Posted tagged ‘birds’

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“Snow and adolescence are the only problems that disappear if you ignore them long enough.”

December 30, 2012

The snow started around 11 last night. The flakes were big and wet, the sort that doesn’t seem to have much future. I went to bed really late, around 2, and was awakened not long after by the beep beep of a plow backing up. By then I think there were only a couple of inches. Sometime during the night rain mixed with the snow. This morning I expected a winter wonderland; instead, the snow is pockmarked, crusty and hard. I had to beat the snow to get it off the back window and the trunk so I could bring in the dried dog food. The weatherman says sun later. It’ll take a lot of sun to melt the crusty snow still on my car windshield.

This first storm of the season was a bust though I suspect if it weren’t I’d be complaining about shoveling and extracting my car from behind the tall heaps left by the plow. I think I can just drive my car over the small mound in front of it. I know I don’t need to shovel as I walked out and got the papers without a problem. Looking out the front door is keeping Gracie entertained. My neighbor across the street is shoveling his driveway, a quick, easy task with so little snow. He just pushes his shovel down to the end then back up the driveway again. Voila! The driveway is cleared.

Birds have been swooping in and out of the feeders all morning. A couple have tried to drink from the bird bath, but it is frozen. I’ll have to go down to the cellar later to find the heater. Yesterday I filled every single feeder and put out the new ones I got for Christmas. The birds should be pleased with the variety and the plenty.

Yesterday I really didn’t do a whole lot. I finished The Panther by Nelson DeMille. I liked it enough, but 900 pages was daunting as the book didn’t read as quickly as the other DeMille’s I’ve enjoyed. I started a new book, Mr. Penumbra’s 24-Hour Bookstore. My iBook is filled with lots of books to read so I’m happy! Winter is a great time to stay comfy curled up with a book; of course, summer on the deck is also a great time for reading. The breeze is cooling and a good book is enthralling. Then again, we can’t forget spring or fall. each of those seasons lend themselves to reading as well.

Categories: Musings
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Comments: 28 Comments

“The Sun, with all the planets revolving around it, and depending on it, can still ripen a bunch of grapes as though it had nothing else in the Universe to do.”

April 27, 2012

When I opened the front door this morning, the sun came pouring in then just a little bit later it disappeared. It’s appeared again, and Fern is lying straight out on her back basking in the sun. A breeze makes the day seem colder than it is and is strong enough to sway the bird feeders, but the birds don’t seem to mind. Male goldfinches with their bright yellow chests, a pair of cardinals, my friends the chickadees and the nuthatches and titmice are all dropping by for a late breakfast.

I have nothing planned for today. I’m thinking a sloth day. I’ll make my bed, brush my teeth, feed the animals and that’s about it. I see an afternoon nap in my future.

There are leaves on the top of the oak tree near the deck. The leaves are tiny, but I don’t care. They are the first stirrings of spring in my yard beyond the blooming of the bulbs I planted last fall. Some of my neighbors’ trees are already leafy, but those trees sit where the sun warms them most of the day. I think it won’t be long before my trees are leafy enough to hide the deck, and I’ll be back to sitting in a tree house high above the ground.

When I see movies where one of the characters is told to pack a bag, grab her passport and leave on the next plane, I always wish I had a job like that, one where exotic places become almost commonplace, and I know the best restaurant where the locals eat, probably a small place on a side street that only a discerning eye could find. I guess I’d have to be a spy for such spontaneous flight as a job in business would be far more planned. No question about it: I’d be better suited for being a spy than a businesswoman.

My trunk is filled with the week’s trash, litter and recyclables, but I’m not going to the dump. Last week I went on Friday and upset the fragile balance of my world. Gracie and I will wait for tomorrow and all will be right with our world.

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Comments: 11 Comments

“Food is our common ground, a universal experience.”

March 26, 2012

The sun was here then it disappeared. The sky keeps getting darker. I checked the weather which says sunny. It’s not and doesn’t look as if it will be. That’s fine with me. I’m staying home and doing laundry. I figure a cloudy day is perfect for chores. I feel as if I’m not missing a thing.

I’m back to isolation with the windows closed, but on a Monday morning not much is happening. The birds are in and out, and I enjoy watching them. The gold finches have disappeared but the chickadees have retunred. I guess they just take turns like having deli numbers.

