitely superior to my old clunky water guzzling ways. I bet she wont leak for hours and hours as I did. I bet she wont leak at all! No one will have to come check on her and wiggle her handle to stop the leak. Oh, woe is me. I'm done for.

I know for sure, she will use less water too flush than I did. When they built me, they weren't thinking at all. Were they? Who needs five to eight gallons of water to flush away well, you know... two cups of...  human water?

And here she is Miss Efficiency, Miss How Green is Your Environmental Footprint, How Shiny is Your Curvy Seat. Oh, she's a beauty all right. No wonder everyone wants her. Only one and a half gallon flush! How does she do it? Amazing. What a wonderful way to save water. What an even more wonderful way to save money on the water bill! She is one incredible piece of equipment. She will be the focus of so much respect and attention for her service to the community and the world. Truly, I wish her the best her life in the bathroom can offer her.

When they hauled me out of there, it wasn't too bad. Really. They were quick and careful. They took me outside and set me in the garden. Oh! I have never seen a garden before in my entire life!

I went from manufacture, to box, to bathroom and that's where I've been ever since.  I can't even remember how many years ago. I guess that's why I and others like me are becoming obsolete.

But, this garden! I thought I had died and gone to heaven! Would this be my resting place forever more? It was filled with light and beauty, and I had the most peaceful feeling. No more struggles with plumbing. I thought, maybe, just maybe, I would be one of those toilets that gets to stay in the front yard and have flowers growing out of my bowl, like you see in the magazines.

They even talked about it a minute. But, I realized they were joking when they gently picked me up and put me in their vehicle. Is it the end for me? Is there nothing more? Will be garbage be dumped on me at the city dump until I can never see the light of day again?

But, wait a minute? They were talking. My user, the person to whom I have provided services all these years was concerned for me. She asked the question so pertinent to my future. "What happens next, Mr. Green Guy? You've replace the old toilet with a low flow one to help save water. But what happens to the old one? Is there any way it can be recycled?"

"Oh, yes", he said. "Toilets are made of porcelain, which is mostly made of clay. Porcelain can be ground down and used to make new porcelain items. Also, recycled toilet porcelain makes an excellent porous drainage material. It's a good substitute for gravel and can also be used as road base in state highways."

Well, now! I guess I really have died and gone to heaven. And now, my valuable porcelain will get a make over. I will be reincarnated! I will enter into a new kind of being. Imagine that! I can be part of a state highway! Say hi to me, everybody, as you safely pass over me. I will support your roadway. I will be useful again!

In case you missed the first part of the story, the following post relates Mr. Wasteful Flusher's first concerns about his demise:
http://mymoonrose.blogspot.com/2010/02/run-away-toilet.html

Wasting Water

When I moved here I found the yard very dry. I began watering every day and tried to loosen the soil. Nurturing it along, I began to create a garden of favorite plants, which needed more nutrients and more watering. The picture on the left it my house with unsightly lawn, a few straggling rose bushes. I tried to save them. I tried.

As the decade has gone by, it has been a losing battle. I kept working hard using my best gardening skills, after all, I am certified as a Master Gardener through the University of Santa Cruz. I kept spending money in the hopes that I would finally have a well established garden which would, more or less, take care of itself. Some plants did well. Some did not.

Unexpected protracted winter freezes, unusual for my climate, damaged favorites which needed special care to come back only to be damaged again during another year's freeze. Even though I watched the weather and ran outside to cover my precious plants, trees and shrubs, still frost damage occurred. During foggy times of the year, some plants were affected by mold.

I stopped attempting to amend the soil. I stopped watering the wasted garden so much. I had gotten to the point to make the decision. A little wisdom goes a long way and it was time to let nature take it's course. The plants died off that were not suited to my climate. As a Master Gardener, I should have known better.

Slowly, I have replaced them with Native plants  or Mediterranean plants which grow symbiotically here in the soil as it is, with the weather as it is, with the water or lack of water as it is.

As time goes by I hope to have a self sustaining garden, and a very cheap water bill.

Doesn't look like the same house. Does it?

First Anniversary

I look at the mess winter has created outside my back door. I look at the mess the birds have made with all the sunflower seed shells. I'm responsible for some of that mess. I've been feeding them. The possum has contributed, too; trying to get to the bird seed, tipping over pots and stools and other garden paraphernalia. Not to mention his...  poop! Opossum's poop a lot, and not just in one place. It's everywhere!

I'm sad. This mess is sad. It's a sorry excuse for a memorial park. A memorial plot, I mean. There's no honor here.

Last year at this time, I was beside myself in shock. I had all the symptoms, rapid pulse, cold skin, perspiration, tightness in the chest, and an overwhelming sense of horror. Who knew that loving someone so much for twenty years could bring upon such intensity?

I couldn't comprehend the possibility that I would remain sane. I sure didn't feel sane. That first six months was the most difficult. I went to bed at night and all I could think about was her. Not the good times we had. No. All I could think about was her death, and the things that led up to it.  I awoke in the same thought pattern. I couldn't stop myself.

