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Thursday, May 26, 2005
Crazy Old Lady
This morning those nest-robbing crows came back. I was sitting right here where I can see the front porch out of the corner of my eye while I use the computer. Flap, flap, flap. Oh, NO!!! In my nightgown, hair all crazy, feet bare, chihuahua yapping at my heels, I rushed out onto the front porch yelling, screaming and waving my arms over my head. This happened at the height of rush hour, the time when cross-town business traffic takes advantage of the fact that you can get from Old Dominion University at one end of 38th Street, straight across to the Virginia Zoo at the river, you can buzz across town with only a couple of traffic lights to slow you down. This street is always busy but during A.M. and P.M. rush hours, the pavement facing my porch is full of cars. There I was making a fool of myself. A street packed with drivers waiting at the Colley light looked at me in horror, concern, surprise, amusement, disgust, outrage; expressions as varied as the assumptions supporting them. Someone's insane relative, slipped her leash, a goofy old weirdo, pathetic senior citizen in need of supervision... you see, they couldn't see what I saw...a small nest resting on top of the ugly dead hanging plant, a nest with one tiny baby bird threatened by big bully crows. I did indeed make a fool of myself, but it was another win for baby bird. The crows stayed very briefly. Smart birds. Maybe they remember me from the other day, the person determined to wait them out no matter what. I can't be embarrassed out of something I intend to do. If in defense of a baby bird my house becomes the place to watch for crazy lady sightings, so what? That might be fun; create an urban legend and feed it.
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
AAAAAARRRRRGGGGHHHH!
You have to try it. If no one has ever before offered you a chance to do Petals Around The Rose, now is your lucky moment. Someone sent me this link and I tried the game. Having no tolerance for frustration, not any at all, I gave up after five minutes and called Lydia and Dan who both "got it" immediately. Then, when I knew the answer, I felt like a dodo. See how you do.
Getting Mad
I prefer not to know about bad things I can't fix. Sometimes, though, unwelcome information sneaks by my defenses. The other day I read that in all of Hampton Roads... that is this urban southeast corner of Virginia... only 16 black male public high school seniors have a GPA of 3.0 or better. Further, less than 50% of all black children graduate from high school. These problems were attributed to teacher prejudice against blacks. This was so ridiculous that I chose not to believe it. Since then I have learned that these statements are true.
Where are the parents? They should be up on their hind legs, demanding a public purge of purtainant personnel.
Gang Warfare On 38th Street
A while ago pansy baskets hanging on my front porch met a cruel fate when a pair of mocking birds built their nest on top of the flowers in one basket. Since I couldn't water the flowers, they kaboomed. Yes, I could have maintained the non-nest basket, but, oh, well. It's hot weather now, anyway and pansy time is over.
So there's been this one ugly basket hanging out there, draggly brown plant stems hanging down. My first thought was to throw away the nest, but when I saw a tiny egg, I decided to respect the effort of those little birds. They have faithfully kept their egg warm. I wondered if the egg hatched but feared to look in case that might drive the parents away.
Yesterday I was shocked to see big black crows flapping around on my porch. What in the world? Aha! One of them tried to effect a landing on the nest basket. I surprised myself with the speed at which I tore out onto the porch, shaking my fist and screaming. The crows were surprised, too and flew off the porch but not by much. They sat on a nearby bush, assessed my committment the nest. One crow tried to get back on the porch with me standing right there. The nerve!! I didn't dare to leave.
Lydia came out, too, and asked, "Did the egg hatch yet?" So, I took down the basket and looked. Yep. There was one small baby bird with it's mouth open, soliciting regurgitated insects. Could the crows have intended to eat a baby bird? I didn't know that crows were like that. Whatever they had in mind, they weren't going anywhere. I yelled and clapped my hands, pounded on the porch railing. From the bush they stared insolently back at me. Lydia volunteered to run over to church and get one of the life sized puppets she made and set it on a porch rocker as a scare crow. I told her to forget it. Crows not frightened of a live person jumping, clapping, screaming and yelling at them, would not be impressed with a puppet. Eventually the crows gave up and moved on. I went back into the house.
No, they had not moved on. They had faked me out. I no sooner sat down in my living room, than the crows returned to the porch, flapping around the nest basket. BAM!! I was right back out there jumping and yelling and waving my arms. Again they stayed. So did I. Finally they gave up. I went indoors. They came back. So did I. I wished that I could have just taken the basket into the house with me, but the little parent birds would not have understood. AT LAST the crows flew away and stayed gone.
