Mary's View

The Great Blue Heron Challenge

2012-01-08T14:53:00.021-05:00

My Spark Bird is the Great Blue Heron. For years I sought to capture images like this. And today, I could publish an album of my best Great Blue Heron photographs.

I’ve recently had a change of heart.

My love/hate relationship began with this bird when I lived in Maryland. Rinsing dishes, bored, I glanced out back through the window and saw the giant standing on the edge my pond. To see this majestic bird only a few yards away will make most anyone gasp. The bird is stunning but not so stunning that I was unable to chase the son of a bitch out of the yard yelling and cursing all the way. That particular heron cleaned the goldfish from the Maryland pond three times.

“Get your fat bird ass out of here and break a leg, will ya?”

Great Blue Heron sat on my neighbor’s rooftop and laughed at me.

Smaller herons visited my Delaware pond but weren’t successful there. The owl decoy and aluminum pie plates clacking in the wind kept them away.

Here in North Carolina, I've raised six Koi since 2005. They grew from four to thirteen inches and probably now weigh a little more than two pounds each. A good friend described them as puppy dogs and she’s right. Always pleased to see me, wiggling in delight, I talk to them every day, even when they are stunned, cold, and lay at the bottom of the pond in the dead of winter. In six years, there have been no perpetrators until last Sunday.

The perp found us. Did I freak out? You betcha. But I did race for my camera to get this snapshot from inside the house before I ran out there and raised all kinds of hell. They’re so tall, lanky, and uncoordinated it’s laughable to watch them try to exit quickly. They really need a slow gallop on a runway for a few seconds before lift-off.

For me, it’s been hell week, and also for my neighbor who lost all of the Koi in his small water feature.

My husband sprang into action and created a tactical combat zone for the cocky, arrogant Great Blue Heron who sat on the hill with a yellow eye on us, waiting for the coast to clear.

Great Blue Heron did not care about decoys or scarecrows.

He did not care about dense fishing lines stretched across the pond surface.

He probably wondered why humans think he’d mind stupid shiny pie plates.

He fished day and night, all week. I was very surprised to see him at the pond at 10pm and fly away into darkness.

Herons have to eat and I have a heron feeder in my back yard. I shouldn’t be so angry and wish to throw rocks.

Casualties are one smaller Koi taken away, two large goldfish swallowed, and one large Koi was cut and froze to death on the grassy outside edge of the pond because Heron had a problem. He’s unable to stuff a foot-long two-pounder down his throat. So instead, he tortured all of the Koi with jabs and scrapes and flung them around and out of the pond water for me to find.

My frustration grew and my heart was breaking.

I cried.

On Wednesday I came home from work to find this fat fella had been tossed. I brought a bag to carry him away but what I didn’t realize was that he was looking at me! I lifted him and saw him struggle to breathe so I quickly and gently lowered him into the water where he floated for an hour. I thought him dead and netted him but he would not have it! His mouth opened wide as if to scream, he struggled to be free of the net, and I joyously put him back where he belonged. He swam low, nudged his three pond mates, and I smiled.

Today, the Courageous Four are safely tucked in with a blanket pond net.

While I cried on that awful Wednesday afternoon I heard them. They landed not far from where I stood and have been back every day for their helping of Zick dough.

Three couples!

Banded lady!

Bluebirds of Happiness. My sunshine on a gloomy day.

Damn you, Great Blue Heron.

Photo Safari with a Vulture and the Law

2011-12-30T12:14:00.041-05:00

All snug on the passenger seat, camera was charged and ready for my first Photo Safari in almost a year. Within ten minutes, I hit the brakes. A mirage, of sorts?

I didn’t leave the driver’s seat and let the car idle on a divided highway in a safe lane that served as a shoulder. While I snapped away, a Charlotte Mecklenburg police officer thought I was worth watching. Heh. He pulled in front of me slowly and made a California stop before a slow right turn, as an invitation for me to follow. I followed and stopped again on the wrong side of the tiny side street to get a snapshot of the most obnoxious male Belted Kingfisher I’ve ever met! CMPD officer parked his cruiser on the proper side of the road ahead of me, waiting for me to make another wrong move or to drive by to get my tag. Heh.

The cop completely ruined my outing. How could I concentrate on Hooded Mergansers while being stalked? I work with police officers and adore them. However, fuming and feeling more irritated than threatened, I left the scene and gave him no reason to run my tag. Truth is, I can’t break my habit of creating my own parking spaces in the wrong places but they are always safe, they work for me, and no one gets hurt. I see beautiful Hawks on dead tree limbs and wires! Illegal stopping? Maybe. Never illegal parking. On my way home, I mumbled something about cops, donuts, and too much spare time.

Later I returned to a designated parking spot and visited them on foot to find the whole freaky family of Black Vultures had moved the raccoon off the road. Vultures are awesome creatures that have an important job and do it well, although they’re more disgusting than I care to think about. I wish these were the lovely Turkey Vulture faces, for dear Lynne.

No apparent aggression. There are usually one or two guards. Then there is the vulture-style “changing of the guards” so everyone can eat.

“Uh, dudes and dudettes… lady approaching. Rev your reflux.”

It’s never a good idea to scare a Vulture. I backed up and thanked them for a great photo-shoot.

The safari ended in my back yard. The birds don’t know me or trust me like they did in recent years and scram as soon as I step one foot on the back deck.

Why bother repeating what I’ve already done? I have taken at least a dozen Male Cardinal photographs much better than this one.

I challenge myself. I want better, that's all.

Without a new, more sophisticated camera, my shots are boring me. So, why bother?

Ha! I don’t have the intellect or time for a more sophisticated camera. Excellent books I own on photography wait for me to read beyond the inside front covers. Will I ever leave the safe haven I’ve found in “auto” mode? I hope so.

It’s warm enough for them to dine, still. The weather today is all wrong.

I love gazing at my foot-long, nameless pets.

My favorite photo of 2011. A grasshopper.

Greet the most cooperative grasshopper in Charlotte, taken in August from my backyard beach chair. I’ll eventually frame this one.

Back to the law enforcement issue.

First responders are part of my biological family as well as my work-related family and I respect, admire, and give thanks to all of them. Perhaps this one CMPD officer thought I might need assistance. But come on!

Isn’t there enough criminal gumbo to police in Charlotte instead of stalking a blonde female in a red car who wants her Photo Safari mojo back?

Our Dear Chloe

2011-11-25T21:59:00.033-05:00

In August 1996, on a small family farm in New Holland, Pennsylvania, she was the eight-week-old pup who ran the fastest while carrying a stick twice her size. The only sibling left in her Boston Terrier litter, chubby Jake, sat lazily against a shade tree, watching his crazy sister, Josie, run around the tree kicking up dust as much as a four-pound pup could. Josie carved a speedway around lazy Jake on that warm summer morning while we watched and exchanged glances. Oh, my.

We wondered how we would catch her as she darted and weaved, playing “catch me if you can!” with the agility of a much older dog. She was a tiny Josie, soon to be named Chloe. Odd, that we chose an angelic name when her original name, Josie, suited her just fine.

Fast forward to the life and times of Chloe, the challenger, the one who jumped in with four feet, and the busy body who always pushed the card too far. Everyone who knew her will remember the gal who possessed the utmost pizzazz, athleticism, and intelligence.

The strong-willed pup was not allowed into the living room where the Christmas tree glowed and presents were wrapped. Was she annoyed? You bet.

Always, her body was rock hard, mind sharp, and her entertainment value? Priceless.

I miss the laughter.

I miss the frustration.

I miss how she outsmarted me, every day.

I miss her conniving games that she played too well.

I remember very well the gloomy, wet Sunday fourteen years ago when I cried and yelled at her and wrote the phone number of the Boston Terrier Rescue in Maryland on a slip of paper and smacked it hard under a magnet on the refrigerator door. This is what you do when your black and white energized dog turns chocolate brown in a self-made mud puddle during a rainstorm on a cold Autumn day. For the third time on the same day. Yeah.

A highly skilled Eastern Box Turtle carrier and mole finder and Starling-in-flight catcher and young bunny eater, she was. Her nosey instinct and preoccupation with bees, spongy toads, and spiders all gave her trouble, often.

Under a one hundred foot Weeping Willow at the back of the yard in her first forever home in Maryland, she sat motionless, just waiting for a squirrel to come down and play. Every day. Sadly, she never caught her "quirrel" and what is more sad for me was that she hadn't been able to spot a quirrel for the latest three or four years of her life.

Chloe was a klepto bitch and snatched and ran with anything that hit the floor, tore potholders from oven doors, destroyed a multitude of toys, chewed on Christmas tree ornaments made of glass, and how could I forget the steak knives she picked from the dishwasher? Two of her own ID tags passed through her and were safely scooped. You might say she is lucky to have lived so many years.

She made Gina's friends squeal in delight or sometimes in fear.

And I smiled.

I miss the gal who became my special girlfriend in due time.

I miss my gal who had patience and caring for her young sister, Bella, and taught her everything there is to know about being the best Boston Terrier she can be. They became sisters in Chloe's second forever home in Delaware.

Chloe recently dealt with oral cancer. She was nearly blind and completely deaf when I held her close to my heart for the last time on the evening of November 22, 2011. She was almost fifteen and a half years old. On that Tuesday, she lost the sparkle in her blind eyes and the wiggle in her tail. And that was the day, when without much warning, she communicated to me in her own way, "Enough already, woman!"

When I thought she would make the end way too difficult as she did with everything else, she made it easy for us to say farewell. Her peaceful death was her blessing and her final gift. So lovely.

Writing this post has been one of the most difficult ones I’ve ever written but I’ll admit to laughing out loud at the memories.

Now, I weep.

Your Daddy, Gina, and your special Licker Sister all miss you and love you.

