A scrap of paper
I had a fantastic line to write to you today. The words came to me while I was eating dinner cooked by one of the volunteers surrounded by chattering and laughing young people. It was a sublime collection of words that encapsulated my day. So I tore off a little strip of paper towel from under the croquetas and wrote those amazing perfectly composed poetic words on the paper. But it was so hot that later I turned the fan on and it blew the table clean and now your words are gone. 
Kind of like when you are really mad at someone or disappointed or something and all you do is stammer and go red, then after all the people have left you suddenly have exactly the words ready, your rebuttal is generous but cutting. Perfect. But you can only say it to yourself because the moment and all the people are are gone. Kind of like that but the opposite. So not much like that at all I suppose. 
But you know what I mean.
I am considering crawling around the floor looking for my little piece of paper towel corner with my perfect thought folded inside but I am not going to.
It can stay on yesterdays floor.
Another of my volunteers has elected to learn how to milk Lady Astor the house cow and this week she is ready to take over. She has begun her studies to become a vet so we decided that she could get even more involved with the animals than usual. Lady Astor stands quite still except for that last well aimed kick to the cups when she is finished and so far all has gone well.
I have a tremendous crew at the moment.
Poor Mr Flowers.
I hope you have a lovely day.
celi
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That’s the first time I’ve seen Mr. Flowers resemble the Road Runner. Of course, with an infatuated peahen like that waiting for him at home, it’s no wonder he’s a blur.
Mr. Flowers looks quite fantastic!
I have many of those scraps of paper. I’ve even tried recording my moments of inspiration on my smartphone while I’m outside working, but find it hard to listen back – it’s never as brilliant as it was in the moment, surrounded by the muse. Plus I can’t listen to my own voice without cringing, so you lose something right there. Sometimes, though, just a photo provides the reminder and the jumping off point and the muse is back and I am off. The best.
So annoying when those perfect words fly away… My memory is terrible, and I’ve taken to having a small fat notebook in my bag or pocket, complete with pen stuck in the spiral binding. It’s been a life saver as well as a great way to get some notes down when inspiration strikes or I get a good idea about how to achieve something. That last photo of Mr Flowers is magnificent; there’s almost a feeling of unreality at how perfect all the detail is.
What a beautiful bird!
Perhaps the words will return to you another way. Summer is yet to appear here in the Italian mountains. Our garden is green and sodden. My geraniums are ruined, but I suppose they will recover. The peonies won’t…oh well, there is always next year.
Mr. Flowers is magnificent. My perfect words fly away all the time with or without a fan. Just happens. Poof.
The same here, I have these great thoughts and poof, they are gone. Maybe there is a place where they hide in some corner of our brain.
I hope so.
Dad and the hired hand were in the cellar below the porch when the neighbor woman drove in. She was there the complain to Mom about how her little boy was badly treated by my older sister on the bus ride home from school. The woman yelled a lot at Mom and had her fit. Mom kept quiet. Dad stayed down in the cellar and never saw a thing, but he heard.
After a couple of minutes passed, Mom let her have it with a barrage of retaliation. The hired hand said to Dad how he was impressed at how well she handled the altercation. She really gave her what for. Little did he and Dad know that the woman had already driven away. Mom was eloquent and cutting when no one was there to hear except to two in the cellar.
That’s Murphy’s law – a terrific example.
That is quite the funniest story Jim.Your Dad must have laughed!
What a beautiful tail he has!
So what is so POOR about Mr Flowers? Is someone tormenting him? Or is it the burden of being so beautiful with that huge tail?
And I know what you talk about when you need a rebuttal or perfect comment and it comes to you too late. I have that problem quite often. Mom says that it happens because we were not supposed to continue that path and needed to ‘stew’ on the topic further. Say some grace and move on. My reply was always “easier said than done”….
I think she said poor Mr Flowers because you can the see the peahen in the background admiring herself in the mirror. Poor Mr Flowers’ magnificent display is totally in vain.
Ah yes, I see that now…… Very VAIN hen! Very Vain…. tsk tsk tsk
Now I have Carly Simon’s song “You’re So Vain” running through my head . lol I wonder if that is Geraldine the peahen.
