A White Christmas and How

It's my neighbor, Carlton Quick. Yes, that's his real name. He's out there shoveling my drive and walkways. The snow is deep. Deep.

Sure, he's young, maybe 30, and he's big, about 6'5", but that doesn't mean he has to do this. I just stepped out to ask what I could ever do for him. He says I don't have to do a darn thing; he was already out; somebody's got to do it. I'm guessing he doesn't know how thankful I really am. It has not stopped snowing yet and predictions are that it won't for this whole day and maybe tomorrow.

He hasn't done his own driveway yet. I hope he will.

P.S. It's now Saturday morning, Christmas Eve. He, my neighbor, didn't shovel his own driveway and didn't finish mine. Oh well. It just snowed more anyway. But about 7:30 last night George Mathews came and shoveled the whole thing. He is a good man. However, this morning there's another inch or so, and the weather report for the day says Heavy Snow.

This is a big deal here. This much snow is not our normal deal. Yes, a White Christmas, but can my family drive here through it?

Two Days Until December

Tell me. Do people with real money get hit up for donations every rip stitch? I do. And I am far from wealthy. It irritates me. The pleas for money and such, not that I'm not wealthy. I have enough, know what I mean? But not much more than that.

Then there's the matter of a $4000+ property tax bill, due December 20. Do I really deserve that? It irritates me more than the requests for donations because this I have no choice about. I just have to pay it.

On the other hand, December means singing. The group I sing with goes out to sing ten times during the month, that in addition to our Christmas Concert. I love to do it, but it takes some energy.

It's My Blog, You Know

What's the deal? I'm writing something. Finally.

This is a good day for it. My daughter, Alyce, the mother of the miracle baby, is going to have another miracle baby. Hallelujah and thank the Lord. And I mean that.

I have been sworn to secrecy until this minute, with good reason, I'm sure. And I kept the secret. But now I can tell, and I'm telling.

This miracle will come next June and will be a little sister for Saxby. Oh my goodness. Don't we wonder what that will be like.

*    *    *

Other news.

I got my property tax bill yesterday. It has knocked me down and pulled off my socks. $4029.and some cents, due December 20. My very own Christmas present from Ada County.

*    *    *

Better news.

Wayne, my son, and his family will be here in four days. We'll have Thanksgiving dinner together. Do I even know how to cook anymore? Lola and her boys (I think) will be here and Andrew, but I don't know about his boys. But, as they say, it's all good. No, I hate that little phrase. I cannot say it. Cross it out in your mind. I didn't say it.

I think this is the end.

Briefly

I had two owls all summer in the front yard's big ash tree. I only visited with the small screech owl, but I knew the other one was there--you know, evidence on the walkway below. I didn't mind cleaning it up. I liked them, my owls.

Fall has driven them away. So guess what! The crows are back.

However, the days are sunny and crisp. Beautiful days.

Just an update.

I took my morning walk this afternoon--the days have gone cool, and this morning was too cool for walking. Even this afternoon I had to wear a jacket. Besides, I had to go to the dr. this morning.

My walk
On the grassy areas near the Wells Fargo Bank a genuine murder of crows--I counted 25--busied themselves and did not like my coming into their territory. They screamed at me as they scattered, many of them flying up to sit in the tops of the closeby honey locust tree, whose leaves, I noticed, have begun to turn. The tree thinks it's Autumn, this 13th day of September.

I wonder if the cool weather told my owl it was time to go. My little screech owl, who made his summer home in the tallest ash tree in my front yard. We visited every day. I spoke. He didn't, but he sometimes opened his eyes to give me a hello. Fierce eyes. He was up there yesterday, even toward nightfall. But today he is gone, more's the pity.

I say it's too soon for Fall, would appreciate a few more 80-degree days. But my wishes are irrelevant.

It should be clear I don't like crows any better than I like squirrels. I can remember when seeing a squirrel was an event, something to cheer about. I was very young then and did not live in Idaho. Now I find squirrels to be the local pest, digging up my lawns, tearing the bark from my trees, running noisily all over my roof, and generally being ubiquitous.

Crows.The American crow is a large passerine bird species of the family Corvidae. (This straight from Wikipedia, the source of all truth.) But I digress.

While I respect the crows for their intelligence, I found that large group of them to be a clear threat this morning. I don't trust them. Should I? They don't trust me, you know.

Hmmmm

Another big zucchini came to my house yesterday. Enough said.

A familiar story

Sometimes things just get away from us. You know. Like that zucchini you just didn't see until it was too big. "Too big." The two words my neighbor used when she brought such a zucchini to me yesterday.

I said, "Wow" when I opened the door and saw it. I didn't mean to say "wow." It just slipped out, and that caused her to say, "Is it too big?"

"No," I said. That was a lie. It's as big as my leg.

But the look on her face and the tone of her voice were almost pleading. And what kind of a person refuses a gift from a good neighbor? So I lied, and my neighbor went home happy.

If I still made zucchini bread I could make enough for the entire neighborhood. But I don't.