Lately I’ve been cooking more, reading recipes and looking for appetizers I can use this sumer on movie nights. We are muhammara fans so that’s on the list. The cheese pesto dip and the calzones I made for the first time last night for our Amazing Race viewing are now new favorites. I love cooking foods I’ve never made before. It’s an adventure in eating.

Last week I saw a program about McDonald’s restaurants in other countries. I always thought they were refuges for Americans craving familiar foods. Come to find out, they are very different from country to country and reflect local foods and customs. In India there is no beef, but you can order the Chicken Maharaja Mac sandwich, made with two grilled chicken patties topped with onions, tomatoes, cheese, and a spicy mayonnaise. In Singapore you can have a fried shrimp sandwich. Norway offers grilled salmon in dill sauce. In Israel the food is kosher, and you can order a McKebab which is two patties with Middle Eastern seasonings stuffed into a pita bread. In some McDonald’s, you can even order beer. I’ve decided not to be such a food snob and check out the McDonald’s in any country I visit, but I’ll wear a disguise.

Categories: Musings
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Comments: 18 Comments

“Everybody’s a dreamer.”

February 23, 2012

Yesterday was a perfect day. It was warm and sunny and the morning was filled with the sounds of bird songs the way spring mornings are. I did all the outside chores I’d been holding off until the weather got warmer. My new palm tree was assembled, put on the deck and lit up last night. My neighbors phoned and said they were thrilled to see it. They called it iconic and likened the tree to the Citco sign at Fenway. This new palm tree is taller than the old. Some of my friends used to have to duck under the old fronds. This one is a foot taller. I also figured out why the ground lights had been off for so long, and they too were bright last night except for the two strands which had lit their last. I bought two new ones, and I’ll put them up today. I have missed all my night lights.

Today is cloudy but warm. A while back the sun tried to break through the clouds but just didn’t have enough oomph yet but it keeps trying. I’m rooting for the sun. Every now and then the leaves move but the day is calm. It rained last night, the second night in a row, and it’s still damp.

The sun just reappeared and the sky has touches of blue. I think it will be a lovely day.

When I was a kid, some things just seemed exotic to me. Palm trees were on that list. I pictured a white sandy beach, water so clear you could see the fish and a line of palm trees along the sand. I imagined drinking from a coconut just knocked from the tree. I think it was Swiss Family Robinson which conjured my imaginings. When I saw my first palm tree, I wasn’t disappointed.

The desert was also among my exotic imaginings. I saw myself dressed like a Bedouin and riding a camel. My clothes were bright reds and greens and blues, and I wore a cloth across part of my face to keep out the sand. I could see myself sitting on the saddle as the camel slowly walked across the desert. It must have been a movie which had me imagining the Sahara as I don’t think any of my books did.

New England is the least exotic place I know, but I figure for some people New England and all it offers might be part of their imaginings. Sledding down a big hill in winter, collecting shells along the shore, swimming in the ocean and eating freshly caught fish might just be part of someone’s dreaming.

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“Everybody’s a dreamer.”

February 23, 2012

Yesterday was a perfect day. It was warm and sunny and the morning was filled with the sounds of bird songs the way spring mornings are. I did all the outside chores I’d been holding off until the weather got warmer. My new palm tree was assembled, put on the deck and lit up last night. My neighbors phoned and said they were thrilled to see it. They called it iconic and likened the tree to the Citco sign at Fenway. This new palm tree is taller than the old. Some of my friends used to have to duck under the old fronds. This one is a foot taller. I also figured out why the ground lights had been off for so long, and they too were bright last night except for the two strands which had lit their last. I bought two new ones, and I’ll put them up today. I have missed all my night lights.

Today is cloudy but warm. A while back the sun tried to break through the clouds but just didn’t have enough oomph yet but it keeps trying. I’m rooting for the sun. Every now and then the leaves move but the day is calm. It rained last night, the second night in a row, and it’s still damp.

The sun just reappeared and the sky has touches of blue. I think it will be a lovely day.

When I was a kid, some things just seemed exotic to me. Palm trees were on that list. I pictured a white sandy beach, water so clear you could see the fish and a line of palm trees along the sand. I imagined drinking from a coconut just knocked from the tree. I think it was Swiss Family Robinson which conjured my imaginings. When I saw my first palm tree, I wasn’t disappointed.