Thank you, Chloe. I’ll Always Love You, girlfriend.

It's Hummer Time

2011-04-17T21:01:00.009-04:00

A male Ruby-throated Hummingbird has been spotted twice since last weekend.

Thrilled!

I’ve been wondering about them since I’ve been preoccupied and away from home so often.

The least I can do is to provide the freshest nectar for them while I'm away.

His gorget is stunning but I’m never satisfied until I see a female.

This evening at 7:45, just before sunset, I heard her.

She lowered herself close to me for a few seconds to check me out.

Perhaps she recognized or remembered a summer home?

“Welcome Home”, I whispered.

Slowly, she lowered herself to some nectar nearby.

After a few sips, she hovered near again and sipped from another feeder. Perched and very alert.

“Do you know me?”, I whispered.

“Now, go do what you do, Mama.”

I prefer to think she recognized me. That’s what I believe.

The Guestbook

2011-04-11T20:10:00.015-04:00

I’ve been home for a few hours after a six-hour shopping trip and haven’t unloaded the stuff from the back of the car. It’s just too much for me right now.

Since January, Gina and I have spent approximately sixty hours on the road in search of what we think we need for a wedding celebration.

We are less than three weeks away and it’s an exciting time. It’s also making me flip. My nerves are dying.

Recently I attended a bridal shower at her office. I hadn’t been in a high-rise for a few decades and oh, my. “Gawwwleeeeee. Gina, I SEE MY CAR DOWN THERE!”

In the middle of the night, I wake and think of details. My alarm clock wakes me and I immediately think of details. Hundreds of them.

And I tell myself, “Go outdoors and just breathe.”

It’s crunch time. Regular folks like us aren't accustomed to throwing the largest party of our lives. We need to work feverishly now and I do believe I hallucinated at the mall today, after hour number five.

“Gina, where did we park the car? It is not funny. Where’s the car?

Oh my God, I can’t… find… the CAR!

A clean pond. Breathe.

Just lovely. Breathe. Relax.

(Mental picture for readers: At the shopping mall my hair had dried in crunchy curls from sweat during a two-hour Zumbathon the night before, all enhanced with blood-shot eyes.)

“Oh Lord. That’s the mens’ room. Oops. (laughed out loud).

Where am I?

Where are WE?”

Ensuing laughter, but honestly, I’m at the end of this, already. I’m so spent, financially and emotionally, yet the best is yet to come. The payoff. Please let it be worth all of this.

Find the first lizard of the year. Breathe.

That girl can shop for days with little food and a few pee breaks. After four hours, I’m brain dead. I hate shopping now and after the wedding, I don’t plan to visit a shopping mall until next Christmas.

“Gina, I need to eat something. To hell with the diet. Let’s stop for a slice of pizza.

Do you know I tripped and almost fell into that display of crystal over there? Stop laughing. It isn't funny...

(crazy laughter)

You go into J Crew. Just go. I’ll lean against the railing here and wait. Don’t make me wait too long, either, dammit.

Don’t you DARE lead me to Abercrombie."

I’d rather die than to inhale toxic fumes. (She doesn't venture into that awful store anymore and for no apparent reason, my nasty streak reared its ugly head.) "I HATE THAT STORE. IT STINKS."

While watching the Bumbles, breathe.

“Please! I can’t look at another shoe! Let’s go. Now.”

We’ve visited two different craft stores at least twenty times. Yes, we (I) made a few little things and I have fallen in love with a little glue gun. I never used a glue gun until last week and let me tell you, when I had that mini hot glue gun in my hand, I had the POWER!

Today, what remained on our list of things to purchase was a Wedding Guest Book. We visited a “party store” where you can find anything you’ll ever want or need to throw a party. It’s a store filled with two trillion tiny items.

Ah ha! Guest books! Pens!

I said, “Oh, what the heck. It’s a guest book with some silver on the vinyl cover. The pen? It might not have ink, but for less than $15.00, it isn't bad.”

Without much thought or another glance, she threw it behind her into the buggy. Good shot.

Tired.

Let’s check that off the list. Yeah!

A few hours later, we stumbled upon a very beautiful guest book with a very nice pen that we are certain is full of ink. She had it engraved and it belongs to her now.

On the mall parking lot we laughed until we cried at that flimsy guest book from the party store, suitable for one of those funny redneck weddings you see in e-mail forwards. I’m glad we decided to care.

Rest by the pond and breathe.

Wedding gown fittings, Mom’s fitting, menu and cake tastings, hair trials… all lead to a day we will always hold close to our hearts.

A union.

However.

Both Mom and Bride are wishing for the end before it’s time.

I'm breathing and laughing with Mockingbirds. My saving grace.

Ride in the Car

2011-04-03T10:30:00.008-04:00

Your frog friend is smelly and disgusting, Bella. Saliva and mud are not nice. Let me wash frog in the machine with a load of towels.

No. I will not allow it.

I do not see or hear you anyway.

Well then, Bella. Let’s take a ride to vet for a nail trim instead.

How about that?

Uh oh.

A ride in the car?

Did you say a ride in the car?

I Have the Fever

2011-03-27T18:40:00.022-04:00

Today, White-throated Sparrows whistle forlorn notes and Juncos flock on the front lawn. (This post was written over a week ago and since then I haven’t seen a Junco.)

There is early Spring although today I’m wearing a coat. It’s 40 degrees, after 85 earlier in the week.

The furnace is running. What???

Come… on… Spring… dammit.

A weak winter remains

still

on certain cold evenings. Our coats and jackets are draped over the back of kitchen chairs, ready.

Seems odd to fill the hummingbirds’ nectar feeders

but they’re in the area.

I’m prepared for their early arrival.

Unlike last year when they were late coming home.

We see more green in the landscape than brown now

and sprouting quickly in the lodge. How I’d love to introduce myself!

There are bees, flys, spring peepers, moths, stink bugs, wasps, hornets, and lizards.

No ants yet, thank you.

There’s love in the air again

that you can hear and feel all around,

if you care to notice.

Foot-longs are frisky and

look who emerged from the soup

for some drying out in soft, warm breezes.

A little sweat I wiped from my brow

and brushed back my overgrown bangs to see

lily pad who had risen to the top, waiting for dragons and damsels.

Oooo, I can’t wait!

Spring Already?

2011-03-07T20:39:00.008-05:00

Spring is soaking up all the rain clouds have to offer. Rainy days are rare in these parts, since 2005.

Time for nest cleaning. Anchored under the porch roof, I wonder which nest belongs to what bird? It's a duo nest, I suppose. One belongs to a Carolina Wren?

Almost two months have passed since I tended to Mary’s View. Clearly, I remember agonizing over ice and cabin fever like it was yesterday and already, we’re living a new season. Where does the time go?

Chloe will celebrate her 15^th birthday in three months and the girl still has an attitude. She's telling me something in this photo.

Life is so busy right now that I forget the Licker Sisters need their photo opportunities. My normal fifteen-to-twenty-photo-posts are reduced to eleven today. Being a slacker, I’m scraping the bottom of the barrel! Although I long to be back to my normal 100+ photo shooting days, it won’t happen until after The Wedding.

The Wedding is all-consuming, being on my mind throughout the day and in the wee hours of the morning when I should be sleeping. Instead, I lay awake wondering if we have the cake ribbon... Life is full of places to go, people to see, things to get, and services to employ. All of this, out of love. We write the check and don’t look back! We accept the stress and try to convince ourselves that everything will be alright.

After months of feeling the stress and pressure of finding a suitable “Mother of the Bride” dress, I recently ventured out with Gina on my first search. With fear and dread, I entered the formal dress department and from a distance, in the midst of drab, stuffy gowns, I saw a flash of color I liked, walked directly to the dress, touched it, held it, wore it, and then bought it. Finding that dress in five minutes was a high soprano “Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!” moment and a natural high that lasted all day. No boring, full-length gowns in shades of ugly with those stuffy little Bolero jackets for me! The only acceptable dress is one that moves with me on the dance floor.

Still looking through the bathroom window for Bluebirds and Brown Thrashers on the pond

and Chickadees singing an uproar.

Still, I can’t resist running for my camera when Coop appears in the back yard and I apologize, as this might be the 25^th photo of a Coop I'm showing here in the last twelve months. Sorry for the Chickadees, too.

I can’t resist chasing that tease at the grocery store pond. It’s been four years of chasing her, in my car, from one side of the big pond

to the other. It’s been a while since I nailed a good pic of a Belted Kingfisher. In the quiet of my parked car I say, "I'll get you, my pretty..."

This is where I missed a grand shot of a Red-headed Woodpecker. The loss was so painful I felt I might die.

If I allow the time, I can always rely on my spark bird to make a showing. Nice.

Cure for Cabin Fever

2011-01-17T17:14:00.028-05:00

A whopper snowstorm was predicted for the southeast, often shrugged off and ignored by southerners who know how that goes.

On the warm and sunny day prior to the anticipated storm, the birds knew something was on the verge of happening. There was a change in their behavior.

Birds flew in that hadn’t been seen in weeks and brought with them a sense of urgency.

Early the next morning, roaming through a dark and chilly house while all others slept, I wrapped my robe tightly around me and saw through the windows a bright, cool blanket covering the landscape.

It was snowing heavily - the fluffy, lightweight kind that’s not good for building snowmen, and was just lovely.

The first day was a fun and frigid one. Chloe returned to the back door quickly, teeth chattering.

Just before dusk the birds scrambled for their last meal of the day while there was

sleet.

It poured. The gentle sound of it tapping on my hood of my parka brought nostalgia of a cozy, warm home during storms like this and anticipation, mixed with a bit of anxiety…

Will there be school tomorrow?

