Summer Morning

Grandma Joanne is still sleeping, the crows are cawing in my cherry trees, Chip is singing in the shower, the tide is flowing past Pyramid Island like a river, Christian is grinding coffee, and John just called and asked, "What's for breakfast, those hens laying yet?" No, they aren't, but they should soon, so I told him he can have some oatmeal like the rest of us since Chip already put the double boiler on. John grumbled something about "hippie food" and asked if we have any meat around, and when I said no, he said to put some de-caf on. It is only 7:30 mind you, but I've been to Morning Muscles and back already. We sang happy birthday to Nancy while lying on our backs on the mats, because Nancy always asks why we can't lie down more instead of doing all those crunches and lunges. (Her birthday is tomorrow, but we don't meet.) The raspberries are coming in thick. I picked  a a yoghurt container full when I got home. It seems to me that raspberries are as a big a treat as fresh eggs and they have a shorter season. John just pulled in as Christian pulled out for the lumber yard. Stepping into the kitchen he said "I'm ready to go kill something." Which is not as alarming as it sounds, since hunting season has begun and John is a big game guide. Then he said, with a nod to the radio news,  "How's your friend Obama doing this morning?" and then asked how Chip's bike ride was, and if Chip saw any bears. "No," Chip said, "just DOT filling some cracks with asphalt." I'm worried they'll wake Grandma Joanne, but she says she likes the sounds of  a morning house. I do too. I have two more obituaries to write this week, maybe three, I heard. One is for John's good friend Larry. So I'll go pour him some coffee, and he'll give me the scoop, and a nice quote or two, and then everyone will get to work. As for those raspberries, Grandma Joanne and I are making jam this afternnoon.

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