I got busy and forgot about them until Benny was out showing me how he rides his new bike. Standing on the porch to watch him, I heard a bird fuss come down the street. There were the crows flying toward me again, this time chased by a mob of little birds; mocking birds, robins, starlings, several pigeons, and a blue jay. The small birds co-operated to chase away nest robbers. It was quite an aerial ballet. Little birds attacked when they could, pecked at the crows and then wheeled away out of range. It all went by my house at about second story level, turned and came back. Took them a while, and required a great effort but the little birds won and the crows gave up. Later on I saw a parent bird feeding the baby.
So far, Little Bird Gang---1/ Crow Gang---0. I hope the crows don't return at a time when I'm not around to run them off or when the little bird gang isn't up to strength.
Benny And The Bike
One to the best things I've seen recently was Benny on his new little bike. Yesterday Lydia and the kids spent the afternoon with me. Benny from time to time checked the view from the window. He worried that rain would prevent him from showing me that he can ride his new bike. Rain fell and fell and fell and fell and fell.
Eventually Sadie's nap time came and she went upstairs into her away from home crib. Benny played all kinds of video games. He played with a toy car. He had an ice cream treat. He checked the window again and again. The rain never stopped entirely...drizzle, drip, pour, drizzle...
At last Lydia said, "Benny, if you get ready, I'll take you out for a short ride on your bike. I don't think the rain is ever going to stop today, but it isn't too bad right now. "
He broke the land speed record for putting on a pair of shoes and a bike helmet.
Lydia took the lovely new bicycle out of the back of the van. Oh, my, it's gorgeous, blue with lime green stripes.
Benny shouted, "Watch ME, Ahno. I can ride it."
And he did. Up the sidewalk and down the sidewalk, back and forth and back and forth. Given the nature of this neighborhood, Lydia was right beside him every spin of the wheel. She ran up and down and up and down and up and down.
Benny's face was as if a lamp were lit up inside of him. He just adores his new bicycle. Oh, the happiness and pride amd joy. I have never seen a child enjoy a new bicycle so much. When Lydia was little, I got a nice pink bike for her, but each time she rode it, I suggested the excursion. She didn't care for it all the much. Benny, in contrast, loves his bike as much as if it were a new puppy. It is his reward for fulfilling the 50-day violin practice challenge. This is the most meaningful reward a little boy could imagine. At home, Benny's bike sits beside Dan's racing bicycle near the front door. Benny put a chair in front of his little blue bike and told his mother, "This is for me to sit on when I check my bike to be sure it's OK." He sits on the chair from time to time and stares at the bike with love in his eyes.
It would not surprise me to learn that Benny has every toy available to a little boy in the Western Hemisphere on Planet Earth and he would be just as happy without most of that stuff. I know for a fact that some of the very expensive things he got for Christmas a couple of years ago are still unopened in the original boxes. The new bike...now that is a palpable hit. Worth every penny. He was not promised any reward, but when he did such a good job of the challenge, Dan and Lydia decided to make a memorable occasion out of his success.
The sermon I heard on Sunday was about parenting. In order to raise a child safe from temptation to do the kinds of things that destroy a life, the minister said it's important to constantly repeat, "I love you. I'm proud of you. You're wonderful. You just did a great job..." He also said, "When a kid does something really good, shake the moths out of your wallet and spend money on whatever the child considers to be a reward. That's not a bribe. It's an investment in the adult you want the child to become. Don't make promises. Do reward." Dan and Lydia didn't hear this advice, but they didn't need it.
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
Inconvenient Sense Of Duty
Last night exhaustion somehow sneaked by the evil little no-sleep application in my brain circuitry. I slept for much of the night.
Then at 5:00 A.M. I woke up to find Pork Chop sitting on top of the covers beside me, looking into my face, making small worried noises. This does not happen. Once I actually get into bed for the night, Porkee is down under the covers fast asleep. That dog is a champion sleeper. She can go to sleep on a dime, BOOM! she's asleep. Any time I sit down, she's immediately on my lap and asleep. Especially, though, if I put on my nightgown and climb into bed, that's it for LaPork until the next morning. Not so, though, for me. Which is why I leave the TV on all night. I need something to think about besides the ideas whirling around and around in my head like hamsters on a little wheel.
So there it was, the almost-crack of dawn, and on TV some silly guy asked people questions about the most abvious things, apparently trying to prove that his "guests" were idiots since they knew nothing about anything. And there was Porketty ChopChop worrying audibly into my face. Once in a while, to emphasize her distress, she raised a tiny paw and patted my face. Well, this was just entirely unheard-of behavior. Still sleepy, but curious, I sat up and asked her, "What's the matter?"