As clear as the moment it happened, I see her now, heading out the door as I reach for the mail, She's plodding across the yard to the far corner where her favorite plant grows. I head out behind her, hobbling along due to my recent surgery. I like to be with her, watching, as she pads around her plant, and sniffs selectively. Though I worry, she avoids the bumble bees like an expert and finds that one perfectly formed leaf for her enjoyment. She nibbles. I'll catch up to her soon. I can break off a stem, carry her back inside.

This was not catnip. Though Keli enjoyed catnip, she also had a penchant for a closely related plant most of us call cat mint. She preferred it over regular catnip. She had passed up the big patch of catnip by the door in order to get to her special plant.

If only she hadn't.

I wasn't fast enough. The neighbor had let her dogs out and headed toward my house. It was almost like I saw it coming. I couldn't run. There was no way I could have stopped it.

It was instantaneous.


I heard a blood curdling scream as the dog's body slammed my little eight pound girl. It was me who screamed but it sounded like it came from outside myself, as if the whole neighborhood had screamed. I can't say I saw her hurled away. It happened so fast. Have I blocked it?

I kept going over that in my mind, trying to capture that moment. Was she under her own power in escaping? Certainly she was suddenly not there, and my scream had startled the dog and his owner, so much that everything  shifted. The dog stood stock still and did not give chase, but ran away. The neighbor and I had harsh words.

Since the door was still open, Keli had made her way back inside before I got there. I examined her. No blood. She seemed herself. She seemed okay sitting there on her rocking chair, as usual.

It took two weeks as her life began to fade. I took her to the Vet, not relating the episode with the dog to her demise. It was the Vet who wrote in her chart about a mass in her abdomen, the lack of bowel sounds. He asked if she'd been injured. Then, it all clicked. It was too late to save her, he said. I could pay a thousand dollars and they would do everything they could, but he didn't feel there would be much hope at her advanced age, the fact she was dehydrated, etc. etc. I needed to let her go. He was very kind. Seemed like he loved her as much as I.

NEVER, NEVER, NEVER take your very sick pet to the vet without having a friend go with you!!! Driving home is extremely dangerous, for other drivers, as well as yourself. Several times, I had to pull over just to breathe. I was convinced I would pass out, but not within my senses enough to just stop driving entirely. Very dangerous.

Every night before I slept I re-lived the vet office visit, her looking into my eyes with such clarity that last moment. Every morning the same thing. I thought I would die from the grief. I wished I would. I felt insane.

So here I was a year later, and her resting place beside the back door was... a mess. Naturally, I got busy and started cleaning.

I decided to go out to her favorite plant, her cat mint, dig it up, transplant it, put it beside her. It gets such beautiful blue flowers on it. The neighborhood cats wont disturb it. She was the only one who ever munched on it.

Much to my surprise, I can't even call it surprise, just imagine ..... well, you explain it.

I found the location of Keli's cat mint and discover instead, a four foot circle of dead plant. All the spring flowers and grasses surround that circle. But, nothing invades the space that once was the living plant my cat loved.

Can you explain it? How very, very odd.

Spring Flooding

The winter of 1949 had been harsh, starkly white, and unsafe for a little girl to go out. I stared out the dining room window at my big naked friends, the Maple trees, wondering if they were asleep like Mommy said.

Sometimes I looked across the way and saw our neighbor, Mrs. Samalski, the Police Chief’s wife, through her window tending to her houseplants. I wondered why her plants weren’t asleep. Sometimes she saw me, smiled and waved at me.

Spring rushed in with unexpected warmth that nearly drowned us all. The Niagara river climbed over it’s banks.

Muddy water eddied in front of our doorstep, crept over the sill, and filled the basement overnight. I gazed out the window at the kaleidoscope patterns of the water as it rose around the house.


I was entranced by the sights and sounds outside as we waited for the boat rescuers. It wasn’t the roar of the water that piqued my curiosity; it was the human-like moaning of the trees as they fought to keep their roots in the thick clay soil, and the muck-sucking sounds when the flood tried to tear them out by the roots. Those tall proud Guardians won the battle as the waters swiftly receded.

After the water withdrew, I begged to go outside, so I could investigate the new sprouting green buds, and splash in water puddles (wearing my high galoshes, of course).

After all, my big brother had been out there every day since the flooding began, filling sand bags and shoveling mud with Daddy. It was a disappointment for me, once I got outside. All the beautiful mud patterns were gone and I struggled as the sludge grabbed my galoshes. Needless to say, I landed face down in the stinky stuff.

Discouraged, I dragged myself back inside and stayed safely behind my window as buds opened into lovely leaves. The sun dried out the earth, neighbors gathered together to clean up the mess as the days went by. Then, with my nose pressed hard against the window, I closely examined the newly blooming Lilacs at the base of our window, and welcomed their return.

Soil Begging to be Touched!

The rain is gone, fruit trees are budding and  throwing out their first blooms. Apricot, peach, plums. Yum. Can hardly wait.

