Shots From the Top

The elderly are supposed to get flu shots. I guess I might qualify, depended on the definition. My hindsight is pretty damned good. Whatever, I didn't get the shot.  I've been holed up the past couple of days while Lorna is out gallivanting with Steve and Sue, yesterday at Estero Llana Grande, today at Santa Ana. Paul is headed to Port Isabel this afternoon. I may get off my sickbed and go along. Prolly not. So, I took pictures off the Wesmor verandas, our apartment front entrance and the private sunny one out back.

This is the part of the garden that I burned to the ground last year. It was a combination of severe drought torched by a careless cigar butt. I think the garden looks decidedly better for my efforts. I was an agent of change, but no one has thanked me yet. Without a smirk.

Okay, now the back. We have a nice, very private porch overlooking the owner's private garden. The yard is surrounded by a sturdy gated fence, and is guarded by an old dog and his sidekick, a large noisy gander. The dog is far too laid-back and friendly to be a guard-dog. The goose is another story. John, the maintenance man, warned me to be careful and keep an eye on him, as the gander bites and tends to go for the crotch. One of these days I'll get some pics of the dog and goose team.