Spring (redux)

I already did one post about Spring, and although we are technically still in Spring, the changes that come about as part of the change of the season from winter have already taken place. The flowering trees and shrubs are finished, the maples have dropped their seeds, the unmowed grass is now 4 feet high and heavy with seed heads (and ticks). I really wanted to say something about the dogwood, which is one of the first things to burst into bloom, certainly before the trees in the upper canopy of the woods begin to leaf out. Lots of people have dogwood trees in their yards and they are spectacular. We ourselves have two mature trees that bloom and a small forest of 6 young trees that we planted about 5 years ago to replace a dogwood that got wiped out when the highway came through. But, the real experience of a blooming dogwood occurs when one drives by an area of woods where the wild dogwood trees are blooming. It is eerily beautiful. I just finished reading a novel by Willa Cather and she describes this very well: “On the steep hillside across the creek the tall forest trees were still bare... from out of the naked grey wood the dogwood thrust its crooked forks starred with white blossoms – the flowers set in their own wild way along the rampant zigzag branches. Their unexpectedness, their singular whiteness, never loses its wonder, even to the dullest dweller in those hills. In all the rich flowering and blushing and blooming of a Virginia spring, the scentless dogwood is the wildest thing and yet the most austere, the most unearthly.”

Happy Mother’s Day.

“Her children rise up and call her blessed.” And indeed, we have. One only has to look at how her children treat her to see how much she is honored and loved by them. When I was born, my mother had an idea of what a little girl was supposed to be like. But I acted very much more like a little boy than a girl. And she had the God-given sense to let me alone, to let me be who I was, and not make me fit into a preconceived (whether personal or cultural) mold. I thank God that she is my mother.

An Apple a Day

The local store has been selling "jonagold" apples for the ridiculous price of 50-cents a pound. I can't remember the last time I have seen good apples that cheap. To be sure, mealy, mushy, basically unedible red delicious apples (on the other hand, my late father-in-law loved a mealy apple) can be had for 39-cents a pound at times. These jonagold apples area outstanding. Where did these marvelous apples come from -- surely not after months in cold storage. It surely isn't apple season in the United States (is it?)!!! Did these come from the Southern Hemisphere? Well, no matter. Here I sit eating this incredibly good apple. Crisp, jucy (like its dripping out the corners of my mouth) , sweet. Have I died and gone to heaven? No, I see on the screen in front of a paper on carotid artery stenting, so I guess I am still firmly here. Nuts.

Primary colors...

Such a feast for the eyes today at the birdfeeders. A small group of male Goldfinches, resplendent in their bright yellow and black summer clothes, and next to them, the bright red Cardinal, and then on the ground, a vibrant blue Indigo Bunting. And at least three male Rose-Breasted Grosbeak, dapper fellows in their black and white suits with the bright reddish-pink bib. And here comes an Orchard Oriole, a warm reddish chestnut brown--not nearly as spectacular as the Baltimore Oriole, but beautiful enough. And who might this one be? For several days now, we’ve had many good close-up views of this bird (olive green on top, yellowish on the bottom, no wing bars) as s/he lands on the suet feeder that hangs in front of the window and are reasonably sure it is a female Summer Tanager, but not absolutely sure. And briefly, just briefly, there was a Northern Waterthrush perched in the tree—or possibly a Louisiana Waterthrush, hard to tell in just a brief glimpse—in fact, maybe not either of those at all, but a Thrush for sure. To anyone not interested in birds this is terribly boring. Sorry. Although I no longer go out with binoculars and peer at the tops of trees for hours on end... once a birder, always a birder. And we learned today who has been responsible for the two mighty holes that have appeared in the barn. One opinion was that it might be an armadillo and I did, afterall, find an armadillo-snout-shaped hole in my hosta bed, another was that it was woodchuck. How much wood could a wood chuck chuck if a wood chuck could chuck wood? I heard R calling “You wanna see who’s been making the holes in the barn? Come ‘ere.” So I went into his office, which has a clear view of the barn, and there, sitting on the raised threshold of the barn, is a very large.... groundhog. Sitting like a statute. S/he sat there for quite a while before ducking back inside. I guess we’ll let it stay there. It won’t hurt the cat, and she certainly can’t hurt it, we have no garden for it to tear up, and it can’t hurt the barn any—it’s already on its last legs because the leaking roof.

