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So we’ve had rain and more rain for several days.  Sometimes it mists, sometimes it falls heavily.  We already had a tropical jungle for a yard; now we have a rainforest.

The mean neighbors had a little warning rainfall and a few minutes of hail on their hay but they got it baled and stored before our mid June wet season.  I certainly wish I’d stumped out to the garden and planted squash and tomatoes at least.

Last night we had an eclectic evening.  We played with Munchkin the young Golden, who rolls over on her back with her tennis balls between her paws, gets up and drops the ball into a dish of water, and then picks it back up.

Then we let Lorenzo, Juliet, Prickles and their mother Marmalady out of the study where they are having a high old time remodeling what was the only human-friendly room in the place other than my pristine but dusty bedroom.  I dust therefore I am.  But we live due West of the neighbor’s manure pile, no wind break.

And finally, I needed to inspect the younger kittens to see if they’re still plumped up.  In the past week they’ve sprouted upright ears, claws, little teeth; they’ve become cats– tiny and very cute.  Haven’t come up with names for these five yet.

Then we listened to E-town and Ramblin’ Jack Elliott, long believed to be dead, in my mind, was on. I couldn’t believe it.  About forty years ago there was a hippie coffee house down on a street in Old Town here across from the Union Pacific line and he came through, hopped off a freight car and sang for a few hours.  Check out e-town; it’s terrific.

Here’s something priceless: hope I don’t get sued for posting it, but it’s just too wonderful, Jack n’ Bob:

Bob Dylan and Jack Elliott in Greenwich Village in the 60's....Bob looks the same but Jack doesnt'....

Jack Elliiott today, not too shabby for 80 something-- from his home page....

Then I put on a CD of a tenor I’d heard about, Marcello Giordani, a Sicilian “lirico spinto”– high bel canto– and we listened to some awesome high C’s in arias from Guillame Tell and La Fille du Regiment.  Then I put on our past and present master, Luciano, whom I never tire of listening sing Rudolfo’s opening lines in La Boheme.  I write in my memoir that I ran into him on the street in Verona and on my last night there, heard him sing these very notes.

Luciano Pavorotti and the great Mirelli Freni– Duet Act 1 La Boheme, Giacomo Puccini.

Translation:

Oh lovely girl, oh sweet face
bathed in the soft moonlight.
I see you in a dream
I’d dream forever!

Ah! Love, you rule alone!

Already I taste in spirit
the heights of tenderness!
Love trembles at our kiss!

How sweet his praises
enter my heart…
Love, you alone rule!
He kisses Mimi.
No, please!
She frees herself.
You’re mine!

Your friends are waiting.

You send me away already?

I dare not say what I’d like…

Tell me.

If I came with you…?

What? Mimi!
It would be so fine to stay here.
Outside it’s cold.

I’d be near you!

And when we come back?
Coquettishly
Who knows?
Gallantly
Give me your arm, my dear…

Your servant, sir…

Tell me you love me!

I love you.
They exit, arm in arm
Love! Love! Love!

Anyway.  Two old people, sitting in the dusk, talking about now and then.

Out in the pasture beautiful Bronte, aka Amira Minjad JL,  meditatively hung out by herself down in the shed when it rained and wandered out to grass in the lulls.   She seems to like having six acres of three-ft high grass to herself, looking out at the horses across the way in an “eat your heart out” way.

I have someone coming to see her today, because it is time for us to be horseless. I have now had the privilege of owning and loving a dynasty of grey purebred Arabian mares: Skyline Majesty and Dyecrest Shana in the 80’s, the beautiful Khemosabi granddaughter Seranade in the 90’s,  The Polish rescue mare Vida, the GG Samir daughter WR Apris, and Amira Minjad JL in the 2000’s.

I came up with Bronte’s fancy name.  Amira is Arabic for princess.  Her sire is a stallion named Al Mindal and her dam is a mare named Princess Jadi.  Both have who’s who pedigrees.  Arabian Horse nuts try to create an Arabic-sounding word by combining syllables of both names, which is what I did.    With my luck her name means something utterly obscene in some Nile delta dialect.  But it sounds good.  JL is for JenLore, another convention/pretension– to denote that she is mine.

The topline of Bronte’s pedigree is Egyptian Arabians i.e. those that trace back to the desert/Bedouin horses.  Here is a wonderful sight, the great straight Egyptian  Arabian stallion du jour Al Adeed Al Shaqab, handled by Michael Byatt:

The Egyptian Arabian is different in many ways from other Arabian horses– not just in pedigree, but in conformation.  Purists think they are the only true Arabians.  Here is a general discussion of the Arabian horse.

After the unsettling business of talking up Bronte to a prospective buyer, we ate trail mix and chips and drank O’Doul’s and then my curfew came along– 11 p.m. when the BBC comes on and starts disaster analysis.

Tess and I came back the long way along the Poudre River, fighting our way along through the rain, fog and humidity inside the truck.

Now, morning again.  More rain, more long green grass, more to think about and do and write.  In the novella I’ve started my characters have had a misunderstanding.  Not a bad one, just a moment.  I wonder what will happen next.

you-know-where, the rain falls mainly on the Seine....

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