Birds in my Hood

This has been an amazing spring for birdwatching. I've observed pairs of European collared doves, red-winged blackbirds, goldfinches, crows, sharp-shinned hawks, and a family or two of house finches -- all near my front porch feeder. (The hawks swung by to pick off a couple of those house finches while I was sitting quietly on the porch watching. Yikes!) And I have been privileged to listen to some barred owls, sometimes in my own back yard. Another yikes! Most of these birds were visible because I've been at home. A lot.

Once in a while, walks have been allowed. Yesterday, needing to get OUT, I went to a nearby natural area to walk and take photos of flowers and maybe birds. As it happens, the birds were out in force, and several of them posed for me. Yay!

Pretty sure I heard this Anna's hummingbird feeding her babies!

All right, not a bird -- but it was flying.

Just hanging out here, having a flicker moment.

Song sparrow in full-throated splendor.

Done! I'm outta here.

In plain sight!

Common yellowthroat kept chirping, but was hiding in the tree except for this one-second opportunity.

I didn't focus well, but I think this is a turkey vulture.

And now I can't remember what this towhee was saying...

"G" Authors -- Going to Work, Going Home, Going Criminal?

Author's note: A couple of years ago, my library system added blog posts to our website. Many of the posts were short collections of book reviews, often following a theme. I tried writing a few of these, but never felt like I could keep up with the thought-provoking themes of my librarian colleagues. It was a good challenge, a growth opportunity, and I was honored to have been selected to write for our site. After a few successes, and several wadded-up-and-thrown-in-the-trashcan failures, I realized that what I needed was my old writing partner to get me going again. Enter Polo! 

All of the books reviewed here are available as downloadable audiobooks.


Making Jack Falcone

Joaquin Garcia

A real-life story of the mob, crime, punishment, and maybe justice. Joaquin Garcia is a hulk of an FBI agent who was able to infiltrate one of the biggest crime families on the East Coast. There are scenes of violence, crude language, and every bit of illegal behavior you’d expect to find in a book on this subject. What was most surprising to us, though, was how Mr. Garcia (six feet four inches tall, weighing in at three hundred pounds or more) kept from being recognized over the course of several years and a handful of aliases.

Polo’s thoughts: “Apparently the Mafia doesn’t run Lab tests. One sniff would have sent them running from this ‘Jack Falcone’ guy. Woof!”

Sous Chef

Michael Gibney

Subtitle: 24 Hours on the Line

We picked up this one because one of our favorite people works in a dining establishment of multiple star rating (that is, a classy restaurant). Our person has told stories of stress and intensity, of being slammed with customers and of coworkers who don’t take their turns polishing silver or buffing the glassware. We wanted to see inside a kitchen, and this book gave us that view. Let the listener beware – very salty content.

Polo’s insight: “No wonder my man is exhausted on his days off! The noise and action is too much. I enjoy my kibbles in our own quiet house, thank you very much.”

Mrs. Pollifax Pursued

Dorothy Gilman

(narrated by Barbara Rosenblat)

We enjoy listening to Barbara Rosenblat, and Katharine read all of the Mrs. Pollifax books many years ago. The best thing about Mrs. Pollifax? She’s full of surprises! She dabbles in martial arts, travels extensively to obscure locations, keeps secrets, makes friends, and stirs up trouble while uncovering world-class villains. While she is utterly lovable, she is a force to be reckoned with – but the bad guys never suspect!

Polo’s perception: “Mrs. Pollifax seems like a cat – but a good one, sneaking up on bad guys. She’s all good!”

Camino Island

John Grisham

Although we usually skip bestselling authors (because their books are already in demand, it’s not like they need more publicity, and we like to suggest things that might not be on your radar), we had to choose another “old favorite” and go with Grisham. The story did not disappoint. Great setting, interesting characters, and a plot that is part mystery, part normal life.

Polo’s pondering: “There’s a dog here, but the dog doesn’t get to participate much except to walk on the beach. I like beach. Good story.”

