Holy hell. Talk about an angry inch.
We just got that much rain between coffee and oatmeal. It sounded like the Bad Old Days, when I lived next to the railroad tracks in a series of shacks. That train just kept on thundering along.
We’d gotten just under 3 inches all year long until this morning.
I’ma go out on a very soggy limb and speculate that this may be a poor morning for the ol’ bikey ridey.
Probably be a good day to swim laps around the house, though.
Anyone queuing up for the new Apple gadgets this morning?
Me neither.
I have this fine 2021 iPhone 13 Mini here, which I had to snap with the 2016 iPad Pro, since I no longer have any actual cameras in the vicinity.
The iPad is practically useless — I was pinching pennies when I bought it and went for the 32GB of storage, which is of course full to overflowing despite my ruthless purging of apps, data, pix, music, etc.
It still works, but to no particular purpose, like the U.S. House of Reprehensibles, and I don’t expect to ever buy another.
Remember, kids: You can never be too rich or too thin, or have too much storage and memory.
Speaking of things that don’t work as they should, no further intel from WordPress. WP was good enough to send me a note proposing that I upgrade to their Business plan to “unlock a set of amazing features,” among them “live chat support for on-demand help from our global team of Happiness Engineers.”
This, like a new iPad — and commenting on the blog without having to buy a postcard, slap a stamp on it, and hand it over to the U.S. Mail — is another non-starter.
Comments, schmomments.
We got rain!
Not much, it’s true. In fact, it has yet to even register on our rain gauge.
But it’s registered on my brain gauge, and that’s enough for now.
And there’s a chance that we could actually see measurable precipitation as the week unfolds, if the wind doesn’t blow it out of town.
Whoops, here comes the sun. There goes the rain. And I hear a crow laughing at me.
Haw. Haw. Haw.
Ma Nature has an interesting sense of humor. At least she didn’t trick me into putting fenders on a bike … again.
A WordPress “happiness engineer” and I have had one exchange of views about the comments issue, and I am eagerly awaiting round two.
In the meantime, if you continue to have problems sounding off in this space, the WPHE’s advice is to:
• Clear your browser cache and cookies.
• Make sure Javascript is enabled.
As for me, I recommend trying a variety of browsers. I was able to comment on the DogS(h)ite using the Mac versions of Firefox and Chrome on a 2014 MacBook Pro running the Catalina OS.
Some of you have noticed that the “Leave a Reply” box looks a little different lately, and the WPHE acknowledged that WP “is constantly updating and improving its features (emphasis mine), so it’s possible that recent updates could have affected the appearance or functionality of the comment box.”
O, indeed. “In my Father’s CMS there are many updates,” as the Good Book tells us.
Now, I’m just spitballing here in the absence of evidence or expertise, but it’s possible that my insistence on using WP’s Classic Editor instead of its beshitted Block Editor — curse its name, yes — may play some role here.
Or it may be that the theme I use, the venerable Kubrick, has long since been “retired” and is no longer supported properly. Chances are it’s just gathering dust and being “updated and improved” by mice in the bottom drawer of an Army-surplus metal desk down in storage room B. There may be a Swingline stapler on the desk, right next to a box of matches.
Lotta strands in old Duder’s head, man. And they’re not all plugged into the proper sockets. More as I hear it. Meanwhile, keep those cards and letters coming, and don’t touch that dial.
More clouds. Fewer birds. Lower temperatures. In the morning, anyway.
And come to think of it, in the evening, too. I’m not needing a wee rinse before bedtime to resolve the late-in-the-day stickiness that goes along with life in the desert and a firm hand on the thermostat.
Damp it is not. The drought not only persists, it thrives. The Rio Grande is on the edge of running dry in The Duck! City for a second consecutive year. When I stripped the bed of its sheets in the dark this morning I got a free static-electricity light show for my troubles.
But at least my rides and runs have not been the usual rolling boil for the past week. Maybe I can resume my habit of slipping out nine-ish instead of kitting up in the dark, when I need a headlight to see, not just to be seen.
It’s not summer’s end; not yet. But it’s around the bend, just flyin’.
There’s a smaller crowd queueing up at our bird feeders, and they’re getting a later start, too.
On yesterday’s looping ride through Sandia Heights I didn’t spot a single solitary quail, not a one. Didn’t even hear any. Just last Sunday Herself and I saw them by the dozens as we spun leisurely through the Heights.
This morning I made our oatmeal on the stove, instead of mixing up a müesli version to “cook” in the fridge the night before. We added diced peaches, chopped pecans, and local honey, and washed it down with a side of hot tea.
At the stove, with the windows open, I caught a whiff of bacon frying nearby. The pig is Herself’s spirit animal and she won’t tolerate it on a plate, but apparently marrying one is OK, as long as it makes a pork-free breakfast.
Then, suddenly, at 9 on the dot with the breakfast dishes washed, the birds turn up. The hummers re-enact the Battle of Britain around their feeders, and the finches perch greedily at theirs while the doves stalk the ground hunting misplaced morsels.
Is this the summertime equivalent of Punxsutawney Phil seeing his shadow? Do we have six more weeks of summer on tap?
I’d best kit up and get out there. Don’t forget the sunscreen. Might be another scorcher.
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