The desert was also among my exotic imaginings. I saw myself dressed like a Bedouin and riding a camel. My clothes were bright reds and greens and blues, and I wore a cloth across part of my face to keep out the sand. I could see myself sitting on the saddle as the camel slowly walked across the desert. It must have been a movie which had me imagining the Sahara as I don’t think any of my books did.

New England is the least exotic place I know, but I figure for some people New England and all it offers might be part of their imaginings. Sledding down a big hill in winter, collecting shells along the shore, swimming in the ocean and eating freshly caught fish might just be part of someone’s dreaming.

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Comments: 14 Comments

“The snow doesn’t give a soft white damn whom it touches.”

January 21, 2012

“In the lane, snow is glistening,” describes the view outside my window. The snowfall is heavy, and there must be a few of inches or more already on the ground. The weather report won’t pin down the total amount but throws around words like considerable and steady all day. I was going to go to the store but changed my mind. I’ll just stay inside. The postman’s truck has already been by, and I watched his rear wheels spin a bit before he moved on to the next mailbox. I keep looking out the window and have to admit the snow is really pretty right now.

This is our first snow storm and it has been long in coming. Much as I’d like to complain, I can’t. The winter has been kind to us so I’ll hold my complaints until the next storm then I’ll let loose and do lots of muttering.

Gracie went out a few minutes ago but not into the yard. I hope the snow caused the quick trip and she didn’t decide to do her business on the deck. I tried to watch but she was in a blind spot, and I’m not about to go out and check. The stairs are steep on both sides of the deck so maybe she was a bit afraid of sliding. When Skip comes to shovel and plow, I always have him do the stairs. I also use pet friendly de-icer on the stairs so they’ll dry faster.

Even the oak trees look lovely with their branches covered in snow. The world is quiet. No one ventures onto the roads. It’s too early for the sounds of snow blowers and shovels. I saw only one bird at the feeder, a flicker, so I’m guessing my regular visitors must be huddled somewhere away from the storm. The spawns of Satan are missing. Their nests are high up in the pine trees where I figure they’re lying together to keep warm and watching the snow much the same as I’m doing.

I’ll stay cozy and warm and watch from the window. This is really winter, and I’m not a willing participant.

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“Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.”

December 20, 2011

This morning I heard a bird sing. The song was lovely. I don’t know which kind of bird it was who serenaded me, but I am thankful for the song. Goldfinches are at the feeders now. An unfamiliar bird was there yesterday; it looked like a wren.

A red spawn and a gray spawn of Satan had a bit of tiff this morning on the deck. The gray spawn, far bigger than the red one, ended up losing and fell down to the ground. I swear I saw the red spawn raise its arms in triumph.

The day is cloudy and windy, the same as the last few days, but I don’t have to go out so I’m happy. I have the last of the presents to wrap, and I have the fixings to begin baking my cookies so I’ll be busy. I figure I’ll put on some schmaltzy Hallmark Christmas movie to watch as I wrap. Last night I watched A Christmas Carol with George C. Scott. I am a sucker for Christmas shows and movies, even the most sugary. I still miss Andy Williams singing Christmas songs with his brothers and the Osmonds.

When I was little, my mother used to read Twas the Night Before Christmas to us. I loved it and even as a four-year old had it pretty much memorized. One part, though, always seemed a bit strange to me. It was when the poor guy had to throw up the sash. I always wondered why he ate it and what in the heck a sash was anyway. I never asked. I just went with the story. One year the poem showed up on TV as a cartoon, and when the guy threw up the sash, I finally understood.

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“Every spring is the only spring – a perpetual astonishment.”

March 23, 2011

The sky is white gray, and it’s cold outside. The paper said snow this evening and tomorrow, not much accumulation, but the mere thought of any bit of snow in late March is just beyond the pale. My father always said snow this time of year is poor man’s fertilizer, and that is about as optimistic as I can be with the weather prediction.

My back is hurting so today is a lazy day. My only chores are paying a few bills, watering the plants and refilling the feeders. I miss seeing my birds.