The Stranger Game

Peter Gadol

Pick a stranger, follow them, but don’t let them see you, and see how far you can get away from your own humdrum life routines. The “game” goes from innocent to edgy to… murder??? For the duration of this audiobook, every time I (Katharine) was out alone somewhere, I was tempted to play the game myself. Who doesn’t want to watch, to imagine a story about a person, to throw yourself into an innocent but secret mission?

Polo’s regrets: “I watch people all the time, in front of my house. I’d follow them, too – but I would also bark to let them know I’m here. I’m always ready to play!”

Triggers

Marshall Goldsmith

Eye-opening reminder that I am not in absolute control of my reactions, habits, and go-to behaviors. That sounds harsh, but this author really is gentle. We all have personal triggers – tone of voice, physical tics, even childhood memories – that arouse anger or sadness, fear or compassion. The book is full of helpful advice and real-life examples of both good and not-so-good behavior. Goldsmith takes things to an extreme for himself – he suggests paying someone to be your accountability partner, calling them at the end of every day to rate yourself in a number of areas of concern. I guess that would be like a dieter doing a weigh-in, with an observer holding a clipboard and writing down every scale reading. You don’t have to follow every suggestion in this book, but you’ll probably find insight, encouragement, and challenge here. I did.

Polo’s response: “Squirrel? Trigger! Crow? Trigger! I must bark my loudest at every bad invader! Why would I want to change? Oh – you said dog biscuit? Play with toy? Well…”

The End of the Suburbs

Leigh Gallagher

Polo and I live in the suburbs. Very happily, we thought. But this study of “new urbanism” and other trends of residential life introduced us to different ideas (and ideals) of sustainability, walkability, and community. Descriptions of large, planned communities are appealing, in some ways, and made us reconsider the style of population density to which we are accustomed. Among our extended family, there are people who live right in the city and people who live more than five miles away from a small town, covering a range of lifestyle choices and opportunities. Very eye-opening to ponder the variety of situations that we in North America call home.

Polo’s observation: “I like my yard. I like my neighbor’s yard. I don’t like cars or buses or busy streets. I don’t even like neighbors walking on my part of the street. Woof!”

Penthouse Real Estate in Heronville

I went walking near home today... and even though I'm not ready for spring to start, it's clear that other folks are more than ready. Here's the local heron rookery, sizing up the nesting situation and occasionally bronking at the neighbors. Amazing to see so many herons at once. That's part of the beauty of winter, you know -- no leaves on the trees, obstructing the views.

Is There Such a Thing as "Codependent Anti-Humility"?

What's the opposite of humility? And by humility, I mean the good, genuine variety.

Humility means not thinking too highly of oneself, or not thinking too much of oneself.

Anti-humility can be typified by super-inflated ego, a person who thinks every good thing is attributable to them. It's easy to think of examples of this person, right?

What about a person who thinks every little bad thing (burnt toast, being late for an appointment, forgetting to buy milk on the way home from work) is his/her fault? In a way, this is also thinking "too much" or -- more precisely -- too often of oneself.

The person who thinks the world owes him continual thanks for his wonderfulness is deceived. But so is the one who lives in a perpetual state of apology. The toast was burnt? Maybe the old toaster is losing its timing. Late for an appointment? Maybe an accident tied up traffic. Forgot the milk? After a long day at work, it's no surprise that the only thing on your mind is getting HOME.

Humility, in light of emotional well-being, is a balance between the extremes of over-inflation and painful deflation. It's being okay with things as they are. Being okay with me, as I am.

I Miss Blogging

Hi! Welcome back -- and I'm not sure if I mean that for you or for myself. I think about this blog often, but there are other things grabbing my attention and time these days. Blogging just kind of drops off the list, you know? Some amazing things have been happening, especially in my family. This has never been too precise of a blog-o-log, though, as I didn't want it to be all about me. So much easier (and less personal) to have the dogs write it.

So, you ask, what about the dog? Polo is well and happy. He has a bum knee that will not allow him to go on walks unless he has surgery. There's plenty to do at home, thankfully -- and staying home means no car entrapment! Polo specializes in home protection. Squirrels, cats, pugs, and children on bicycles are all kept at bay by the sheer power of his bark. Oh, and also neighborhood ducks, raccoons, possums, coyotes, motorcycles, and trucks. And some of my friends.

