More on Scrub Jays

No, I did not mean moron scrub jays because they are not. But I have figured out the segregation issue. Well, my mother helped me. First, I bought a new apartment building kind of bird feeder with 12 feeding stations. Second, I bought two more varieties of bird food. Third, my mother suggested that we dump the water and put just sunflower seeds in the former bird bath. It worked. The jays fight each other over the sunflower seeds while the smaller, nicer birds have a jolly time visiting and eating at the apartment. Segregation can be a very good thing.

Fall right on the dot

That's when fall came to Silver City--right on the dot of September 22, the official first day of fall. Chilly. Mid-40s in the early morning and mid-60s by afternoon. It's really kind of nice because my bedroom hasn't been above 77 for awhile. And fall is in the air in other ways too. The feel of it, the greedy birds at the feeder, the sun sliding south bit by bit. At 3:30pm there's still no sun coming in my window.

But back to the greedy birds. We have scrub jays here in Silver City, and I am beginning to feel about them as I feel about the magpies in Boise. Big, greedy (did I mention that?), pushy, noisy birds. Bullying their way to the feeders, pushing the nice smaller birds away and down to the ground where they pick and peck at the seeds the jays fling out in their search for the sunflower seeds. They are striking birds, like the magpies are. Bright blue on head and back with some gray and a bit of white. But they needn't think I'm going to fall for their big, handsome selves. I'm too old for that.

I am trying to figure out how to segregate them. I need to run a separate but equal bird feeding operation here. I will allow them to share the drinking water, though.

Any ideas?

One for the books...

This morning, my mother and I went to the monthly book sale held by the Friends of the Silver City Library. I was browsing through the paperbacks right next to a woman doing the same thing. Her husband was browsing for her at another table. He said, "Here's a V.C. Andrews." She said, "I've read all those." A minute later, he said, "How about this?" She went over to look at the book and said to him, "It's the second book in a 'treeology.' I don't want that." I stood pondering the term treeology. If I hadn't been where I was--at a book sale--I would've thought it was a specialized branch of botany. But context is everything, they say.

9-11-09

Eight years ago this morning, I got to school about 7:30 and passed another teacher in the hall who told me an airliner had crashed into the World Trade Center in New York. Oh dear, I said, and went on to my classroom. I turned on the TV to look for some news. The story unfolded then, to my shock and distress and fear.

I drove home that afternoon, passing car after car after truck after truck with Old Glory, our beloved flag, taped to doors and windows, flapping from antennas. I went on my walk in the eerie silence of quiet, blue skies.

This morning, I got my commemorative silver coins out of their black, velvet boxes, and examined them. The first has "God Bless America" and the twin towers engraved on one side, and "'Land of the Free,' '...One Nation Under God Indivisible With Liberty and Justice For All,' September 11, 2001" on the other. The second is engraved with the Tribute In Light for the missing towers, a timeline of events from 8:45am through 5:25pm, followed by "This coin will only be struck until April 13, 2002 when the lights will be turned off."

I weep for the horror of it, for the terror of it, for the brief blooming of patriotic love and determination that followed it. All these are, I hope, as the card says--"Lost, but not forgotten."

09-09-09

Yes, it's oh-niner oh-niner oh-niner today. A date none of us will see again. It will come around, of course, in 2109, but I'll be dessicated beyond belief by then. So what did I do today to celebrate this once-in-a-lifetime event? I got up at 6:30, went to Curves AND walked, worked on my talk for church, took my mother to the newish Trader Joe's-like place here, went on to WalMart (wouldn't want to miss that on a day like this), and then on to Wendy's for lunch (chili w/cheese and onions, side salad, baked potato), ending up at Tinda's for a haircut. It rained hard while I was there, but not as hard as it rained yesterday at the same time. Yesterday's was a momentous rain--huge drops pounding, pounding, a 6-foot wide river racing down Hudson as I drove up it--but only countable drops on the cement at my house when I got home. Very localized (I live maybe 1 1/2 miles from the flood on Hudson), and probably somewhat like today's date--momentous for some and gone unnoticed by others. I will complete the celebration by going to a choir practice at church for a funeral tomorrow, then coming home to watch Melanie Oudin beat the pants off whoever she's playing at the US Open. A good, all-around oh-niner kind of a day.

Not about plantar warts

So, what do you do?? I know you can't answer me unless I tell you the "about what" part, and I'm not sure if I want to do that because it would take up probably months of your time and mine. I'm crossways with myself today and would be better off alone. However, that isn't an option for me, ensnared as I am by the invisible but ever so strong cross-currents that wrap this household in a tight web.
Instead, I'll say this about that (as my friend used to--and may still--say)--at least some can see their plantar warts. I can only feel mine.