Yes, Poor Mr Flowers because that that is tail is up and beautiful and all the girls want is to look in the mirror.
Beautiful cloudscape in your header, Celi. Like in a Constable painting.
The skies are the stars around here! c
Good for her for taking on the milking! I think she’ll love it, although with a cow I’m guessing one must be very careful of flying hooves. I’m milking 2 goats now, one of our own, and one borrowed, so we’ll be eating cheese and yogurt soon! Sadly we didn’t keep the borrowed billy long enough last November and only one of our three girls got pregnant. Live and learn though, live and learn!!! Today marks 5 years since we started our farm adventure here! 🙂
It is the same here – I learn stuff and then it is an entirely new season before I can use the information. c
Is that an optical illusion or does Mr. Flowers have white in his feathers? Those perfect words are now a lovely memory. I dreamt of a melody that faded away as I woke up. I can remember the dream but not the music. It sounds like your farm is humming along. Enjoy.
I just visited a nearby winery for which the “mascot” is a peacock, albeit not a live one. Your photos made me think of this post I published today.
Well, at least you made the attempt to keep the thought intact by writing it down. I usually think I’m going to remember that one perfect sentence or great blog idea. And of course I don’t. The fact that I don’t learn that lesson is probably an indication of declining mind. 😉
If Lady Astor didn’t tell you she was done with her well placed kick, would the feel of the teat tell you? How do you know how much to leave for Bobby-T? Or do you just milk until there is nothing left and then she is pretty quick to make more for her calf? So many question rise up in my head that it never even occurred to me to ask before I started reading your blog. I love it.
Wondering the same things! 🙂
I know that feeling well…but I have now reached a good advanced age when I say what I feel, when I want to say it…I seem to have forgotten that maybe a bit of decorum should be in place..the words just come out..plonk! Like it or lump it..there they are….
lots of love
Sent: Tuesday, June 14, 2016 at 1:03 PM
The bird with a thousand eyes! The National Bird of India…In Hinduism, the image of the god of thunder, rains and war, Indra, was depicted in the form of a peacock. In south India, peacock is considered as a vehicle of lord Muruga–surprisingly they live in the wild there and domesticated. You have a Lord Muruga living with you. 🙂
Linda
I keep wondering if those white plumes on Mr. Flowers’ tail have any bit of iridescence to them. We used to carry the usual lovey peacock plumes when I had the store and they sold well, but none of the suppliers carried white plumes (we were asked for them occasionally). Mr. Flowers is certainly a handsome fellow, hard to compete with a mirror however.
I must agree with Patrecia, I don’t manage to control what I say very well either – perils of being of a “certain” age. I’ve come to appreciate the bluntness, saves so much fussing around to no purpose. Have a lovely day.
That happens to me more often than not…I hope you stumble upon the words when you need them the most, it would be fitting. I’m happy that you have such a lovely crew, the help must be welcome.
I write my best poetry while walking, with both hands occupied on my sticks. I get home and the words, like yours, have gone, never to return.
Love,
ViV xox
What at tremendous shot of Mr. Flowers – with a Geraldine in the back still asking Mirror, Mirror on the Wall… Strange, isn’t it? Or is she watching him through the mirror? Clandestinely, secretly?
Maybe!! c
I’ve said plenty of generous things and I’m sure I’ve said plenty of cutting things as well, but I don’t think I’ve ever managed both at the same time! LOL
my best ideas hit during the night. Instead of getting up and putting on the light and writing them down, I say the words out loud, thinking this will help me remember them. But they don’t. It doesn’t pay to be lazy.
I love Mr. Flowers’ decorative hem–like a senorita’s skirt.
You won’t find the piece of fly-away paper ’cause it has already landed in each and every one of our homes saying what needed to be said . . . many individual keepsakes sent by your Illinois winds . . .
“It can stay on yesterdays floor.”
While looking for a scrap you found the best line ever. (maybe that was the purpose all along? HA HA)
Mr. Flowers has a magnificent display! No wonder Geraldine wants to look her best. She is a beauty.