When he's not barking at all passers-by, he may be found sunning himself on the back deck or lounging inside on the couch. We're all about his comfort.

Why is it I don't have much to write about? Oh, well. Polo might end up writing the same thing every day. Maybe that's not a bad thing.

My First Tattoo!

I am afraid to make up my mind. I'm a perfectionist.

These two statements form the foundation for my reluctance to get a tattoo. There may or may not be biblical reasons against permanent body markings, but I'm not going there. For me, it's my personal hang-ups. How could I choose something to place on my skin forever?

It would be impossible for me to choose a design, first of all. Should my tattoo be an image, or text? If an image, realistic or artistic? If text, what words and what kind of font?

Then there's the artist. Allowing someone to permanently  ink me would require my complete trust in that person's competence, artistry, and commitment.

Most serious of all is my tendency to dig at my own imperfections. One might call this obsession. When I write, I edit... and edit... and edit... until I choose to hit "send" and walk away. When I knit, I plan on making two or three dry runs at a project until I'm satisfied that it looks good enough to continue. When I draw, I compose geometric figures, because I cannot replicate the intricacies I see in my mind.

If I were to get a tattoo, I would obsess over it, learning every dot and line. Measuring, comparing, evaluating detail upon detail, until I realized the flaws. And the next logical step is to see only the flaws. I'm afraid I would hate the whole thing, just for the sake of one millimeter of ink.

On the other hand, random imperfection is the silent asset of the greatest artistry of all: God's creation. A mountain is beautiful thanks to the jaggedness of its ridges. Towering Douglas fir trees are not mirror images of one another. One bird has more red plumage than its siblings.

Yes, there's the whole body-image thing. Talk about hang-ups! But I am learning to accept myself as I am, not arguing with my Maker or trying to bargain with Him to remove this trait or those few inches. Either my physical being matters not a whit (because it's the spiritual stuff that endures), or the stuff that bugs me is allowed to help me to practice patience and graciousness.

          For Thou didst form my inward parts;
          Thou didst weave me in my mother's womb.
          I will give thanks to Thee, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
          Wonderful are Thy works,
          And my soul knows it very well. 

I have a pile of my mother's DNA, and a touch of my father's, but I have been crafted by the Master and it's all good.

Oh, and my tattoo? It's just a temp, a free henna opportunity that I get to smile over for a couple of weeks. See how it blends perfectly with my random freckles?

henna, drying

 

henna, top of wrist

Days of Well-Spent Youth

I never considered us "weekenders". Sure, we mostly visited our cabin on summer weekends, but we owned that piece of paradise. Owned it. Every tree, every rock, every high and low tide.

My grandparents bought a derelict farm, acres of woods, and several beach lots on lower Puget Sound back in the 1950s. They fixed up the house, tried their hands at raising a steer, and cursed the deer that kept eating Gramma's roses. All my aunts and uncles had a beach lot, and a couple of my dad's cousins came along and built nice cabins there, too. If anything, it was the non-family full-time residents down the road who were "outsiders".

I spent many, many happy hours combing the beach, digging clay and making tiny pots, walking in the woods, hanging out with my cousins, eating hotcakes cooked on an outdoor griddle, and digging clams. Oh, and watching Dad and my brothers fix the tractor. There was always a project to be done, and the machinery was never ready to run immediately. For me, this place and time were idyllic. (For my brothers, perhaps not so much. The benefit of being the much younger sister.)

Many years later, after most of the property had passed out of the family, my Aunt Margret said that she hoped all of us could hold some woods and beach in our hearts where it wouldn't go away. I think this is why I crave quiet, natural places and wild flora. I'm always going back there, to where life was gentle and the silences were companionable.

Following are a few photos from the Nisqually National Wildlife Refuge. I had a wonderful, quiet, spectacular day there yesterday, and I'll be going back again and again in my mind. Hope you enjoy these little glimpses of our temporary home.

