I’ve been focusing so much on trying to write poems that I almost forgot to blather write a prose-y stream-of-consciousness post. (By the way, did you know that prose as a verb means writing in a tedious, dull way? Hmm — I’ll have to save that for an appropriate occasion.)

The prompt is one/won. Well, I haven’t won anything this week so that narrows it down. Here are some ones, though.

Number of dragonflies that I rescued from the cat: One.

I thought for sure that the dragonfly was a goner, but when I took it away from the cat, I could see that it was still alive. It flew away. Seriously. And I was left with amazement and questions and wonder and all sorts of feelings that are so hard to describe.

Number of operas that I attended: One.

On a bit of a whim, I went to Candide yesterday. I know it’s not really an opera; it’s musical theater. But it was at the opera house. I loved my seats — cheap seats that allowed me to see the orchestra — except I couldn’t see the French horns or the timpani. Ah well.

Earlier in the summer, I had met the actor who played Candide. Now, mind you, I knew literally nothing about the show, the story, the music — nothing. This guy came into my office to purchase a short term membership at the gym. For the summer. He was with the opera.

“Which show are you in?” I asked, trying to sound like I knew something about it.

“I’m Candide,” he said.

“You’re in Candide?” I replied.

“No,” he said, “I am Candide.”

Silly me, I thought Candide sounded like a female role.

But let me say this — that same wide-eyed cheerful attitude that he brought to the stage sat in my office that day. I highly recommend the show.

Number of times that I swam in the lake: One.

Actually, that’s the number of times for the whole summer. Friday was hot, humid, and miserable. I jumped in the lake and swam back and forth along the rope at far side of the swim area. It was so refreshing.

And those are the ‘one’s that stand out to me.

But then, there was the one time that I got drenched because the heavens let loose and I hadn’t an umbrella and I had to get to my car.

And the one time that fruit flies took over the kitchen because I hadn’t emptied the compost bucket.

The one earring I lost.

The one earring I found.

The one guy who got under my skin in a 20 minute complain-y phone call. I can listen to people, but when you’re calling to complain, please understand that I don’t make the policies.

The one former neighbor who moved back to the area and came in to get a membership at the gym and I couldn’t place him in my mind until two hours after he left.

The one turkey reuben that “hit the spot” as my mother used to say.

The one young man from Romania who tried to teach me how to pronounce his name and I couldn’t.

The one woman from Russia who told me that the rolling hills of upstate New York remind her of home.

This could go on forever.

Must. Stop. Now.

Following up on a few recent posts —

First, the fawn. It most definitely is the time of year for fawns around here.

One of my co-workers has three doe-fawn pairs that frequent her yard. She has actually named them all. “Do you feed them?” I asked, marveling that she could recognize and differentiate these deer.

She admitted that she did. “I cut up apples for them,” she said, slightly embarrassed.

I thought about suggesting that she just put in some hosta. That seems to work at attracting them to my house. Honestly, I wish it didn’t.

But there is something delightful about those spindly-legged fawns.

The other day I was driving down the road and I saw a doe slowly walking across the street. I slowed right down. One deer usually means more deer.

A fawn leaped out behind her, skittered part way across, saw me and turned back. I was now at a complete stop.

I waited.

The doe waited on the other side.

He jumped out in the road again, but indecisiveness took over, and, again, skittered back to the side where he had started. I got my phone out to try to capture some of the drama.

Mama Doe took a little action. She ran back to her fawn, but he was heading into the road AGAIN. She leaped over him, down the gully, and was gone.

After a moment’s thought, he joined her.

I thought, Learn to be decisive. Indecision is literally going to kill you, my friend.

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Second, lifeguarding. I’m still riding a bit of a high from passing the lifeguarding class.

I was talking to the Aquatics Director one day last week, and I said, “I may not be the strongest guard out there, but I will never hesitate to take action.”

I know this about myself. I think it’s generally a good ability. I don’t foolishly jump in, but I can pretty quickly come up with an emergency plan and implement it.

Case in point (not lifeguarding related) — yesterday morning, a member came out to the front desk to report a bat in the women’s locker room.

It wasn’t flying around; it was simply hanging out on outside of the door to the sauna, a warm abode.

Two staff women were already in the women’s locker room trying to clear the area so a male custodian could come in and solve the problem.

I asked for, and got, a container and a piece of cardboard. I took the container and placed it over the bat, trapping it inside. I opened the sauna door so I had access to both sides of the door. Then, I placed the cardboard on one, slide the container along the other side, and trapped the little bat inside. I carried it out and handed the container with the bat trapped inside to a custodian and off he went.

Problem solved.

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Third, I’ve been paying attention to the birds on the wire.

Since the post the other day, and my abysmal attempt to snap my own photograph, I’ve been paying more attention.

Last night, I saw two mourning doves above me on the telephone wires.

Yes, wires plural.

One sat on one wire, the other perched on the parallel wire.

One was looking off into the field, the other looking at the back of its partner’s head.

I know I shouldn’t read too much into this. They are just some birds on a wire, after all. Still, it made me sad — because this is the state of too many human relationships. A gulf between. Looking in the same direction but not at the same thing.

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And that’s about it.

This week I also cut some peonies and put them in my room,

and I snapped a shot of some roadside daisies.

Beauty abounds this time of year.

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This stream-of-consciousness writing began with Linda Hill’s prompt “starts with ab-” and took a meandering route through some ab- words, mostly “about”.