Far overhead a raptor flapped its wings on a westward flight and without much thought or care, I snapped a quick photo, not knowing who it was but knowing the bird was not ordinary. Later that evening there was a Bald Eagle in a snapshot I almost ignored. A gift!

Overnight, the sleet and freezing rain encased the fluffy snow in ice.

Without a scent to snorgle or eyesight to see a familiar path, what about old Chloe?

Alone with Chloe, Bella and

shards of dangerous ice that are feared and crippling.

Cramping my style.

Wishing to flee

to work

to dance

to anywhere.

By the third day, sometimes on the brink of tears, mad as a hornet, and trapped like a deranged mouse in a maze. That was me.

Those who rearrange closets and deep clean their homes during times like this have good control.

No, not I. Instead, pacing, monitoring, fearing lack of control. Are we creatures of habit? Naturally nomads?

My saving graces were camera, boots, parka, and love of things that sparkle.

The beauty of ice. Its glistening charm seduced and relaxed a worrisome soul.

Metallic under the clouds.

Grin at a sunny reflection of a royal blue coat on the leaf of a butterfly bush.

The birds were slipping and sliding and perhaps were happy that the seed lady shoveled a path to their diner.

The third and last day of the fever was intense. This worrisome soul sought therapy outdoors many times, leaving the cabin fever inside. There were countless pleasant surprises that day.

The ice didn’t matter anymore

because there’s nothing sweeter than to find

an Eastern Bluebird and Carolina Wren meet,

“Hello. How do you do? Grand peanuts, ey?”

Nose running, eyes watering, and fingers stinging.

No concern about that.

What a relief.

Nature saved a worrisome soul.

Me.

This New Year

2011-01-02T13:35:00.026-05:00

I packed up the memory tree a day earlier than usual. Christmas was merry, yes, but was lacking an ingredient I can’t define.

The silver and gold tree disappeared within a few hours on New Year’s Day – right on target.

Chloe and Bella shared sunny spots on the west side of the house as December was the coldest on record here. Then, I wonder why didn’t it feel like Christmas? This is a question I can’t answer right now or maybe never, but I smile when I remember skipping to the back of the house with my camera on Christmas night after I saw snowflakes falling under the street light on the front side. I called Chloe and Bella to follow me.

A White Christmas and maybe the first one here in 97 years. Sigh…and wow.

The following morning was not quite as beautiful as Ralphie’s crystalized Christmas morning but darn, I loved this.

As I write, the temperature has risen to oh, about 70 outdoors in late afternoon, from 30 in the morning. I want to raise the cold bottle of Deer Park I have here and pour it over my head in the bathroom sink. Or, step outside in my nightgown and watch the steam rise after the temperature drops another 30 degrees again. If it’s winter, let it be winter for God’s sake.

While I desire and need routine and a schedule in my life, I’ll drag myself out of bed at 5:00 a.m. tomorrow morning, moan, probably curse, and head to work in my windowless office.

I recently talked about my sixteen glorious days off and my list of expected accomplishments. That ambitious list proved to be a wish list but I’m satisfied with scoring 70% on completion. My planned visits to the gym were below that, at 30%. What I gained from my time away from the gym was a realization that an hour of sweating in cardio dance or other workout is physically and mentally uplifting while it happens and exhilarating when it ends. Scrubbing and washing around the house is a good workout but how many times have I stopped to prop the mop against the door jam to rest, watch a TV segment, or check my e-mail?

2011 will be a good year for me, concentrating on good health. I quit smoking two years ago. If I can do that, I can do anything. And, I will strive to reserve more time to write and share here.

I recently saw a simple quote on a friend's blog.

"Never give up on something you can't go a day without thinking about." Anon

Against the snow, there isn’t a more stunning backyard bird than a Male Northern Cardinal. Due to hawk interference, no Cardinal!

The birds were in a constant frenzy and kept me busy. Rock Pigeons and squirrels were also fed well, along with others I usually shoo away.

On my neighbor’s roof, a few pictured of the eighteen. The cooing, slapping, funny birds can clear a feeder full of black oil sunflower seeds in ten minutes.

Carolina Chickadees make me smile on my worst days. That's why I want a pet Chickadee.

I regret overlooking ones who helped the Goldfinches clear the finch feeder.

Surprise.

A small flock of Pine Siskins had been working the feeders very well!

The sun broke through during a mostly cloudy vacation.

Wishing for sunny days in 2011, physically and emotionally. Oh, and I want to photograph an owl. Any owl in the wild. Sometime this year, more likely in the summertime, I'll tiptoe across the street in my nightie at 5:30 a.m. to get that Great Horned Owl on my neighbor's rooftop and use flash if I need it. If I don't get that shot, I'll need to get out of my backyard, somehow, because I know there are owls in North Carolina.

All over the place, this post is. Borderline jibber jabber from Christmas trees and spirit, to snow, to windowless offices, to accomplishments and wishes, to workouts, to Bostons in the sun, to birds, to owls, to nighties, and to

Bean Soup and Ham today. Yum.

2011 begins with a bang!

What to do?

2010-12-21T21:18:00.024-05:00

Didn’t we just pack away the decorations a few weeks ago? Christmas snuck up and bit me this year.

I live for my Christmas break away from the college. This year, it's sixteen days long and in anticipation of my much-needed time off, I made a list of things to do and to accomplish. To say it’s an ambitious list is an understatement.

Wash and scrub every floor in the house. It’s not a big house so I can get it done in a full day if I stay focused and strong.

Hire the plumber.

Seal the granite.

Clean the bird feeders.

Wash bathroom walls.

There’s more...

Christmas brings more work that is out of the ordinary, so I can’t expect to accomplish much before the big day. After all, the shopping, wrapping, cooking, and eating needs to be done – the latter in large quantities.

So here I sit, on my fifth day off out of sixteen and have not crossed off anything on my ambitious list. What am I doing now and what will I be doing later today? Blog, gym, Facebook, Shop, Wrap. That’s what.

I can’t keep myself from admiring the lovely new iMac. To walk by and not stop in for a visit is almost impossible.

And,

staring at the first orchid of my life and expecting to see it shrivel and die overnight. Let us pray…

It’s a powerful and content feeling to have spotless floors and all that. If I go back to work without having immaculate floors, the entire new year of 2011, in my mind, will be a bust. There will be no hope for me and I will continue to procrastinate and continue to have spotty hardwood and sticky ceramic in the bathroom where the hairspray lands.

I will get it done.

However,

for now, all I want to do is this.

Enjoy the weather outside of my windowless office that feels like Christmas. If my fingers sting in frigid air and the sun is hidden behind gray clouds, so be it.

Sigh, and invite the Christmas spirit I once had.

Remember old times and welcome the new.

Watch snow fall, like it did a few days ago while uptown with Gina and Elise. It was a great day.

Have more girls’ days like that one.

Do something I love that I haven’t done in a very long time.

Take my camera along and laugh.

Capture images to share. Good ones. There are none left in my files, a source of grief I feel.

Hold conversations with a badass Mockingbird who has been terrorizing all others at the feeder stations for over a month. Perhaps I should thank him! I’m saving black oil sunflower seeds but the birds are freezing and are relying on my Autumn buffet.

He doesn’t miss anything and is always aware of intruders.

Who is the only bird that laughs at his nonsense?

All of my little Chickies. The Carolina Chickadee is the most tenacious little bird that, without consideration, will go head to head with a flamboyant Mocker.

Mourning Doves feel threatened and show it. Even the Cardinals and Titmice back off.

The nuts are mine. The grapes, too.

You gotta problem, lady? Are you laughing at me? Huh?

******************************************

If I do not visit Mary's View before Christmas Day and the New Year begins,

please know

I wish your

best dreams to come true.

Poop on The Hoop

2010-12-02T21:07:00.011-05:00

This is Bella’s story, told in her sweetest Winnie the Pooh’s Piglet voice…everyone knows Piglet, right?

Ugh. It was not a good day. Something happened and I didn’t do it. It wasn’t my fault.

It started when I was outside with my Mother and I was playful. I always bring her a t-t-toy to play with b’cuz I’m her favorite grrrl. I could not w-w-wait to run and catch my hoop. Being the way I am, I was way up over the moon. Then…

Tut tut, it looked like trouble.

Mother made an ugly face, p-p-pointed to a spot on my hula hoop and asked,

“What is THAT, Jelly Belly?

Is that a nugget of poop stuck on your hoop?”

Uh oh. I was a very embarrassed and confused and all flustered and nervous. I didn’t do it.

She called for my Licker Sister Chloe, our official expert poop inspector, and that’s when I knew I would be doomed.

In Chloe’s snappy Winnie the Pooh’s Rabbit voice

she reported,

"Tut tut, it is poop.

Not my poop.

Bella pooped on her hoop.

She's so lame. Only a goof poops on its own hoop.

Heh.”

Oh my, I did not know what to do. I did not know how to fix it.

How could I play hula hoop with a nugget of poop stuck on my hoop?

I could not believe it happened. It never happened before.

I had Sad.

I would not touch it, my hoop, stuck on the steps.

Usually, if I be cute I get what I want. I am not as smart as my Licker Sister but I know what my Mother likes. I sat next to my hoop for a long time. I didn't blink any eyes. I was a statue of black and white.

I love my Mother.

It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t do it.

Dat's all, folks.

Facebook Rant and Random Photos

2010-11-26T11:41:00.007-05:00

I noticed

in an instant

something special

from the corner of my eye.

A fleeting moment, moves me to reach out and snatch it,

knowing I’ll never see that same snapshot again.

Every day I stomp my feet and quietly swear about the whereabouts of my camera. Unlike previous years, I forget too often.

Today, I offer the end of Spring and Summer 2010 photos, and an editorial slash rant regarding Facebook.

