Report from Pillville: Tiny gifts and an update on the possum

I've begun to look for little presents for my mom--special treats to eat, found treasures from the beach, a book, a bauble. On Tuesday I found a plastic shark in the sand during my beach walk and I brought it home to her. On Wednesday, she was thrilled to see the pile of beach glass I culled from the rocks. Thursday I browsed a bit in our local behemoth of a used bookstore before my weekly massage. On the shelf devoted to local interest, I found a book called "The Sea Captain's Wife," a true story written by a local woman, set in the early 20th century. "That's one of our most popular books," the clerk told me. "It sounds good," I said, "And I'm thinking about becoming a sea captain's wife." I might actually like to be a sea captain's wife, but mostly I was joking around. The clerk didn't seem to get the joke. "I wonder if we have anything else about that," he said, seeming a bit flummoxed. I thanked him and left it at that. My mom pounced on the book the minute I showed it to her. Right now she's in her room finishing "Epitaph for a Peach: Four Seasons On My Family Farm," so she can get started on her new book. I think she might prefer memoir to fiction. So maybe it's no surprise that I like to write it.

Right now the lovely M and her friend are getting fro-yo and will be bringing back some for my mom. They made a delicious dinner for the four of us. Grilled salmon with a sweet and savory glaze, truffle cheese mashed potatoes, and grilled nectarine salad. My mom seems to be shaving more and more foods off her list, but tonight she ate everything on her plate.

We spotted the possum prowling around the patio last night, and this morning we woke to a sucked-dry humming bird feeder. My mom has named the possum Peter. I've decided that his mate should be called Polly. I think they party out there every night. We also have a pair of mallards living on our boat dock, and a sparrow who's in love with his own reflection. Unlike the other sparrows and finches who hang round the bird feeder on the opposite side of the house, the narcissistic sparrow flies around and around in front of the mirror on our patio wall, enchanted by his own reflection. It's mating season in Pillville. Well.  Outside anyway.