March always seemed the longest month to me even when I was a kid, and it feels the same to me still. We had only one day off from school, St. Patrick’s day, and no special events broke up the rest of the month. Most times the weather kept us inside after school, and I’d spend the time reading or we’d play games at the kitchen table until dinner. Only the Saturday matinee and church on Sunday broke up the week.

April has a magic about it. The air smells sweet, and the grass is a brighter green and soft to the touch. The garden is finally awake, flowers are blooming and the sun seems to shine every day. All of a sudden we too are bright with color. Pastels take over from the winter grays and dark blues and our ears feel the breeze and our hands stay warm even without gloves. Only at night does it feel chilly again, but by then we are warm and cozy inside the house tired from a day of school and from playing all afternoon.

I’m counting the days until April and eagerly awaiting that first warm day when I can sit on the deck, smell the sweetness of the air and close my eyes to listen to the sounds of spring.

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“February is merely as long as is needed to pass the time until March.”

February 1, 2011

I woke up this morning at 8 with the intention of going back to bed after a bathroom trip then I looked outside. It was snowing. I remembered I hadn’t filled the feeders so I put on shoes and a sweatshirt, filled a bag with sunflower seeds and went outside. After filling two of the feeders my hands were really cold so I kept putting one in the sweatshirt pouch then switching hands. I can’t wear mittens and do the feeders so I have to bear it and move fast.

I’m been back inside a while. I have a cup of coffee and I’m warm. Five feeders are now ready for the birds. A squirrel amused me this earlier. He was trying to get at the suet which is in a squirrel proof feeder. He moved all around it, reaching and trying to grab the suet. He next tried to chew the wire holding the feeder to the hook. That idea didn’t last long. He went round and round a few more times then gave up and jumped to a branch. I applauded.

When I was working, snow days were the most fun. They were a surprise and a gift. Today feels like that. After the bird feeders, my morning was leisurely. I brewed coffee and read the two newspapers. I turned on the TV which I never do so here I am watching CSI solve yet another murder. Lunch will be crackers with a three pepper dip. I’ll take a nap later. The light is on in here, and I see shadows on the walls. In the living room, the window lights and a lit gourd barely light  the room but it’s just enough to give the room a cozy air. I keep looking out the window and watching the snow. It has gone from small flakes to large flakes and now sleet seems to be mixed with the snow. The birds are huddled somewhere warm. The feeders will wait.

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“Leftovers in their less visible form are called memories. Stored in the refrigerator of the mind and the cupboard of the heart.”

September 23, 2010

The last two days have been magnificent, coffee and papers on the deck mornings and lazy in the sun afternoons. This morning two nuthatches reprimanded me. They weren’t at all pleased to find the feeders empty. Feeling guilty, I went to the car, brought in the new bag of seed, filled the feeders then cleaned and filled the birdbath. The birds arrived in droves, and I went back to my coffee and papers.

I have odd memories of events which happened when I was really little. They seem to have no context and stand singly. One memory has to do with a pond and a half submerged row boat. I remember water lilies and leeches and my mother screaming. I can still see white Adirondack chairs standing by the water, and I have a hazy memory of my father’s aunt. I don’t remember my great-grandmother, on my father’s side, but I can still see the narrow wooden stairs in her house which connected one floor with another. I do remember my great-grandfather, on my mother’s side, who used to sit by the giant heater in my grandmother’s living room. He scared me, and I’d run by him as quickly as I could. I didn’t remember why I ran until my mother told me he once took my Easter basket away.

At 37 Washington Ave., the stairs had a landing. I remember playing there with my dolls. I was probably no older than five or six as we were still there when my sister, five years younger than I, was born. 16 Washington Ave. was where we moved shortly after that. I always think it funny that the houses are remembered by their numbers.

I have tons of memories of Christmas though most of them have jumbled together over the years. For some reason, though, I remember the ice skates. They were old ones, the kind that buckled to your shoes. When I first woke up, they weren’t under the tree. Later that day they were. When I asked my mother, she told me I must have missed them, but I knew I hadn’t.

My last memory stills make me laugh. I wore braces for years, including the ones where tiny elastics were stretched from my lower to my upper braces. I remember sitting behind my father in the car and talking when one elastic flew  out of my mouth and hit him in the back of the neck. He swatted his neck like he’d been bitten by a wasp. I suppose I must have said something, but I don’t remember it. Maybe I just laughed.

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