Blog worthy? Absolutely. There’s a story to tell but it hasn’t been written. That’s why I argue with myself every day. Rather than to write or edit photos in my hour of spare time before lights out, I look at Facebook status updates from loads people I don’t know.

At the end of the day I sit here, hunched over, slack-jawed, and mesmerized by nothing, really. Being consistently late to everyone’s Facebook party, I’m always 300+ Most Recent Items behind. Tired from a day at the office and contentedly tired from my hour at the gym is when Facebook has the power to pull me in. I often wonder if there’s a reason for my preoccupation with meaningless status updates...

Something is wrong with me. Do I want to know what is wrong? Uh, no…

Facebook is boring as hell most of the time but it’s like crack cocaine, from what I’ve heard and experienced. I don’t like it. I like it. I don’t like it. I like it. I hate it. I love it. I don’t have the time to sit and stare at it but I waste it anyway. That's wherein the problem lies.

I’m certainly relieved and happy that I didn’t buy a Smart Phone two weeks ago. A Blackberry or Droid felt nice in my hands and I would have liked either of them way too much. I’d rather be looking up and around all day than looking down and over-working my thumbs. There will be an epidemic of malfunctioning thumbs in a few years, mostly felt by children who are using their thumbs to communicate instead of their voices. I worry that they won’t understand body language, be able to detect facial deception, or be able to write an intelligent e-mail using upper and lower case. If the thumbs become numb, they’ll have no choice. I’m not kidding about the thumbs.

There are magnificent multi-taskers all over the world like Facebook pros, who update on the 10s like The Weather Channel gives the local forecast, and who often complain about not having enough hours in the day to get things done. Well, hello… Look around, work, and live, will ya? Help yourself!

During frequent stupid spells of mine, I’ve confirmed friendships with people in countries I didn’t know existed. No, I don’t care about what Amlakhilesh Pia Zorrophalius is photographing today. Amlakhilesh, yes, we are friends but you no speaky English. Be on your way now. For me, it’s time to start unfriending, defriending, or whatever it’s called.

Then, there’s the Good Stuff. Chet Baker, Boston Terrier takes me away to a happier, simpler place. I peek at him during office hours to escape from the mundane and too serious work on my desk and smile. He’s my first Facebook check of the day, before the one hundred or so Facebook friends I know well and love. The mind behind Chet Baker’s page is uplifting, hilarious, and chicken soup for my soul. I will not quit Facebook because of this man-dog and my own Licker Sisters. Chloe, A Licker Sister, and Bella, A Licker Sister, each have their own page. They rely on me to post for them but sadly, I’ve been a horrible administrator.

Generally, I believe communicating on Facebook is inferior to publishing a blog post. Blogging is a lot of work, man, and Mary’s View gave joy beyond words for me. While I know I won’t feel that same joy again, I’ll settle for an occasional squee! Perhaps a new template on Blogspot will spark the old desire. I don’t know.

Here’s the twist you’re waiting for, if you know me and my blog. I’m not all about disliking Facebook.

In mid-August, an event put me on my knees. Two childhood friends I met when we were barely out of diapers were dear to me as constant playmates, friends, and foes for more than fifteen years. I lost touch with Debbie after high school graduation in 1973 and hadn’t seen Mary Lee since 1983. They are both forever girlfriends, still living in Maryland.

We met again on August 14th. On Facebook. Holding head in hands, I cried.

Three years ago I met a Facebook friend through blogging. We’ve had different views and have exchanged a few heated e-mails but after pause and consideration, we gained respect. A young man, whose health is seriously compromised now… Again, I cry for a person I haven’t touched, physically.

Thank you, Facebook.

You're a blessing; however, seeing less of you means I get cleaner closets and more time soaking up the sun.

All Butterflies

2010-10-04T20:24:00.004-04:00

From a few hundred butterfly photos, I offer a few of my favorites today.

It’s all about the butterflies.

When summer became a drag

and I was snarky

I waited for hummingbirds

and butterflies to entertain me.

I’m missing the Zebra Swallowtail.

It’s the one that got away from me a few dozen times.

A Tiger Swallowtail

rested on my shoulder

twice.

Now that’s a good reason to lose

the crankitude.

A small puff of air brushed my cheek when he took flight

and I heard a gentle wing flap or two.

Or, maybe I only imagined I heard a flap.

I’m sorry to unload so many photos

at once. Sorry for myself, actually.

This is a job and frankly, I've had quite enough of butterflies!

It’s October already

and my lazy self has been a procrastinator

all summer long.

It would be a sin to keep these photographs

all to myself.

Butterfly wing art,

so intricate and stunning!

Wings look perfectly painted with a tiny brush.

Look closely at the detail of

dots, stripes, and colors so brilliant.

All you need is a little Lantana,

a Butterfly Bush or two,

and a few Zinnias.

A hummingbird feeder

would be delightful.

When the grass was green

2010-09-26T17:16:00.003-04:00

we commented on how lush and beautiful the gardens were. Late spring was perfectly peachy.

We had grass then. Since, the grass turned to dust and the weeds died and I’m not kidding. The native flowers and plants perished.

As I type away here, I’m thankful for a perfect day. It’s raining. It’s cloudy. Have you ever watched a hummingbird raise its little head to the heavens and flutter its wings in sheer delight of being showered with fresh rain?

The temperature dropped thirty degrees today and the windows are open. There is Italian food simmering on the stove. It hasn’t rained since before my last post on August 9 and those ninety degree days were damned relentless. Just three days ago, the thermometer in my car read 97 at five in the afternoon passing through Concord, North Carolina.

There’s more good stuff about today at the end of this post. Real good stuff.

For now, I want to record and share only a small bit of what I’ve seen.

I have so much to show and tell.

Finding time to be here is my issue. I’m alright, just busier than the bumbles.

I get lost. Fanny in the dirt, I sit.

Bumbles don’t mind if I’m eye level with them.

Here’s lookin’ atcha.

The birds have turned on me and it’s my fault.

Robin doesn’t care if I stopped feeding.

I had to close the feeding stations for many weeks.

Lately, I scrubbed the feeders and filled them all with the best I can offer. If you know me, you know I offer an abundance of the best food.

I’ve lost four very expensive feeders this summer. The raccoons and squirrels are on my last nerve. Feeders were carried away or rolled down a hill into prickly raspberry, never to be seen again. Black iron hangers were bent 180 degrees.

Fat-assed pigeons deserve a swinging broom, too. (sorry...mini-rant is over)

The grace of summer. I tend to them daily. My crowd of ten at the nectar feeders has diminished to only two and I pout.

The hours I worked on the overgrown pond in the scorching heat did not make a difference. The weather and excessive algae

on the pond beat me so I called my expert for help. I love my pond guys.

Butterflies. Oh my, oh my!

Silver-spotted Skippers and Tiger Swallowtails ruled this summer. The butterflies of NA held their convention here. Their abundance and beauty will require a few more posts. Perhaps I’ll save one of them for February when my Midwestern and Northeastern friends need some color on their monitors.

I have Licker Sisters stories to tell.

Bella has a new love.

The clouds, the rain, the relief.

It started to rain on my way to the mall today. Wet feet and flip flops a flippin’ and a floppin’ - I was on a mission.

I splurged for no particular reason. Subconsciously celebratory, I guess.

You see, I was overdue for a date with indulgence.

While I fumbled to organize my car keys and umbrella, the beautiful L’Occitane sales representative began wrapping my purchase in pretty boxes and I commented, “Oh, don’t bother wrapping. They’re only for me…”

She paused, our eyes met briefly, and she seemed puzzled.

I understood immediately and continued,

“On second thought. Yes. Please wrap them.”

Gray Skies are Underrated

2010-08-09T12:52:00.005-04:00

My favorite season.

Summer.

Carolina Blue skies every day for weeks and weeks.

Sunny days are healthy. I love them and thrive on sunshine and warmth and dream about summer days from New Year’s Day until the first pale green sprouts late February. Then, there's a waiting period until the end of March when trees show their life and flowers appear.

By June, I’m intoxicated with every little thing summer offers. Ahhhh... Evenings spent looking at the sky and waiting for the first lightning bug, observing hummingbirds, listening to croaks in the pond, and sighing. Ravishing the relief of no coat, no jacket, smacking a few skeeters off my ankles before heading inside and searching for the darn missing bug repellent.

August arrives and I realize you can definitely have too much of a good thing and sunny skies become overrated.

The summer of 2010 has been a bitch of a summer – unrelenting in 90-100 degrees every damned day since June 1st. If I’ve exaggerated, I don’t give a rat’s ass. I know the humidity has been unusually high. Disgusting and consecutive bad hair days prove the conditions around these parts are not good. I’ve resorted to tiny ponytails and bobby pins. Too much hair spray! Ack! Ick. Heck. Friends in New England and Oregon have 50-60f mornings, opposed to our 85f at 5:00 a.m. and 9:00 p.m.

Most evenings, I leave the fitness center looking like a rain-soaked cat in clothing that needs a good wringing.

I’M SICK OF IT.

I need another night like this one. It happened two weeks ago and I still smile when I remember it.

I hadn’t seen nor heard the forecast and had just returned from the fitness center, steaming. Oh my, the timing was perfect on this evening.

Rumble.

Oh?

Darkness and gray washed over quickly

and stagnant heat was blown away by a force of coolness

Relief.

Savor, drink it in, and smell the rain.

Watch the sizzling streets' steam rise.

Rejuvination afterwards.

I felt it.

I saw it.

Gray skies are a blessing sometimes.

We need them to appreciate the bright ones.

On that same night

Sticky came back. Hello ;-)

The Girls and Squirrels

2010-08-03T21:00:00.003-04:00

It’s been on my mind to get cracking here. It’s already 8:30 p.m. and I’m not finished writing this piece I decided to serve two hours ago. I should quit now and finish tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow, or next week and take some time to work on the writing skills I've lost.