By the light of the silvery moon...

Last night we had a comedy of errors with the cat. We don't have much trouble getting Twinkletoes to come in at night in the dead of winter, but as winter progresses toward spring and the nights aren’t so bitterly cold, she is a little less reluctant to come in. Oh, she’ll come in readily enough when she is called–she always comes when she’s called–but then she immediately wants outside again. As we’ve come to say about her “the cat always wants to be where she isn't,” and then she rushes around to all the doors wanting out. Leaving her outside all night is not really a very good idea. She is a very small and she is too stupid to stay out of trouble. Our first cat, Big Kitty, never wasted her time messing about with something she knew she couldn't kill. This one stalks grown rabbits that are bigger than she is, and deer; I’ve seen her chasing after possum and even a fox. Too many dangerous critters are out at night that could have her for a midnight snack: coyotes, big owls, and bobcats (supposedly). The raccoon might not eat her but could certainly seriously hurt her. And, of course, there’s the selection of tomcats who all think this place is their territory and pick fights with her. So, last night she came in around 9:45. N was already asleep (or supposed to be); R was about sleep, and I was up doing a few things. I heard a cat meow outside. I knew it wasn't Twink because she was in the house (running from door to door looking for a way out). Unfortunately, N didn't know she was in the house. The cat outside woke him up and he thought it was Twink, so he opened the door and called to her. I hollered at him that she was already in the house and he shut the door. Unfortunately, it was too late. A few minutes later, I did a room check and she was obviously not in the house. She probably shot for the door when she heard it open and she managed to sneak out when he wasn't looking. How is that possible? Oh, very possible. We have accidently locked her in the basement more times than I can count, her having snuck in when we weren’t looking. I tossed and turned for almost 2 hours fretting about her and then I finally got up and went outside and took a stroll down the driveway to see if she was anywhere around. The moon, which wasn't even a full moon, was up overhead by then and it was so bright it almost hurt to look at it. It also lit up everything with a pale light that was bright enough to cast a shadow. It was just lovely out. And sure enough, here came Twinkletoes trotting around the side of the house. She came over to me, and I grabbed her up and managed to get her back inside the house without getting clawed. No wonder other cultures worshipped the moon. I used to think that in earlier times when it got dark, people just went to bed. But I bet they didn’t, not when the moon was full. I bet they did all sorts of things by the light of the moon, especially out on the plains where there weren’t many trees to obscure the sky.

Walkin’ the talk

Since my last post, I’ve been doing a lot of reflecting on a certain situation and debating how best to write about it. So here goes: I’m getting feedback about a former boss at a business in town. This man was a very vocal member of a certain religious group. He never “preached” at the employees because that would violate work rules, but he talked constantly about his church and his activities at church and his children's involvement at church and the general values followers of this church are noted for. He projected this image everywhere he went – almost. He was not a good boss, and morale improved dramatically when he left. Anecdotes of him that are now trickling out are quite revealing. It’s like the rootbeer my dad made when we were kids (one used to be able to buy the Hires rootbeer extract which was mixed in a recipe containing sugar, yeast, and water). If it wasn't cold enough, the rootbeer would explode out of the bottle if the cap was loosened. One time, almost an entire bottle ended up on the ceiling of the kitchen, but that's another story. Stuff people kept bottled up about him while he was there has come spewing out. The way he behaved in front of his employees and in private totally discredited everything he thought he was projecting about his religious life. Walkin’ the talk is more than just a cliche. It is vital for anyone who is trying to convince someone that their beliefs are true, important, and life-changing. I guess it is important for all of us who have a belief system we are interested in sharing to make sure the life we live lines up with what we say we believe. In another somewhat more humorous incident, R’s long-time friend related a story of a diet-food-cult guru (they couldn’t eat anything yellow) who was caught in his hotel room at a big conference (that the friend was attending ) eating Twinkies and Doritos. That was the end of the guru.