She hopped down off the bed and went to stand in the hallway at the top of the stairs, looking back at me as if to say, "Come ON!"
My gracious. There had to be something terrible going on that I didn't know about.
I groaned my way out of bed and down the stairs. Aha. Half-way down the stairs, I began to hear it, some kind of dreadful wailing. The farther I was from the upstairs TV, the better I heard it. Terrible screams and wails of the most extreme kind. Shocking.
I peeked out from between the blinds into the street. Nothing. No little lost child trying to get help. Hm. What could be the problem?
Then I got it. That had to be two mating raccoons. They make noises like crying, screaming children...very much like mating cats only much more so and louder. I have heard this all before. At the farm in Pa. sometimes on a summer night I have heard those hideous, hair-raising screams and yowls from the woods. Raccoons in reproductive mode.
So what was I to do? Pork Chop had no idea what made that noise but she felt obliged to go outside and shut it down. She was at the door, shivering and shaking, scared, if also determined to do her dogly duty. I tried to hush her up, but no luck. The more I tried to quiet her, the louder she barked and raged. That noise had to GO. She, Porkee, as the only dog around, needed to do something about the howls and yowls.
Well, I wasn't going to get any rest unless I took her out, but I worried that her barking would wake the neighbors. Also, I feared that the raccoons might take it into their heads to do battle with a chihuahua at the other end of a leash from me. I could see where the raccons were because my neighbor to the rear has motions sensor lights over his garbage cans. Those light had turned on and off several times in the moments since I came downstairs. Way too close for comfort.
Finally, I just grabbed the leash and out we went.
Porkee did NOT bark. She very quietly growled her way around the yard until satisfied that whatever bad things were out there did not inhabit the space for which she feels responsible. Also, there was no further noise from the raccoons.
So, we came back indoors and went upstairs again to bed. Porkee was instantly asleep. I watched re-runs.
No, Joanna. Just no.
Advice given to me forty years ago went like this, "Keep it all simple. Don't allow your life to be complicated." Every now and then I have to revisit that long ago wisdom.
Over time, activities, committments, choices, intentions...grow up so high that I can't see out. The panic attacks begin.
I am my only enemy. All these dramas I inflict on myself. No one makes me say that I will do this, that, and the other. I volunteer...with the best of intentions. Then the anxiety; how am I going to do any of it?
Right now I'm desperate about a project re. chihuahuas. I started on the things I have to do, but all of it seems so complicated. I want to make chihuahua slippers for four children...little slippers with a chihuahua head on the front of each and a tail on the back of the foot. Then I want to make a little back pack with a velcroed-on chihuahua puppet for each of those children.
Finally I want each child to have a t-shirt with a chihuahua printed on the front. Worry, worry, worry.
The thing is, I can't make the chihuahua the way I see it in my head. As a matter of fact I can't choose which chihuahua image to use. Yesterday when Benny was here, we drew chihuahuas for the second time. I think my effort came out a bit better than the previous attempt. Here it is.
The pattern I made for the slippers came out this way...
I suppose this is going to be another instance of me frantically just diving in and doing one of these projects because the stress of worrying about them is too much. I don't, however, really have any idea how to do what I want to do.
See? That's how it goes. I talk myself into a predicament and then I have panic attacks about how to do what I said I'd do. Nothing new, been doing it all my life. Every time I start another project, I say to myself, "I will never, ever, so long as I live get myself into another mess like this."
Sunday, May 22, 2005
Fooooooooood
It's one thing to follow a recipe and produce a lovely, appreciated result. Quite another thing to go alone through the endless choices, myriad flavors, and create an all-new and far-too-good dish. My aim, always , is to accomplish the second alternative.
Today after I woke up early, I watched my favorite minister on TV. He always preaches for an hour, and I love it. What a brain, what a talent. It is the Reverend Courtney McBath. Oh, my goodness, how entertaining, original, and intelligent he is. On his program there is not a word of begging for money. It's all about fixing the human race, one person at a time. The guy is a genius.
Then Lydia called and invited me out onto the Netzer family boat for the rest of the day. She teased, "Don't you want to see eyeball to eyeball
with dolphins?"
My answer, "No. I want to see dolphins on TV, if at all. I at all times want a solid floor under my feet, not endless deeps of water." We go through this dance nearly every nice weather weekend.
After she stopped pretending to be surprised that I could give the boat trip a miss, I asked her, "On your way home afterwards, would you like to stop here for supper?"