Looking to Sea

Olympic Mountains

THE Mountain

Little Singer

Narrows Bridge from Nisqually

After My Lunch Appointment...

I took a side trip to the beach today. I saw a ship coming in on the rising tide.

There were pigeons.

There were waves and foam.




And then in the valley, as I was almost home, I met these guys! A nice day all around.

Ups and Downs, Ins and Outs

The Pup is named Polo (because he looks like a cuddly little polar bear) but is also known as Apollo and Spud. He kind of told his side of the story already, so here's mine. We were dogless for about a week, and that was as much as I could stand. I had said that the timing of getting another dog would be a family decision, but I couldn't wait. I let my husband talk me into "just looking" at the local animal shelter. (He didn't have to twist my arm at all. Seven days of not being gleefully greeted at the door is a long, long time.) We went home with a sweet six-month-old golden Lab mix. The naming rights were supposed to be a matter of family vote, too, but I stole the ballot box.

Polo loves to go on walks, although he still hates meeting oncoming traffic. If puppies are "chick magnets", Polo is a general "people magnet". Since we end up doing a stop/sit for many encounters, strangers praise us for great obedience. I can't take a compliment that we don't deserve, so I inform them that he's actually scared stiff and refuses to move. This is usually followed by, "Oh, I see, he's just a pup. Inn't he just the sweetest lil thang?" Yep. So much for aerobic walking. Here we are on the trail together:


There is one nightmare that keeps coming true for the Polo pup. At odd times of the day, tall bearded men suddenly appear in our upstairs hallway. Sometimes, they poke their heads into the master bedroom when they come into the house in the wee hours. They're big, they have man-voices, and they come from out of nowhere. Of course the pup has to bark at them -- they're scary! Unfortunately, this doesn't endear him to them, and not even the Mom and Dad show appreciation for this loud announcement of Polo's surprise. Nightmares, indeed.

So far, Polo has endured two shower-baths. He takes them sitting down, but doesn't particularly enjoy them. Although most dogs don't "mess their nest", dogs who have spent time in kennels don't know better than to potty in their crates. Ick. But with all his beautiful fur, Polo needs regular baths anyway. Here's hoping he'll learn to like them.

We're enrolled in an obedience class that starts later this month. At least, I am, and I think Polo is supposed to come with me. It's good to have a walking partner again. He's still learning the greet-Mom-at-the-door thing, but he'll figure it out.

The Hiccup Cure No One Seems to Know

As noted a while back, this blog continues to get one-shot readers from all over the world. This week, we've had visitors from Egypt, Romania, Spain, Italy, Brazil, Germany, and Finland. This amazes us, and we've wondered what marvelous thing we could post that would be of benefit to our reading public. If we thought they'd be regulars, there wouldn't be pressure to come up with one amazing post. But chances are, there are tens of people who will drop in this week and never find (or seek) this blog again. This could be our big opportunity! What should we write?

It came to me tonight. There is one thing I know, which apparently very few others do, that could change one moment of one person's life. I know how to stop hiccups, and Rufus can attest to this fact.

Yes, that's right. For many years, I have been afflicted with occasional flares of diaphragmatic spasms. I have never had the hiccups for more than an hour or two, thanks to the efficacy of this family cure.

Get a glass of water, but make sure it's only half full. (Even a pessimist should be able to measure this.) Try to make sure no one is watching, as they may develop their own conniption fit when they see what you're going to do next.

From a standing position, place the inside of your upper lip on the far outside rim of the glass. You'll have to lean forward and tip your head out and down. Continue to lean forward, so your head is almost upside down. Let a little water dribble into your mouth, then swallow it carefully. Take a few more sips, breathing slowly and carefully.

Check to see if the hiccups are gone. Stand up and breathe slowly but normally. If you hiccup again, repeat the upside-down drinking technique for a few more sips.

There you have it. To all our international fans: Rufus and I are pleased to present today's post for your education, and we invite you to wander back here any time to see if we've written about our extensive research into migraines, ingrown toenails, and post-natal separation anxiety.