I have been decidedly unproductive lately. I had intended to return to golf today but my shoulders are still iffy and one more week won’t hurt. If they don’t get better I may give up golf altogether. Yes, the thought has crossed my mind and, to my surprise, I am really okay with it. It has been hot—and playing in the searing summer heat is not my idea of a good time. I know I used to complain about too-early tee times, but here we tee off around 10, so we are out there in the midday sun in summer. That’s a headache waiting to happen. So I can wait.
I was at book club yesterday and, looking out the window, I saw this magnificent arbor of Palo Verde trees. I had to go get my camera. Aren’t they beautiful.
Palo verde translates from Spanish to “Green Stick.” The branches of these trees are green year-round. “What is that, Father?” “Why Son, that is a Green Stick Tree.”
I walked beneath the arbor to get some more photos and it was a hive of activity. Bees everywhere—hundreds, if not thousands. I thought about my mother, who was so deathly afraid of bees. I have no fear of bees. I tried to capture some bees in a photo but they were moving way too fast.
See any bees? Maybe one, but you could sure hear them.
The ground below is littered with tiny yellow petals. We had one of these trees many years ago and it was a mess to clean up every summer. I could see it from the front window—glorious. It was the centerpiece in a cactus garden, and cleaning up the yellow petals from the prickly cactus was impossible. So we didn’t.
Here is one of our clubhouses. That tree is a Jacaranda. They are beautiful in spring, but they have lost most of their purple flowers by now. There is one at the end of every street in our section of the community.
This is the book we read in July, The Japanese Lover by Isabel Allende. We all liked it. It’s hard to say what it’s about because it is about so many different things. It covered WWII, Japanese internment camps, forbidden love, and weed-smoking seniors in a retirement community. It was a real chop suey of a story.