…it has to be evening.

Same routine, every night when I get home from work, or when I get home from running around on the weekends – either business, or as it was tonight -an evening spent with good friends.

I turn on the porch light, close the blinds that face the street, turn on the red-shaded Korean brass lamp made from artillery shells (Dad brought it home from Korea in ’76) – likewise the lamp on my Heywood-Wakefield thrift-store corner table (thanks, Mom!)…and switch on the pool lights.

I feed the animals, and load the dishwasher.

I turn on the kettle, and pick out my herbal tea – a six-month-old “tradition” – and one I’m enjoying more and more.

It’s comforting.

It means I’m in.

…for the Night.

Look what I found tonight in the old tree we refused to cut down! (Yet more proof that you should always trust your Little Voice, y’all.) I saw him peeking out at us when Spectre and I came back from our walk tonight. I think this little new resident is an Eastern Screech Owl. If you know better, let me know!

I called the Extension Service, and they told me I’d be surprised how well these owls do in the suburban landscape. As long as I have a birdfeeder (where rodents feed under cover of night…Yick) and some “rough areas” in my lawn – i.e. bushes and heavy growth, my tiny tree-dweller will have plenty to eat.

He’s another reason to keep my bird bath clean, too.

I love having a little raptor in our treasured old tree! I consider him good luck while my John has to be gone.

Sundays are pretty much the same every time around here. John & I are especially happy to keep to the house and spend time just with each other since he’ll be gone for an extended deployment very soon.

Anyhoo, we usually get up in a hurry, John makes the coffee while I grab whatever I can find for breakfast (cereal? leftovers? nothing?) and then we run out the door to church.  By 11:00 a.m., we’re back and we either work on the yard, work on the house, head to work, or if I’m lucky, I head to the barn.

Today we picked out paint for several of our rooms we’ve been trying to finish, John hung up a hunting-scene carpet and did some other handy-man stuff, I planted some petunias and hung some up, and we took in a Rays game (Rays won!)

And the breakfast was special this morning – apple pie courtesy of John’s mom.  Even plucked from the fridge shelf in a hurry and eaten plain, it is just as delicious.

Eighteen-year-old Siamese on inspection duty is, unfortunately, not a rarity.  I told John he’ll miss that pesty little critter, too, though.