Impossible. I’ll do it now. The stories I’d like to tell are becoming dated and the photos I adore from late spring and mid-summer need to be shared before the first frost. The pressure is on and I want to regain some focus.

When I arrive home from work on Tuesdays I stay at home. Although the fitness center tempts me to come out and play, I know I need a night to cook, work around the yard, and do some laundry. Wandering and doing nothing is nice, too. Tonight, I’m thinking about what’s been going on with The Licker Sisters.

There was a young squirrel, you see, and Bella found it. There’s something wrong here. Those ears should belong to the old squirrel master, the other Licker Sister - Chloe. Bella hasn’t learned to view squirrels as intruders but she’s on alert in this photo. I blame her ignorance from spending her learning years in Delaware on a treeless acre. And, she's naturally and very sweetly, ignorant.

During Chloe’s learning years in Maryland, the girl sat under our sixty-foot tall Weeping Willow for hours, daring the “quirrels” to come down and play with her. I dangled leftover pork chops before her to lure her inside. She never nabbed a squirrel but that’s alright. That failure doesn’t diminish her skills in catching a European Starling in flight, mutilating and eating it, romping with and chewing the back of an Eastern Box Turtle, capturing a young wild rabbit not once, but several times. To that list add several moles. I was able to save the Eastern Box turtle – a story that will be told on another day. Her tendencies to hunt and stalk prey didn't please me much.

Next door neighbors Greg and Celeste at their kitchen window. "Greg, c'mere and look at Chloe running full speed with the remote control in her mouth! Mary won't catch her but she's trying...(hooting and knee-slapping)" Heh.

I wanted to find the Quirrel Girl and hope she’d enjoy Bella’s find!

Awww, Chloe. I have a surprise for you. (Knot in throat, wishing she could remember her years of fun. Remember with me, Chloe.)

Shhhhh… Be very quiet. There’s a quirrel out there!

I think I smell my woman. Yes, mother is here. I wonder if she has cheese or something I like in her pocket.

She doesn’t hear me when I hold her head in my hands and tell her nice things. When our noses rub, she knows what I mean.

Chloe, let’s go! Come on, Quirrel Girl.

Behind her ears, I lay my face on her neck and make announcements.

I see you now. Did you say...quirrel?

Chloe is in her fifteenth year. I celebrate and grieve every day. She’s not well. No, she isn’t and at the same time, she’s good. Her body is very lean, so when I smile at the bounce in her step, all is well. When she tiptoes to the dinner table to beg for a taste, all is well. A visit to the emergency vet in June was scary, but we'll get through - with her.

She found the party.

Did she see the squirrel? Nah... She felt it and wiggled. I'll take that!

I slid my hand under the window with a little offering. I couldn’t help myself.

Thirty Minutes of This Morning

2010-07-18T17:27:00.006-04:00

It’s been almost three months. There are several dozen photographs waiting for show and tell and at least eight stories to write. I haven’t had enough time to compose and share any of it here. Poor, poor Mary’s View. I wasn't planning on being here today, either.

This morning, early, before drink, food, toothbrush, cleanser on my face or a comb through my hair, a story was written in my mind as it happened. Not an adventure, not exciting. Simple and fun for me. It only took thirty minutes outside to know it was time to nudge this blog and I also knew this post would jump ahead in line before the rest.

The sunrise was searing hot and the humidity kept everything wet from overnight rain. Ignoring all that, I browsed near the pond and surveyed the work that still needed to be done. Man, it’s been too damned hot to drip sweat so furiously as I have for so long.

In the privacy of my back yard, I had a conversation.

I heard a hum near my head, turned to the right, and there he was.

“Hello. Where have you been? You’re late! Stay. Please. I need to find my camera and its battery…”

For a few months, I wondered if I would ever see an adult female. There were plenty of males defending but I rarely saw a female.

Obviously now, two weeks late, I see the ladies and gents have been getting it on.

Without our cameras and lenses, how would we see the emerald green, ruby red, and all of the tiny details?

“May I take one step closer to you or maybe two?”

“You’re already sleepy. Is that mean old man wearing you out?

He has claimed this branch of the Wax Crepe Myrtle where he has a clear view of all feeders. It’s his throne where he spends most of his awake time.

I wonder how these baby birds learn to get their protein and sugar

and I wonder how they learn the benefits of spider webs and lichen.

Who shows them where the bugs are?

He wore me out.

Cicadas, hot, no breeze.

Only 8 in the morning.

More sweat.

Chloe and Bella found shade.

Amazing. I'll never lose interest or become bored with these little gems.

Since I wasn't expecting a crowd this year, I'm so glad to hear the bickering.

Back to his branch for a minute of preening.

I could have reached out and touched him.

I wouldn’t dare!

He needs to beware.

“Did someone stab you in the back?

Did that mean old man get you?”

Tiny bastardly thing

and very cute!

Outdoors is where you'll find me.

2010-04-25T20:16:00.002-04:00

It seems

our trees have leafed out overnight.

Where was I?

Outdoors, of course. At every chance.

There are many photos I’ve taken that have become old news within hours.

Flocks of Cedar Waxwings entertained me for over a month and now I miss their wheezes and whispers.

Nothing much to say now …

So, I’ll Show ‘n Tell

a little.

Several Ferguses were lost this winter. Very sad.

Subfreezing, numb, they float into the pond skimmer and I get terribly angry.

Now there are plenty!

Busy with living and often craving a nap,

I know I'm alright when I notice the unnoticed,

emerald green metallic at my feet,

and a white commontail.

Things that speed turn my head… was that a hummer?

Hubba hubba. I crawl on the driveway for this.

Babies are due on the porch.

I’m ready to see the mountains and special friends.

Thinking about packing soon…

Already laughing ;-) Will pack extra panties.

West Virginia, look out!

Once upon a time, there were Secretaries.

2010-04-18T18:19:00.005-04:00

In observance of Administrative Professionals Week, 2010.

Someone I admire on Facebook wanted a secretary last week. Soon, someone commented on her status update, wanting a maid. Feeling a bit angry, I’m glad I noticed her Facebook update because at 5:15 a.m., it jolted me into wide awake and gave me a strong urge to share here.

She was so proud that she could type 99 wpm accurately on a 1940’s Royal manual typewriter. I saw her bang away on that 200 lb. machine, often on its stand she kept in the corner of the kitchen.

The Baltimore Sunpapers, 1939

Mom worked at The Baltimore Sunpapers in the early fifties and was the most accurate typist in the pool. I shared her pride. Not a secretary, and never having the privilege of making and serving coffee to the executives in the outer offices - you know, the ones with windows. I did, thirty years later, and I’m still outraged about it.

My secretarial career path began after high school with a receptionist and payroll clerk job for an electrical contractor where I met my husband. Summer of 1973, my first forty-hour paycheck was a net of $59.02. I moved on to better things after a few months, wanting the Mary Tyler Moore lifestyle.

Two jobs later, I took a position at the corporate offices of a world-wide manufacturer in Jessup, Maryland. Those corporate secretaries knew what was expected of them, and I learned…don’t be a minute late arriving to work, don’t leave a minute early, and don’t take more than your 30-minute lunch break and don’t ever, ever leave the building between 8am and 5pm. Ahem? Every morning we wiped our serving tray clean and delivered several cups of hot coffee, made to order, to the managers, directors, and executives in our group. When I learned coffee serving was part of my on-the-job training, I felt sick. I remember looking into the eyes of that Stepford secretary, expecting to feel or see some sort of displeasure, reluctance, or pause, but I saw nothing. What bullshit, expected and accepted in 1977 and this hippie chick was sour about it.

Early 80’s is when sexual harassment in the workplace came into the forefront across the country. Good old smiling Albert, whom I considered to be a very funny, dirty old man, rolled his squeaky 1950’s government-issue chair to lean toward his doorway and watch my small buttocks sway down the hall after I left him with his fresh cuppa coffee. By 8:15 a.m., he was my third delivery. I’d arrive at his office, Good morning, Al, or Mr. Smith, depending on my mood. Enjoy your decaff. He didn’t know that on my way out of his office, I mumbled, Choke on it, Albert. I didn’t dislike Albert. My rebel within was the problem. I was always happy to fetch a cuppa coffee for any boss who would fetch a cup for me in return. Albert never brought me coffee but he brought me sparkling gems from his business trips to Brazil. So, I liked old Al.

Young Ray was a Cost Accountant who worked in a cubicle near our secretarial pool, not quite ranked to be served coffee. We were flirty playmates and had the most fun playing rubber band wars when the office became way too tense. After the whole company sat in a high priority meeting to hear of sexual harassment rules and regulations, Ray and the rest of us returned to our work areas, and on the way, he swatted my behind with a manila file folder. I thought it was funny as did he, however, Ray was severely reprimanded as there were witnesses. Poor Ray, what a dope.

There was an Executive Secretary promotion for me in Finance soon after I joined the company which forced me to brush up on my Gregg shorthand for a man who always dictated letters of two hundred and thirty-five sentences that should have been condensed into ten. No one read his painfully long memorandums. No one wanted to refer to a dictionary to understand them, either. He’d recline in his chair, picking at a blemish on his chin that later turned into an enormous staph infection, and thought and dictated and thought and dictated some more, until I thought I might need to scream, “Dammit Howard! Spit it out and be done with it, please?” I had to transcribe his awful messes on an electric typewriter that was non-correcting. Draft after draft after draft. Yes, in my mid-twenties, I was as impatient as I am now, although slightly timid. I was fond of Howard and often worried how the huge amount of job stress affected him.

