Minor Tribulations
I rejoiced this morning that the bear hadn't knocked over the trash can again, and then went into the orchard and discovered that the 12 Elberta peaches I had been cherishing on my young tree were mostly gone and one of the tree's branches was broken off. The peach pits were on the ground. I picked the remaining four peaches, so the bear won't have another go at it, but I think they're too green to ripen off of the tree.

Next, I noticed that the overflow from the water tank, which I run into a large terracotta saucer for the birds, wasn't flowing. It tends to get a sort of vapor lock, so I walked up the hill to jiggle the hose -- and found two small fountains jetting into the air. There were several incisor marks on the black plastic pipe that comes from the main tank. Why, I do not know. The overflow tank is only about ten feet away, and there is always water leaking out of it. I turned off the water, smeared the damage with lap cement (read "tar"), and left it to set up. In a few hours I'll go back and tape over it. This has happened before, and it's still annoying.

I intended to drive to the town's only florist to order flowers for the funeral of my last remaining aunt, but there was a road crew in the way and the flag man said there would be a twenty-minute wait. I came back home, and got on the florist's website. Practically the first thing the FTD page wants is the recipient's zip code. Sure, like I'm supposed to know what zip code Forest Lawn occupies. I don't even know their street address. I closed out of that and phoned instead. The florist and I had a nice chat and it turns out that her son lives less than a quarter mile from me.

Aunt Theresia was the last of my mother's family. It was a large family by today's standards, with seven kids; eight if you include a half-brother that my grandmother left behind in Hungary when she immigrated to this country. I remember how out-going and vivacious Aunt Theresia was as a young woman, always laughing, joking, singing. I can almost hear her singing "Froggy Went a Courtin'" to a cousin and myself when I wasn't much more than seven. She always dressed well, kept her hair permed, and wore more makeup than her sisters. She was fashionable while they were not. She and her husband, Paul, bowled a lot and as a child I was fascinated by the trophies they had sitting around the house.

It occurred to me, as I was writing this, that the "older generation" is completely gone now. My father and his two sisters died years ago, as did my mother and the rest of her family. Aunt Theresia was the last, and now my cousins and I are the older generation.