My hands itch to immerse themselves in the soil, to tidy up the mess the garden has become over the winter. Though no snow storms ravaged the land, rain is our winter fare.

Fortunately this year was a good rain year. Water high in the reservoir means no rationing. If those who garden heavily want to water their yards without counting out every drop, they will be joyful for the abundance.

I've pulled myself out of that group of gardeners, tending roses and other plants that don't thrive without constant individualized care. The soil here is one of the worst. Being part of the flood plain you'd think it would be rich. But this is the Pajaro River, one of the most endangered rivers in America.

Previous flooding over generations, before my house ever existed has created a hard pack over my yard. It's a dichotomy to me that the city is surrounding by some of the richest soil and biggest agriculture in the world. When you go to the store to buy strawberries, inevitably they will have come to you from Watsonville, or Salinas Valley.

Early land owning farmers of the region had enough sense to stay away from the non-arable land where I live and delegated it to the Chinese hired labor to scratch out their existence.

So I sit here scratching my head how to live with the land peacefully. It's still a process for me. I have left off from cultivating, improving my soil with bone and blood meal, growing my own worms, composting and digging into the compacted clay, hard tack soil in attempts to urge it along into something abundant. It's been a losing battle fighting off the local predators, weeds, bugs and mammalian alike. It's not true companion planting will do it. It's not true lady bugs, miniature wasps and lacewings can completely obliterate the problem unless you have a lot of money to invest. They don't know enough to stay within the confines of your own garden, but like to travel on. I've let things go fallow.

I have a small front yard. and instead of being the shame of the neighborhood it was at one time, the jewel. Do we all know, however, one of those houses where everyone driving by either averts their eyes, or points? My method of scattering seed instead of planting from the nursery has put me in that category for some.  I've made enough adjustments to keep from being reported to the neighborhood association. (Yes, we have garden police here.)

It was questionable whether or not my yard completely full of Flanders red poppies was unsightly or beautiful. Eventually, the decision came down to fire hazard. That was a drought year and the three foot poppy plants had dried out quite quickly. I could see their point as they crackled where ever I walked. I pulled them all up and through them in one of the many compost bins in my back yard.

But, poppies have plans of their own.

Many seeded early leaving behind another crop the following year.

Rather than deal with another hassle, I judiciously pulled them up as soon as they bloomed.


We shall see if any of them dare to raise their lovely red heads this year!

Tree Hugger

I don't want to look. I know what they are doing out there. It hurts to know.

But, this is the way life goes. Isn't it? There is nothing I can do about it. I've seen it before.

When I was little I felt the same as I do now. But, there was a long period I was immune to feeling anything. I got too busy with life to care at the time.

The noise is deafening. The cats are disturbed. No matter where we hide, we cannot get away.

I suppose I could get in the car and drive somewhere, to the ocean maybe, to the redwood forest and walk among the trees.
But, I would cry. I've had enough of crying. It's a fact of life and I've got to face it... accept it.

I've looked over that fence a thousand times. I've watched that magnificent Magnolia grow, flourish, become the gem of the neighborhood. I don't know why I never took a picture. Mockingbird lives among it's branches. He has annoyed me with his cacophany all night long, many nights over the years.

But I'd trade his racket for the wood chomping monster any time. When he returns this evening, his home will be gone. Where will he go?

Maybe he can hang out in my pine tree out front. I can't believe I'm feeling sorry for a homeless mockingbird! This critter who has celebrated my insomnia numerous times! But, I could sleep better through his night calls if he was out front.

The workers have served the vile machine it's breakfast. It's chewed up Mother Magnolia. Is it going to have the Bottle Brush for snack? I wonder about the others little trees whose names I don't know.

Now, I look out the window across the fence. Barren. Nothing between me and the window across the way. How hot it will be for the neighbors this summer? I wonder if they will miss their privacy when look out the window and they see me looking right back at them! I certainly will be uncomfortable without the bowers between us. I sit on the bed, stunned.

I hear the men out there talking. Why haven't they gone? I'm curious and look out my window. They are cleaning up the remains. The branches and leaves on the ground. They've done there job well. It is what they do, their livelihood.

One of the men  is using a long pole to cut the ends off another big tree. I realize the Magnolia has enticed my eye for so long, I never knew there was another one hidden on the other side of the Magnolia. 

Is that the beginning of good bye for that one, too? I don't know what kind of tree it is.

Bambi nervously sits in the window now, watching, watching, twists her neck, looks back at me, a tiny mew. Does she feel it the way I do? Did she hear the tree screaming as they hacked away its soul? Do the other trees in the neighborhood shudder to think their friend is gone? My peach, apricot, plum trees, will they miss Magnolia? They barely have buds now.

Am I being childish to have this sadness for the sake of tree?

The owner is out there now looking at her nice clean yard. Through my closed window, I hear her sneeze. I'm surprised. This is not only going to be about visual privacy.

I think late tonight I will play angry RAP music!!!

Quietly, of course.  No louder than a sneeze.