A class-conscious company, the secretaries were never invited to lunch out of the building with our superiors, except on Secretaries Day. Nancy, a very good friend and about fifteen years my senior, was an ultra conservative professional dresser as opposed to my more casual, hippie chick style. I liked to wear false eyelashes that would occasionally fall into my soup at restaurants and dyed my hair platinum. The stories I could tell... Oh, I wore high heels, suits, pantyhose, and leaned toward the more professional look because of the job. Nancy was a highly skilled, strong-willed woman, who later became secretary to the president of the company. She insisted we go AWOL once a month for lunch out of the building. There was a dive diner truck stop in Jessup called Three Nines with the best grilled cheese sandwiches ever made so we phone-ordered two of them with barrel pickles on the side and two Michelob beers, hopped into her sea green Chevy pick-up with a shift on the column, sped to the truck stop laughing all the way, ate the grilled cheese, drank the beers, giggled and belched, and were back to our desks in less than forty minutes with leftover barrel pickles in our handbags. Thrilling and downright liberating. Let the SOBs say anything negative. We’ll kick their asses! Yes, we would have…

Fast forward several years, passed a perfect job I adored, a baby girl, and two in-state moves. As Secretary/Registrar at a private high school in Bel Air, Maryland for fifteen years, I loved that job and still wish I hadn’t left eight years ago in June...

On Secretaries’ Day at the high school, early nineties, the administration offered a dripping wet, long-stemmed red rose to every female on faculty and staff and on the same day, gathered all the secretaries and clerical staff to inform us that we’d have our salaries and hours cut due to budget constraints. I’ll never forget it. Our main office secretary, dear Lorraine, cried all afternoon at the insensitivity of it all. Why take from the secretaries and not the rest? Wrong, wrong, wrong! And, I was still taking ridiculous dictation. I hated “bringing my book” but at least I didn’t need to serve coffee.

The dismissal bell loud in the building, the sounds of students in the halls, lockers banging, phones ringing, I looked at my boss, a caring and talented human being, as he sat in the guest chair facing my desk. He was dictating his record of a classroom observation. He thought for minutes at a time. I tapped my pencil on my book. I shifted in my seat and even turned around to look out the window at the sunny afternoon behind me. I could have filed my fingernails and blew bubblegum bubbles like Mrs. a-Wiggins and he wouldn’t have noticed. He thought some more and managed a sentence or two every five minutes.

I leaned across my desk and faced him. At last, I was determined and serious. I whispered,

Gary. We need to stop this. It’s the nineties. No one takes dictation anymore. Did you know that?

He smiled in a curious way and before he asked the question I answered.

You talk, I’ll type. Neither of us have time for this sitting and waiting game. What I loved about Gary was that he let me rule most of the time. I was Office Goddess.

What will be even better, Gary, is after you type your draft, send it to me via “e-mail”, and I’ll fix it up and make it look pretty.

Got that?

You will understand all of this if you are old enough to remember manual typewriters, correction tape, IBM Selectric II, mimeograph machines and stencil cutters, carbons, copyset, and the word processing softwares – Wang, Multi-Mate, WordStar, WordPerfect, and finally MS Word.

I wonder if anyone who has worked in an office remembers creating an elaborate document that took too many hours to construct, using Rubber Cement to copy and paste and gobs of White-Out. Those were your best editing tools. You waved that prize-winning document around the office and blew it dry for thirty minutes. Happy to finally make photocopies, you sashay to the office copy machine, mistakenly place it in the document feeder, press start, and in an instant, see your masterpiece get chewed up beyond recognition and lodged in the innards of the freaking machine of red flashing lights. My God! The horror! If you had a hammer!

Secretaries are a memory now. They made the world go around. I’m glad they’ve been replaced by a new variety of professionals who still make the world go around, who can make or break a business, and who are not expected to brew a cuppa coffee the way we did.

However, those were the days when we walked across the hall to meet face to face with a colleague. We talked about business and pleasure and flirted face to face. Oh, the body language is something else! Or, we dialed an extension and heard a voice, a tone, and a perhaps heard a smile. There were firm handshakes. There was no texting, no obsession with a tiny multi-function computer stuck to the palm of our hand, and instead of having our eyes lowered with chin on chest all day long we held our head high and saw real life happen before our eyes. We wrote letters, mailed postcards, and made long-distance phone calls to chat with a friend for a while.

Imagine THAT!

Under a Cherry Tree

2010-04-04T12:53:00.003-04:00

In the background, hyper Cardinal voices and Mockers waging war, soulful Mourning Doves and White-throated Sparrows, and, the drone of lawn mowers…

It’s snowing Cherry and Bradford Pear blossoms at my house. Intoxicating.

Oh, the Bumbles and the Honeys are here, too, along with a Giant Tiger Swallowtail. Soon to come.

Well, Hello!

Just how long can I stand under a Cherry Tree?

A long time, even when there are a million and one other things to do…

Give me Cherry Blossoms.

A bug nine inches from my nose. Go Super Macro - a camera feature I rarely use. I used a little Picasa editing for these. I call them Bug Art.

I want to scream. Spring sprung so quickly and I also fear a freeze that happens sometimes in April.

Flip flops. Tank tops. Not that I wear tank tops. I hate my upper arms.

There are five nesting boxes on campus. I tend to them and cleaned them about a month ago. This is a Carolina Chickadee box. Their bed is perfectly fluffed up and suitable for some babes. I peeked inside and smiled…

The pair watched me. One silently held a feather for the bed, while the other hollered. And, I did back away, but not before two minutes of photos. Thanks, Chickies.

Bradford Pear blossoms downright stink. Does anyone agree?

Bella, the hula hoop queen, sweetened the pic.

Spring.

It’s so sensual,

so warm,

and so sweet, my God.

(I might have said this many times before, but, I’m sayin’ again.)

Let’s enjoy the warmth on our backs.

Like Lizzie does.

By the way, I think they're cherry blossoms. If I'm wrong, OH WELL.

Morbid Me

2010-03-29T11:25:00.004-04:00

The photos in this post have nothing to do with Morbid Me. I added photos because I have a hard time writing here without them. Maybe, at the end of this post, there will be a connection with photos and words, but I’m not counting on it. I just gotta write.

Worry, worry, worry…

Hypochondriacs are sad, but so funny! I know a few and when I listen to them cry the blues, I often giggle at their traumatized faces. It's insensitive, I know.

When I was a child, I saw my East Slavic Grandma on Sundays. She was a human medical reference book who lost her husband to lung cancer when I was about a year old. From her, I learned everything there was to know about high blood pressure, diabetes, corns and bunions, varicose veins, heart palpitations, and how to order a pound of lunch meat in Ukrainian speak. The family rolled their eyes and exchanged glances at the supper table while she shared her ratings of laxatives needed for her constipation. She wore support hose like knee-high socks and only wore to-the-knee cotton dresses, year round - never trousers or slacks. Bless her heart, she laughed hard at her own jokes and when she ran out of Scotch tape she wrapped Christmas gifts with electrical tape.

New River in West Virginia soon…

She was on a first-name basis with her physician who probably owned at least a few Cadillacs, thanks to Grandma and those like her. I give her credit, not for the fact she imagined having every disease ever recorded, but for the fact she was brave enough to take control and face her own mortality. Diabetes challenged all her adult life but a stroke/heart attack took her in 1981 at the age of 83. Grandma, my Dad’s mother, didn’t have an easy life but managed to make it a long one.

Hello, backyard entertainer.

We realized Grandma needed new eyeglasses one Thanksgiving Day. Her pet parakeet, Petey, broke out of his cage, flew through the kitchen and pooped into the turkey gravy. My aunt, horrified, watched Grandma whip the poop with a wisk and blended Petey’s poop perfectly. It was great gravy and no one knew of the secret ingredient except for me and my horrified aunt who told the story after Grandma passed away. I love it! I wish I knew Grandma longer, into my adult years.

Waiting… Cherry Blossoms behind a new nectar feeder.

What happened to me about fifteen years ago, I don’t know. The thought of seeing a physician made me so sick that I kept putting it off and avoided doctors almost completely. I’m not a hypochondriac but for at least the past decade, I’ve been certain I could be terminally ill with one of those diseases that don't have any symptoms.

West Virginia mountains. This is where I broke away from the group for some quiet time. A year ago. Muddlety was magical, even in the rain.

Knowing I needed a good physical exam tormented me so. There were reasons for my delay, always intending to lose some pounds before I made an appointment for a female physical and I always wanted to quit smoking first. Fourteen months ago I struggled to breathe after a short walk downhill to the mailbox and back. That’s when I kicked the habit.

Never minded pain in the dentist’s chair but always scared to death of physicians, their tests, and the possibility of gloom and doom results. I avoided health education in any form – Dr. Oz on the Oprah Show, in particular. Hands over ears, la la la la! Change that channel!

We moved out-of-state twice in five years. Now, that’s real stress which resulted in weight gain and a list of ailments too minor to remember…

They’re coming out from hiding now. All the Ferguses.

Excuses, excuses. I have plenty of them.

Our neighbors in Delaware, Lori and Tom, were an Air Force officer family who moved around the country twelve times in fifteen years with two children, a dog, two cats, a gecko, and a birdie. They moved to Virginia in summer 2005. We moved to North Carolina a month later. Since then, they’ve moved three times. I admire the military families, their strength, the support they show for each other, and their well-rounded personalities. Living next door to that family made Delaware a great time for three years. However, gorgeous Lori, at the age of 36, developed breast cancer during that time. One spring morning we leaned on the fence and chatted about her chemo and all the stress. She, laughing and smiling, was backlit by the rising sun and I remember the horrible knot in my throat as I watched handfuls of her lovely blonde hair drift away in the breeze.

Lori had two sweet boys who mourned the death of a Red-winged Blackbird under a willow oak in their backyard, dug a grave, and sprinkled black oil sunflower seeds over it. They will be very good men.

I’m chicken shit and too afraid of death and dying. Too afraid that no one would care for me if I couldn’t take care of myself any longer.

