Either the birds are migrating, or I’m starring in a Hitchcock film with Tippi Hedren and Rod Taylor. They’re circling my street, parking their cute little bird butts in my Blue Spruce, dive-bombing the leaves, and flying in formation like the Canadian Air Force Snowbirds team. Fortunately, they’re not congregating on the telephone wires, so I’m pretty confident I’m not having a Hitchcock moment, though I’d love to see Mr. Hitchcock do a cameo in my neighborhood were he still among us. The Birds is possibly my favorite Hitchcock film and about as close to horror as I like to come.
The leaves are blowing and swirling down the street, and I’m beginning to think about all things pumpkin. In fact, I was nudging Mr. G, honey about pumpkin-carving just last night. I’m ready for my Jacks.
Speaking of which, I was having my head eyes examined yesterday and saw some specs that spoke to me, as in don’t you wish your girlfriend was…
I call them Jack Glasses, because they remind me of jack-o-lanterns. They’re rectangular, with rimless bottoms, black metal across the top, and black and orange grille arm pieces. The bad news is that my vision changed only slightly, and I can’t justify the expense. I’m just going to have to start a little JGF — Jack Glasses Fund — because I totally look like a geek writer in them. Totally.
You know, maybe I should just get my head examined.
Time to corral my brain cells and get to work.