Spring is sprunging

What can one say about Spring that hasn’t already been said? Aside from "new life" bursting out all over, the noise level has picked up some -- even before the sun starts to come up the hills are alive with the sound of “music.”(but I already wrote about this didn't I?) The migrants are returning, the Towhee has come back, the Killdeer is staking out a territory along the state right of way (they build their nests in the oddest places – maybe I’ll write about that sometime). Unfortunately, the habitat here has changed so much that the woodcock no longer shows up. For many years we were entertained by the males’ strange whirring courtship flight and their bizarre “song” which sounds something like “bzeep” (thanks RTP for that). And interesting things are going on here at night. Two raccoons were perched on the bird feeder in the wee hours of the morning last week twittering at the cat, who was sitting in front of the window (on my scanner) watching them. And last night when I went to retrieve the suet cakes for the birds (to keep the raccoons from eating them) I heard foxes barking in the brush a stone's throw from the back door (wonder what THEY were up too???) I've never seen the bobcat that the highway workers told us about but I heard it scream once -- at least I think it was bobcat. Well, here is William Wordsworth’s take on Spring for anyone who missed it in high school English:

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils,
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced, but they
Outdid the sparkling waves in glee;
A poet could not but be gay
In such a jocund company.
I gazed, and gazed, but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
***
Happy Easter!
The Lord is risen! He is risen indeed!!!

Fixin’ it up

There it sits in all its splendor. A bowl of steaming hot gray glop. Oatmeal. A healthy, nutritious breakfast that is about as appetizing as wallpaper paste. So, how to make this palatable? Well, let’s add a couple of tablespoons of crunchy peanut butter. Hummmm. These raisins look good, throw them in too. Let’s see. A little brown sugar. You know what would really taste good? Some chocolate chips. And a little milk. And guess what? It’s peanut butter oatmeal cookie dough! Yummy.

A Map of the World

As noted in an earlier post, we are almost certain our 28-year-old son has Asperger Syndrome. We first became aware of AS when we heard a report about it on NPR as we were driving home from California several years ago. The longer we listened, the more we began to realize that this was a perfect description of our son. At one point we sort of simultaneously looked at each other said “That's him!!" The Internet has a number of helpful Websites on AS; one has a nice list of typical AS behaviors (only now I can't find the URL) . When I looked this list, I saw that he exhibits all of the behaviors except #4, which was an interest in maps, charts, routes, that sort of thing. “Well,” I thought to myself, “at least he doesn't do all of the things on the list.” I took some small comfort in this. Then, a couple of days ago he says to me "Mom, did I ever show you what I got at this clearance sale at the mall. It only cost $50." And then he emerges from his bedroom with two framed reproductions of very old maps of the world that attempted (and failed, in my opinion) to replicate the beautiful illuminated manuscripts of the Middle Age. And then he rambles on about how he wants to find a reproduction of one of those "flat earth" maps. Very big sigh...

Doorbell from hell

This morning a Jehovah’s Witness woman came to the door. I think it was just a fluke that her presence at the back door coincided with the doorbell beginning to ring and ring and ring and ring (it did not stop). She left, thinking nobody was home, and by the time I got to the door she was already headed for the car. After she had trudged halfway back up the driveway, I politely told her to go away and then yelled for R to “do something” about the berserk doorbell. He turned it off. Then about 5 minutes later, the doorbell in his office began to ring and ring and ring and would not stop. We assume this must be connected with the construction crew on the other side of the highway laying pipe. They are probably using CBs or some other type of radio to talk to each other as they work. I believe both doorbells are now turned off -- permanently I hope. We were thinking about rigging up a doorbell and training our cat to use it so we could let her in instead of her clawing on the screen door. R says, do you really want the cat ringing a bell every time she thinks she wants in? Oooh. No. I don’t. This is the cat that goes out the front door, runs around to the back to be let in and then within a minute or two is heading for the front door again to be let out (in other words, she wants to be where she isn’t). I think we will just retire the doorbells for now.