However.

What happened a month ago, I don’t know, but I found myself sort of trapped in an examining room with a professional slash compassionate female physician who ordered so many tests for me in one hour that I didn’t have time to think about it nor freak out. Eight or ten vials of blood I gave. She knew she’d better get it all done quickly because I might have fled at any moment, waving good-bye and looking back to the front desk from the doorway, “I’ll call and reschedule…Sorry, thank you!”

My blood pressure was elevated. That wasn’t news to me. It’s been high for years and I ignored it.

I need to work on relaxation and learn to allow someone else to drive.

Surrendered.

On Thursday last week, I sucked it up and when back to the doctor to discuss my test results, panic-stricken. Dr. Barbara and I were delighted as it appears I’m not going to die anytime soon. Other than blood pressure meds and a little diet tweaking to help with cholesterol and sugar levels, I’m very good!

Here’s a result that made me cry tears of relief in the doctor’s office, after thirty-seven years of smoking cigarettes:

Chest x-ray: Normal. Good.

Speechless.

I’ll visit a nutritionist next week about the belly fat and I’m certain the visit will be blog worthy, so stay tuned. I’ll have a bone density test in a few weeks. As for the colonoscopy, I can’t seem to get excited about it yet and might need a few glasses of wine before I make that call.

After seeing and hearing my results on Thursday, I felt euphoric and surreal for most of the day until the Morbid Me came back for a few minutes. Thoughts, eyes wide: What if they misread the chest x-rays or the EKG or the mammogram or the paps smear? What if Dr. Barbara withheld bad news to keep me coming back?

Oh, for crying and laughing out loud! ;-)

Underwatercolors

2010-03-21T13:19:00.002-04:00

Welcome to Koi Joy at my house. Some photographs speak for themselves but I can’t resist adding a few words today. This is my 500th post on Mary’s View.

Spring cleaning

reveals our true colors.

Let go of winter's appeal for resting.

Rid.

Rid of the tea water and

old algae that suffocates and clogs.

Rid of sludge and decay

rid of everything that bundles

laugh and smile

because it’s time to be busy with growth,

to get moving,

to see the sun

to feel the heat, and

to get jiggy wid it.

Sow some wild oats!

Free!

Swirl and gush and look

for brighter days.

Ahhhh.

Dance.

Spin on your feet with arms wide open.

Love.

It's Spring, once again.

Licker Sisters

2010-03-16T18:26:00.003-04:00

Recently, a very good friend noted she would rather write about her beloved pet while his warm body sits next to her than to write an obituary.

I’m annoyed right now. I expect Chloe to outlive her life expectancy because I love and care for her so well.

Already deaf and almost blind, the gal often appears confused.

Bella, only six years old, needs a playmate and I’m happy to fill in but I don't run nearly as fast as Chloe used to...

Generous at heart, she'll offer me all of her 237 toys in one evening.

Chloe’s shrinking, losing muscle mass fast, drinking lots of water, and emptying her bladder on the rugs. Her kidneys are failing and there’s nothing we can do except to change her diet and unfortunately, she’s a picky eater.

I don’t know what lies ahead because I’m dwelling on the now. I won’t even Google it. Maybe later.

She’ll be fourteen in June. We’ll have a nice party this year! If Chloe were to choose her birthday cake, it would be Cheezecake sprinkled with bacon bits. I think I can whip up something she'd like. And we'll all wear birthday hats.

Old gal stills gets around nicely with bouncy steps. Lately, though, I’ve seen some scarecrow action in her legs and I really can’t remember the last time I saw her run. Might have been a year ago. I miss that…

Then, I wonder if she will ever stop digging? Often chilled, we can hear her teeth chatter in the next room, like a woodpecker on vinyl siding. Hence, she earned another nickname, “Woody”. I wish she could hear us laugh at her.

And there are days when I want to clunk her on the head, feeling sick and tired of the teeth chattering and whining and the constant following and sitting at my feet. Leave me alone, girl.

Me, on my hands and knees sopping up pee-soaked rugs at 5:15 a.m. and again at 4:30 p.m..

…how ‘bout if I clunk you on the head, Chloe? Maybe you’ll see and hear again if I clunk you hard enough. And stop peeing on the rugs! Dammit.

Damn my impatience and selfishness.

The thought of losing Chloe makes my mind and body ill but the thought of Bella being lonely hurts even more. I watch them bond, still, after six years together.

Bella, who has been happy serving in a lower hierarchy, has stepped up to be the alert dog while still maintaining her peasant status.

This is why I worry for her.

No matter how we lose Chloe, I will need to allow Bella to say good-bye. That one, special, horrible, inevitable day haunts me. I don’t think I can live through taking Chloe for her last ride in the car. Sure, I realize dogs don't grasp the meaning of “good-bye”, but I would definitely want to give Bella the opportunity to sniff 'n kiss her Licker Sister for the last time.

So, for now, I’m planning a birthday party in June with birthday hats, ice cream, cheesey cupcakes, and candles,

Daddy’s making somethin' in the kitchen,

and we’ll get crazy and wiggle tonight!

Through a window

2010-02-28T19:00:00.005-05:00

Been spending time looking through windows this winter.

I remember happy times when I carried a tiny spiral notebook and a tiny pen in my pocket to jot down notes for stories to share on Mary’s View.

That was then.

Now,

I got nothin’. A few photos of birds and snow is what I have to offer.

Heck, this nothing post dangled in front of me for weeks on a canary legal pad before I had the gumption to do something about it. Tonight, I didn't remember how to create a post of words and photos... Pathetic, and I just renewed my flickr account.

A hockey game distracted me. Thanks to Canada and USA!

Here are nice sparrows.

It’s been cloudy and unusually cold for three months.

Then there are the Starlings. They need to eat, too. I'm patient with their poor manners until the ground thaws and bugs emerge.

Spring is near and it’ll charge me, at least that’s my wish. Spring Peepers entertain more often now and affect my mood in a good way. They make me want to sing out loud!

I’m tired of taking pictures through the window.

I want to get outside and wash them!

My Carolina Wrens are on a feeding schedule

and scream when I’m late with my delivery.

The Eastern Bluebirds are like the Wrens.

I love this photo. Bluebird, far away in a tall pine, watching me deliver his Zick dough and worms. Thought: “Come land on my thumb, will ya?”

Soon, I will wean all of the birds from their elaborate menus. I’ll need to do it slowly and gently.

Zick dough is like crack. Brown Thrasher is an addict. See the dough?

Down the hatch, Brown Thrasher. Enjoy!

Most of my suburban backyard birds are found on pages xviii-xxiv of the Stokes Field Guide to Birds, Eastern Region, Quick Guide to the Most Common Birds.

Well. I have had a few uncommon birds, including the Eastern Bluebirds. Not many, however.

I’ve had a Ruby-crowned Kinglet here for a year but haven't been able to grab a pic of her until a few weeks ago. You know how flighty they are.

I feel like I’ve made the Varsity team of backyard birds and I’m honored

but will always acknowledge my regulars who never wander.

I can feel it. There are a few good, urgent, and wordy posts on the way. They’re only distant thoughts right now and many of them won’t have much to do with birds or nature.

Human nature is quite interesting... Maybe I’ll vent or blow a fuse here. That’s always fun.

I’ve been following old Chloe and lonely Bella. There’s a story to tell for them, too.

It's been fun this evening, here on the keyboard with a Patchouli candle burning behind me. Love Patchouli.

Yep. For now, I got nothin’ except the desire to keep this blog alive.

Somehow.

Fly Away, Killdeer!

2010-02-07T18:09:00.004-05:00

11:55 a.m. on Sunday. The mall would open soon. Shoppers were filling the parking lot when a small something caught my attention. And, in turn, I do believe I caught the attention of Mall Security.

There was too much traffic. One of those immature joy-rider types in his beat up and rusted bucket of crap - you know, the one lookin’ like a fool with his pants on the ground, thought it would be fun to flatten a plover. Oh... did he fuel my fire. I went after him on foot.

Flatten me first, idiot. I dare ya.

Oh, no. Fly, little Killdeer!

This is not a good place for you.

But you walk, walk, walk, walk, walk. Stop it! You have wings, you know.

I kindly re-directed another vehicle. They smile and nod. At dinnertime they laugh about the crazy lady on the mall parking lot. I know that few people care about a dead bird.

Killdeer turned around and headed my way. I do have a knack for that.

If you must walk all around, you’re safe with me. Come closer.

Nice dance moves. Cha-cha?

We meet.

Don’t look so worried. I must tell you this…

Be gone from this ugly parking lot! I really need to get inside for my pedicure now so don’t make me worry. Scram!

I'd love to wear horizontal stripes and look so cute.

To the left, Carolina Wren.

2010-01-23T19:19:00.004-05:00

“Everything you own in the box to the left”

Nod and smile. Overhearing a pair of sweet Carolina Wrens in a dispute on the front porch isn’t unusual. Again. They’re at it again. Their warning call, a huge noise from a tiny bird, a raspy eee-eee-eee-eee-eee-eee, is enough to wake a sleeping infant.

Not knowing much about birds in general and Carolina Wrens in particular, I assumed the two were having a lovers’ quarrel. After all, there were two and they seemed to tango. I later learned that was not the case as they are monogamous and rarely “break up”, hence not a lovers’ quarrel. More likely, there was an intruder threatening their space or a hawk nearby, perhaps. I didn’t see a threat to the nest they occupy on the front porch, or a snake, or the Coop who surveys the holly bushes below them. I only saw two snarky Carolina Wrens.

I adore how they prefer living close to the house. They live under the back deck, also. If the door is open, they’ll zip into the garage for a quick inspection. On two occasions, one visited our family room at dinnertime and was smart enough to cooperate with my invitation to freedom. That little Wren escaped through the window I lifted within seconds. Didn’t hesitate. Incredible.

