Tuesday, March 26, 2013

This is the sight we see from our front window at this time of year. It is accompanied by the traditional Gooble! Gobble! Gobble! as one or another Tom turkey does his lest to woo the local ladies. You can see how very impressed the hens are, totally ignoring him and more interested in finding a stray seed from our bird feeder.

I wish the photo was clearer but as soon as we go out the door the Tom deflates, gives up his strutting and posturing, assuming an innocent air of being just one of the gals. He probably thinks that makes him less a target for any drooling local hunter!

Monday, March 18, 2013

The daffodils continue to bloom... and besides the feral "double-center" variety we have some almost-white and some with dark centers, plus the plain old single tube type. Though how such glorious flowers could ever be plain is a good question. Everywhere I look from my house they are flowering.

Wednesday, March 13, 2013

Earth Hour is coming up. Every year I turn off all the lights, eschew the TV, sit for an hour and consider the wellness of this planet. I encourage my friends to do it as well.

Every year I am disappointed in how many either "forget" or have an excuse as to why they can't join. Political affiliations, spiritual choices, make no difference that I can see. A moment to be grateful that this miracle of a planet is our home is not much to offer.

* If you can't do it March 23rd at 8:30pm with so many of us, pick another hour.

Friday, March 8, 2013


Sunshine can be elusive at this time of the year here on the Oregon coast. Thank goodness nature has given us a way to capture it and keep it within view. This picture of the field within view of my front door was taken yesterday.
There are smaller groupings of daffodils everywhere I look around the house. The joy of spring captured in a flower!

Sunday, March 3, 2013

Don't try to out stubborn a cat!

Maybe that should be out-smart. Those furry little beasts can be very smart. Take our Flickie for example. This morning as I surfaced from sleep, Flickie perched over me in her usual "sleep on Mama" position, I stroked her in the normal way and my fingers felt an additional appendage. Flickie had an unwelcome passenger of Spring: a tick.

Fast forward to later that same morning. Himself is now awake and Flickie has come back inside the house after her morning jaunt around her realm. Her vassals determine to remove the tick… assuming we can lay hand upon Her Royal Felinity. She has no intention of allowing this. Since kittenhood she has shunned being held or picked up during the day having observed that it often results in trips in the car (shudder!) to the veterinarian (double shudder!) and thence to pokes, prods, and needles (Oh dear god!).

So the game is afoot. Himself tries the direct approach. He wanders around the house after her pleading "Kitty? Kitty?" as she strolls forth, always out of reach. He changes to a shiftier method, opening the door to allow her to go back outside hoping to trap her beside the screen door. This worked for a while but she learned to dodge his grabbing hands and hide under the couch.

Mama resorts to an old stand-by. I recline in a favorite night-time chair or feign an early nap on the bed in hope that Flickie will be lured into joining me. This also once worked but like the screen door scenario it is no longer effective. She enters the room, even allows me to stroke her fur, but it well aware of how close I need to be to make a successful grab and subdue.

We've been through all this already today. She isn't food oriented so won't come for tasty treats. Next step? I'm considering blow guns and paralyzing darts! 

Saturday, March 2, 2013

Another Day

What happened to those mornings when I rolled out of bed full of energy and ready to tackle the new day? I miss those bright-eyed dawns where, like my grandchildren, I wanted to run and jump, to climb mountains and dig ditches, just for the sheer joy of moving.

Oh, I was never, within my memory, an athlete like my grandson. I was always happier reading a book. But there was a time when I relished planting roses or taking a long walk to watch birds or even getting down on my hands and knees to scrub a floor. There was enthusiasm for the chores of my life and each day was a happy adventure.

That was then. Now the day begins with a catalogue of what hurts and what doesn't work right. Waking is a chore where I open my eyes with a hint of regret. Another day? Whoop-de-doo. Accomplishing small chores is the sum of my day. I pull a weed from the pot of lavender by the front door, wash the dishes, maybe dust a shelf and all the while the aches and pains keep me company. Yes, it could be a lot worse but it is bad enough. Slow disintegration isn't much fun. The advantage over a quick decline may be that one gets to experience it more.

It is obvious that I get depressed and depression is something one is not supposed to do. Or share. Nobody wants to hear it.  Even the person feeling it often doesn't want to hear it! Get over it! Things could be worse! It is like when I was a kid and was told "Eat those vegetables! Children are starving in Africa!" as if somehow doing something here was going to help somebody there. As if the person here has no right to feel what they feel because there are others who have it worse.

And I listened. And I ate my vegetables. And I listen now and do my best to not feel. 

At least my feelings will do their roller-coaster things and zoom up again. At least I have that.