Patsy Porco

Posts Tagged ‘Picnics’

Ode to July

In Humor, Summer on July 20, 2017 at 11:32 pm

 

sunflowers

 

 

fireworksI wait all year for you to show

And when you do, my heart’s aglow

I wear few clothes, but just enough

To hide the cellulite and stuff.

 

 

hotdogs

 

Your days are long and hot and funbeach

The water’s warm from all the sun

We swim, we picnic, we yell at raccoons

Who knock over our trashcans under the moon.

 

raccoon

 

Rudy and Otto 4

Every day in July is a gift from aboveflip flops

There’s so much to do and so much to love

Swimming, sunbathing, water sports

Baseball, hotdogs, flip-flops, shorts.

 

 

yankees

 

Growing a garden, eating outsidesunset

Cutting fresh flowers, avoiding riptides

Biking, ice cream, watching the sunset

Kids, pets, adults … all soaking wet.

 

 

watermelon

 

ice-cream-cone-1274894_960_720As long as it is, with its 31 days

It still goes by fast, in a sun-drenched haze

So, don’t bitch to me about the heat

Or I’ll kick you with my sunburned feet.

 

 

feet

 

All photos were free/royalty-free from Pixabay.

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The First Weekend of Summer

In cookouts, Humor, Summer on June 27, 2016 at 1:34 am

If you recall, a few weeks ago, I tried to sell giant hosta plants from my garden on an online garage-sale site, but the site’s administrator asked me to take down my post because my plants were not hosta, but garden-variety weeds. Several people I know asked why the site’s administrator cared if I was selling weeds, as long as they weren’t illegal ones.

I agreed with them, but I preferred not to look like a moron who thought giant weeds were hosta, so I took down the post and spent this Saturday ripping those plants up by the roots. Then today, my husband and I went to a backyard party hosted by our friends, a husband and wife we’ve known for years. While we were there, the husband showed me his very impressive vegetable garden. He was especially pleased with the progress that his rhubarb was making. I took a closer look at the rhubarb and realized that I might have just thrown out ten or fifteen of those plants. The rhubarb plants sure looked like my weeds. But then again, so did hosta. I’m glad that the plants are gone, though. This way, there’s no temptation to make a rhubarb pie that might turn out to be a weed pie.

After the garden tour, we went over to the screened-in deck, where a few of the younger guests were comparing their tattoos. Only one of the older people there had a tattoo — the rhubarb-growing husband. His tattoo was temporary, and was bought and applied by his wife. Temporary or not, his was the popular favorite.

Mike's tattoo

When we got home, I was inspired to check on my vegetable garden. I know that what I planted are actually vegetables because I bought seed packets and they were clearly marked with words and pictures. My vegetables aren’t showing any progress yet, but that’s to be expected since I just planted them a week ago.

The bird feeder, on the other hand, has seen lots of action. I have one of those square suet cages that you fill with a cake composed of congealed fat and seeds. There are small openings in the cage so that only birds can feed from it. Somebody didn’t tell the squirrels, though. For the past few mornings, they’ve been hanging upside down from the lattice fencing around our deck, grabbing the cage with their little squirrel hands, and demolishing the suet. I’ve refilled that cage three times so far this week.

Always the optimist, I also bought a cylindrical bird feeder that is guaranteed to attract finches, and a bag of bird seed. I don’t even know if Connecticut has finches, but since I wouldn’t recognize one anyway, any bird is welcome. Yesterday, I put the new feeder and the bag of seed on our picnic table out on the deck. Today, while we were at the party, my brother was at our house, and he said that he looked out the window and saw at least six squirrels romping on the table. The squirrels had poked holes in the bag and were gorging on the seeds and drunkenly tossing handfuls into the air. He politely told them to go away, and when they ignored him, he threw flip-flops at them until they left. Then he hid the seeds.

After relating this harrowing experience, he suggested that I consider washing down the table before our next cookout. I definitely will, with bleach. But things could have been worse. My next-door-neighbor regularly sees raccoons copulating in broad daylight on her picnic table. Washing that table wouldn’t be an option. I’d have to burn it.

Manhattanites Are Different From You and Me

In Humor on January 24, 2011 at 1:29 pm

I have nothing against odd people, but on the Weird Spectrum,  Manhattan residents are at the highest end. I lived in Manhattan for a number of years so I’m not just speculating; I’m talking from experience. Living in such close quarters with so many other people isn’t the way humans are supposed to live, and it takes its toll.

Apparently even the people who run New York City have gone over the edge of sanity. They’ve constructed a pop-up park in a building where you can have a picnic in the winter. The park features a photo mural of trees, some real trees, fake grass, rocks, piped-in birdsong, an unconvincing pond, and space to play lawn games.  http://shine.yahoo.com/event/green/new-yorkers-take-shelter-from-winter-in-a-downtown-pop-up-park-2440345/

Why do you need to have a picnic in the winter? If you can have a picnic in the winter, then where’s the fun in having one in the summer? But this is typical of New Yorkers: they have to have what they want when they want it. People actually go to this indoor ersatz park and bring picnic baskets and spread their blankets on the fake grass which covers the hard cement floor. 

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Manhattanites have always been obsessive about their love of parks. They make their daily or weekly pilgrimages to Central Park and then make sure to mention their visits to the park to anyone who will listen, as if they had just visited Lourdes. Central Park is indeed a place of worship to many Manhattan residents, but it’s very urbane and top-notch—not some run-of-the-mill holy place. There are lots of other parks in the city, and many are being made bigger and better to compete with Central Park, but they’ll never attain the same global cachet. The parks by the Hudson and East rivers are standing-room-only on spring and summer days, but visiting Hudson River Park, East River Park, Riverside Park,  or Carl Schurz Park won’t win you the same points that a trip to Central Park will.

Which brings me back to the park-in-a-box. What is the allure? I just don’t get it. Which is probably why I no longer live in Manhattan and have moved to the suburbs, where I can picnic in real parks in the spring and summer when it’s sensible. I’m sure my Manhattan friends are thinking that I’m not sophisticated enough to understand their superior sensibilities, but in my defense, if I want to eat on the floor, I’ll stay home.

 

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