You CANNOT fry an egg on the sidewalk when it is 114º outside. I tried. It just oozes down the slight slope then sits there, attracting little crawly things. The yolk stared at me like a giant yellow eyeball. I asked myself, “What are you thinking? You’re nearly 63 years old and you’re acting like a kid!” Ain’t it great! Unless it’s dementia creeping in.
Oops! There’s the gardener with his blower. Wonder what he thought when he saw the blob of egg on the sidewalk? Actually, he probably didn’t even notice since most of the time he does a lousy job of mowing and blowing anyway. (Just checked the egg; it never moved.)
Seriously, things really aren’t that boring here in the desert. I’ve just always wanted to try to fry an egg on concrete but never have been in a place hot enough to try it. Except the year Cort and I went to Death Valley in July for his birthday. It was 126º but I didn’t have any eggs.
So … this morning I’m doing my inside chores and notice the cats are standing at attention looking out the sliding glass door onto the patio. Figuring something different was going on since Dakota rarely breaks from her nap time (which is usually all day long), I looked out the window. OMG! There is a Greater Roadrunner (as opposed to a Lesser Roadrunner, both of which are part of the cuckoo family … and don’t go there, ok?) standing on the outside fireplace trying to snatch one of the hummingbirds dive-bombing him! I grabbed the camera to take a photo. Unfortunately I couldn’t get all three birds at once. That is why you only see the roadrunner with his mouth open.
And speaking of roadrunners, one morning last week I let the cats out into the front courtyard to get a bit of fresh air. Ever on the lookout for hawks swooping down to carry one of them off, I was scanning the sky. OMG! There was a roadrunner on the roof next door eyeballing Chianne! I rushed over to pick her up out of harm’s way. Thinking I was chasing her to play, she ran under the bushes. I reached down to pick her up. She jumped, causing me to dig deeper into the shrubbery, resulting in me scratching the side of my face, which made me look like I’d been in a serious cat fight. At least I didn’t poke out my eye.
As I’m running around trying to catch Chianne, Dakota is running every which way but through the front door. I’ve managed to scare them both and can’t catch either of them. All the while the roadrunner is sitting on the roof…watching the fiasco. I would have thrown a rock at the bird but I’m not a good shot and figured I would probably break the neighbor’s window. Then I’d have to call security and explain that one. Fortunately, bird gave up or just got bored and flew off. And did I mention I am wearing a very short bathing suit cover-up? Sans bathing suit? It’s hot, ok? Thankfully there weren’t any golfers on the course otherwise I’m sure that view would have caused them to lose their focus.
And then there was the big, bad-ass bug Dakota was playing with at 1:30 this morning. It was at least 2 inches long! They grow things big here in the desert, folks. If that sucker comes back again I’m going to give it a broom and make it sweep up the cat hair!