The upturned tail exudes ATTITUDE.

Oooo, she was hot ‘bout something.

Beyonce’s “Irreplaceable” came to mind while I stood behind the dining room blinds to photograph the alleged lovers’ spat. I laughed and remembered a few lines of the lyrics,

“You must not know ‘bout me”…

And here is the poor Wren fearing the wild one on the porch...or so I imagined.

(He) hanging back in a front yard tree for safety while she continued her rant…

Then came her hairy eyeball.

“Go ahead and get gone! Call up that chick, and see if she’s home!”
“Standing in the front yard, telling me how I’m such a fool…”

“You must not know ‘bout me
I could have another you by tomorrow
Don’t you ever for a second get to thinkin’
You’re irreplaceable...”

Onlookers:

What’s up over there? I’m all about peace, dude.

Minding my own business, man.

Precious.

Berry Picking

2010-01-17T19:20:00.003-05:00

A brilliant, golden sunset brought with it a flock of about twenty American Robins.

It’s berry picking time and

they’re plentiful this year. I’ll bet there are a hundred pounds of berries around my home, weighing heavily on their branches.

Yes, there are Eastern Bluebirds to adore.

On the following morning, the sky was dark and the clouds were low. And under the gloomy skies, returned the Robins, along with a small flock of Cedar Waxwings.

It wasn’t a good day for photographs. Cedar Waxwings deserve some sunshine or at least daylight and I was a bit annoyed to miss their full color, stunning beauty. I only see them a few times a year.

It was a day to stay indoors and scrub the bathrooms.

However.

My nose was pressed against the windows too often. I stood in the bathtub and took pictures through a dirty window.

Early that morning, I found more important things to do…

You're welcome, Chicky.

Do I believe they expect certain things? Yes, I do.

The laundry was calling me and the bathrooms were downright screaming for my attention. But... I found reasons to be outdoors.

It was the sort of day I had not witnessed in a year, when all the birds attended homecoming.

Throughout the day, there were American Robins, Northern Cardinals, European Starlings, Brown Thrashers, Eastern Bluebirds, House Finches, Goldfinches, White-throated Sparrows, Northern Mockingbirds, Dark-eyed Juncos, Song Sparrows, Carolina Chickadees, House Sparrows, Downy Woodpecker, Red-bellied Woodpecker, Cedar Waxwings, Pigeons, Tufted Titmice, Yellow-rumped Warblers, Carolina Wrens, a Ruby-crowned Kinglet, Mourning Doves, Red-winged Blackbirds, and a very tiny bird with long legs. It was not much larger than a hummingbird. I only had one look at it’s silhouette on the Zick Dough. Hmmmm…

A warm front arrived and later brought rain.

The birds were super-charged and thirsty.

Through this small wildlife habitat, I think the most satisfaction I receive is when there is life on the pond. It's the center of everything, a lifeline - looking worn and shabby now but it should be that way.

Butter Butt on its way for a sip and dip.

Brown Thrasher is the secretive, modest type who chooses to bathe under the Rosemary curtain where bullfrogs live and was shocked when I flung it open…

I smile and sigh when Robin tilts its head back to swallow

and comments on the temperature of the water to a friend.

Oh, this is all just my silly imagination.

I wish I could have brought a photo of everything here.

Use your imagination. My head was spinning, yet I felt peace.

Bluebirds joined the Robins.

Who cares about the bathrooms? They can wait.

No! Not Goof Off!

2010-01-09T22:30:00.003-05:00

Our brand new candy apple red metallic high efficiency washer and dryer sat in the garage this sub-freezing morning while the installation technicians readied them for the laundry room. It was so frigid that the packing tape adhered like cement to the front loading doors on each and I distinctly heard my husband inquire, “Will Goof Off take it off?” Then I distinctly heard the technician reply, “No, don’t use Goof Off cuz it’ll leave a film on the glass that won’t come off. When they (the machines) warm up inside, just use your fingers to scrape it off.” Alrighty then.

One hour later.

Yoga mat under my arm, I pass the laundry room heading into the garage, on my way to a Body Flow class (Yoga slash Pilates slash Tai Chi) but I caught a glimpse of something to my right that forced me to stop dead in my tracks. Husband, looking seriously contemplative, was standing in front of the machines. He was fidgeting with a few things, in random order – a Scotch pad, several wadded up paper towels and rags, Windex and

GOOF OFF?

No. Disbelief.

Is he flipping out of his mind?!?

I took one step backwards and saw the damage.

My first thought was we're all very fortunate that I’m in a you-can’t-ruffle-my-feathers frame of mind. Otherwise, I would have shot straight up through the roof and exploded in space.

The only words I could muster before I slammed the door behind me were, “You’d better order a new door for that machine and have someone install it because I don’t want you to ever touch it again…blah blah blah…”

Nice, huh?

I let it go. Everyone is entitled to experience a brain fart now and then.

Letting it go is new to me.

In Body Flow class, there’s an overly enthusiastic, know-it-all perky young blonde with slender limbs who can contort her body like no other. I’ll even stop my balancing act to watch her perform. It doesn’t matter that I stop because I can't maintain my balance anyway. During the balancing track I can look around to see what I can’t do. Hey, but that’s OK. I let it go.

The perky gal had the audacity to ask the teacher, “Why don’t we do inversions?” Yes, she meant as in standing on your head and I almost choked. The teacher reminded her that the class is for everyone and not everyone can stand or should stand on their heads. Oh, I wanted to be bold enough to laugh out loud; however, I let it go, but I would love to fake leaning into her and watch her topple over during her Sun Warrior pose. Yeah!

I replied to an invitation to come to a Body Pump class (intense exercise with weights), “When I can bend over without grunting and kiss my knees again, I’ll join you in Body Pump.” And that’s the way it is.

I need a new figure.

Getting fit is hard work and I’m not too good at folding myself into a pretzel shape. My middle region gets in the way.

I keep going.

And letting it go. My embarrassment, at times...

Those darn birds won’t let me near them anymore.

I don’t care. Instead of getting frustrated, I let it go.

They’ll warm up to me again.

Hoodies, come here! Come baaaaack! (kicking dirt, dammit) ;-)

Considering 2010

2009-12-31T14:08:00.004-05:00

2010 has been on my mind more often than any other new year. I've been getting serious about age and mortality and all that. There are more lifestyle changes on my 2010 agenda, but for the most part, everything will remain the same.

I’ll kick and scream about whatever I want and deliver ranting, awful posts here when they’re due. To offset the terrible stuff, I’ll be happy to tell a nice story when the mood strikes me.

Some things will never change. For instance,

my forever love of birds, nature, and photography.

For a Bluebird, I’ll always slow down and admire them. I can’t not stop and watch a Bluebird and listen to its sweet melody. It’s the little things – life’s small pleasures – that are worth my time. Isn’t it sad to know that little bird is invisible to about nine out of ten people driving to and from the shopping mall? Perhaps they're too busy texting to notice.

If I’m feeling miserable

I’ll seek out my Boston Terriers who make me smile every few minutes.

Uh oh. One lawn ornament is different from the others.

I’ll take good photos but also appreciate ones that aren’t so good, as they were taken for a reason. They’re images of my own exciting moments, silly as they may be.

I saw a white plastic bag I thought might be a Snowy Owl… what an adrenaline rush.

I don’t care how smart they are. I’ll continue to feed my pigeons and gripe and complain about them until the day I die. I’d name a few other species here but I don’t want to push the card too far, even though I could.

Regardless of the position of the sun, I’ll stop and admire a hawk, knowing that I’ll get a fantastic shot of one real soon to add to my collection. I’ve learned to be a bit more patient in 2009 and that’s a notable accomplishment for this Aries personality.

If that hawk shot doesn’t come

when Coop races overhead in pursuit of a meal,

I’ll shiver at the sound of fabric ripping

power

and sigh deeply at the wonder of it all.

If I can invent ways to have more time for doing things other than work, I’ll practice photographing birds in flight. Perhaps I should learn to use my camera first, after I learn how to invent more time.

I curse the most during times like this.

Northern Mockingbirds will forever be close to my heart.

I will always drop my bags on the driveway and hold my camera, just to get shots like these. Let the snobby neighbors wonder what I’m up to. Mockingbird examined me curiously as if I were a nut. I laughed and talked to this bird for five minutes or more as it perched on our golfer in the front yard. And here it goes:

Me: Well, good morning. I see you over there. It’s only me, the grape lady. Yes, we’ve met.

Bird: You’re a kook with a capital K.

Me: HA! Yes, I’m a kook. I don’t mind if you rest on that kind looking man but will you stay for a few minutes?

Bird: Alrighty then. I have a little surprise for you and this kind looking man, too.

Me: (snickering) Ok, let’s have it.

Bird: Ahhh. Get this from another angle, too, grape lady. You may zoom in a bit.

Me: I like your style, Mocker. You have personality with a capital P.

If you have not had a conversation with a backyard bird, please do. They listen. Live a little in 2010.

Lastly, I will continue to put it right out here whenever I can. I stopped the car for the sole reason to take this snapshot because, you see, I can’t help the irrational way I feel. I’ve been thinking about it for many years but never said this before. There’s a lot to be sad about in this wild world, however,

every year, there are unwanted, leftover, horizontal Christmas trees wasted on deserted, trampled lots, and I feel very sad for them. They provided shelter for birds and stood lovely and vertical for years! They had a life once and we took it away.

Now, I’m stepping backwards,

slowly and quietly,

into another room,

and I’m closing the door.

Ya’ll talk about me all you want cuz I won't hear you. I understand.

Happy New Year. Live well, laugh, love, and stomp your feet whenever you want.

;-)