She admitted that she would like that and asked what was on the menu. I told her , "Cabbage and pork and potatoes." He-he-he-he-he.
Of course, I have no intention of making anything so fall asd winter as that. This is a lovely, hot, summer day and it calls for salad meals.
After deliberation I have decided to make shrimp salad and also a molded strawberry jello salad complete with fresh strawberries and whipped cream.
So many choices, so little time. I had no idea how many shrimp salad recipes existed on the internet.
After thought, I am going to make a salad which includes the following items; pasta, minced celery, shrimp, hard-cooked eggs, mayonnaise, lemon juice, cut-up Spanish olives, minced onion, mustard, minced green peppers, fine-cut carrots, salt and pepper, and sweet pickle relish.
Let's hope that those hungry Netzers, fresh from a whole day on the ocean will like what they find.
I intended to make crab cakes and grill them, but could not find enough locally caught crab at my local store. I mean I couldn't find enough fresh crab which lacked it's exoskeleton. No way do I want to spend this beautiful afternoon prying bits of crab outsides off the underlying meat.
Saturday, May 21, 2005
Roofers
The house being built across the street, it needed better roofing than plywood. With all the recent rain, that plywood must have begun to swell. Finally today a roofing 'company' showed up. It was a shabby little old Econoline van with the top nearly invisible under a forest of ladders. Five little men got out, no, not Leprechuans, little skinny Hispanic individuals gabbling loudly to one another in rapid-fire Espanol. One of these was clearly a kid too young to go up on the roof. Another seemed to have something wrong with him. First he sat down on a pile of lumber, took off his shoes and socks, and played with his toes. Then he put his shoes back on, but strolled around the house with his shirt half on/half off, held down at waist level by his arms. Now and then he sat down and appeared to suffer from abdominal cramp. That left three workers. They tore into the job as though it would be their last chance to prove to St. Peter that they deserve to go to Heaven. My, the frantic scramble. Since the work began well after noon, I assumed that they were just on hand to set up for tomorrow. Not so. In less than three hours, those three little men completely tar-papered the roof, cleaned up the site, repacked their van, and disappeared. At first I watched their progress, than gave it up as too scary. They showed no regard for their safety, leaped from section to section. Stood upside down pounding nails on an eighty percent grade. A man below threw material up to a fellow above who jumped to catch while standing on steep roof with no safety equipment of any kind. They just leaped around like mountain goats. It was sickening to see. Each minute I was sure that I would witness an ugly fall. Didn't happen. They are such a small "company" that their rusty old van had no lettering on the side. I guessed that this means they are illegal Mexican workers, going around doing roofing jobs like other migrant workers travel to pick fruit and veg. Good workers, though. Outstanding.
In today's paper I see that Mexican president Vicente Fox is in trouble with the NAACP for saying, "America needs the Mexican worker who will do work that not even blacks will take on." Blacks, of course, are furious about the word EVEN, and it was a silly, demeaning thing to say. I have no idea whether a black roofing company was offered that job or whether they would have taken it if offered. I do know that there are very few people of any race who could have accomplished a neat, efficient tar-paper roof on that entire house in three hours with only three speedy little workers. Those men deserve a chance to work in the USA. Actually, they're too darn good for this country. Nobody else here works like that. The only thing an American worker might hold against them is that if they lived here all the time, no contractor would want to hire anyone else.
An all-black crew did the masonry. An all-white crew framed the building. Now an all-Hispanic crew papered the roof. Of the three groups, if I were a contractor, I'd try to get a permanent lock on the services of those roofers. All three crews did a good job, but the roofers were unbelievable.
Joanna Of The Jungle
Last night I woke up briefly to see a silhouette cross the roof outside my window. Looked like a very large raccoon. I went back to sleep.
Today neighbors recited an endless litany of raccoon and opossum invasions. The consensus? It's only a matter of time before I, like everyone else, meet animals right here in the house. I heard about raccoons which fight cats for their food...raccons which wake people up at night foraging in the garbage tub and then banging the lid down...raccoons that climb up on the porch to sit with people on nice summer evenings, brushing against their hosts kind of like cats do.
I heard about opossums that live in a house for months, hiding in spaces between the upstairs floors, coming out at night to graze around the kitchen for scraps in the sink and garbage can. Opossums that cheekily just move into the house, that have to be chased out with a broom. Then there was the opossum that slept under a little girl's bed. The family kept chasing it out and away, but it always came back. They knew when the opossum was snoozing under the bed, because its long, bald tail stuck out from under the bedskirts.
I heard about an empty house on the next street, a house empty of furniture but full of live raccoons.
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