If I wanted to, I could probably climb onto the thing and float down the river, if big zucchinis float. I don't want to.

I think of hungry people. Truly, I do.
I think of the woman on the corner by Costco whose sign said HOMELESS. I wish I had taken the squash with me on my errands today. I wonder if the woman would have accepted the zucchini. What do you think?

I'm going to feel very bad when I don't use this squash.

Help.

Here's the Thing

Last Thursday I had surgery to remove a rather large squamous cell carcinoma on my forehead above my left eye. That's skin cancer. I don't need to tell you to wear sun screen. You know you should. This is not about that.

This is about the fact that I now look like I've had half a face lift. She had to cut down to just above my eyebrow and then across in both directions to pull skin up over the "wound." It's big and it's ugly. Trust me.

And here's what else. My left eyebrow is up, my left eyelid is up, my left eye is wider open and looks bigger than my right eye. I don't like it. I want my left eyelid droopy, like my right eyelid. A person my age should have droopy eyelids.

Tomorrow I get the stitches out--and there are MANY. I hope then the swelling will soon go down and my face will again have its normal, balanced, symmetrical look. Which is, at this time, droopy.

It's the Little Stuff That Matters

I have a resident robin, strictly a backyard bird. He prowls along the fence for bugs and worms, quite successfully, sometimes jumps up and sits on the fence, looking around, as birds do. I don't know if what I feel is warranted. It's just a bird, you know. But I am glad to see him here, glad he's mine. Even if he doesn't know it, he is mine.

Yes, I have more to do than watch birds, but I do work in my kitchen, and the window over the sink allows me to do just that--watch birds, this robin and my bird house sparrows--watch neighbors (I prefer birds but sometimes can't help it; I mean the neighbors are right there in front of my eyes), watch the changes in the daylight, and, of course, watch the ubiquitous squirrels.

I do not want to launch into another squirrel complaint.

The house around the corner has sold. Didn't take long, about two weeks. I find myself hoping they didn't pay what the realtor told me was the asking price, $414,000. I have met the woman but not her family. She doesn't look wealthy.

He has asked me twice if I want to sell my house. Guess what I told him. Twice.

Addendum: About that house, it sold for $450,000. Seems there was a bidding war between Gidleys' daughter and the family now living in the house. Good location, pool. But really. That is a lot of money.
As to the family who bought it, I have now become acquainted. They're in my ward. She teaches drama at Kuna High School; their boys go to Sage, nearby charter school; don't know what the dad does.
You wanted to know this. You know you did.

In My Neighborhood

The crows are quiet today. I'm guessing by their silence and what I see on the sidewalk below there's a baby up in that old juniper.

Yesterday, and every other day, the crows were hollering, putting the fear of crow into every living thing nearby, one crow on the very top of a pine tree around the corner, loudly announcing, "This place is mine. Stay back."

They try to put the fear into me if I step outside. It works. I picture a big crow swooping down to peck my head, send me running back into the house. It has been done before by those pesky 

red-wing black birds. This year we in this neighborhood have a bunch of crows, a gang, and you know what happens with gangs. They grow bolder by the day. One hard peck from a crow I'd remember a long time.

The juniper hangs over the fence into my yard. I wonder if the crows think I come out to do them harm, and I might say I would but that is not true, even if I could. I'd like to shoo them away . . .

but I don't fly and my shouts pose no threat. Years ago I would throw a rock up into the tree, just to frighten them. Fat chance. And I can't get a rock very high these days.

I heard a robin chirping for nearly an hour last evening, saw him in the neighbor's ash tree, excited, worried, calling out a warning: Crow is near, beware.

Today in my driveway I saw a feather torn by violence from some smaller bird's baby. I do not know for sure if it's a robin.

Today's Few Things

Yesterday we had about 20 minutes of beautiful rain, hard rain, like washing my roof and scrubbing it hard. Harder than you're thinking.

I loved it, watched it a while and gave thanks for it, wished it would last and last. I thought if it kept raining, then my mower men wouldn't come, and that would be fine. Better than that. It would be really good.

As it was, the beautiful rain cooled the day a little and just made things better.

*     *     *

Richard was here. Now he's gone home.

A nice six days. He always fixes things for me when he's here. He is a good fixer, but more important than that, he figures things out. A good and valuable skill: problem solver. 

Goodness knows he and all the rest of us have problems to work on.

I wish us well.

*     *     *

I'm afraid my writing group is nearly dead. "They" decided to meet only once a month. That new schedule to begin tomorrow, June 9. Now "they" have postponed it another month. A couple of people are not feeling well. At least one claims a Southern Belle's aversion to heat. A third claims that she might have some Southern Belle in her, too. Four of the five are not writing.

I've been writing. I want to share it. I have five or six things. I'm bummed. I want to find some people who write who want to and can get together. Good luck with that, Carol.

Hmmm.

Preparation for Mammogram

Because some of the women in my family are approaching the age--now advised as 50, not 40--when they will, or should, have their first mammogram. I present the following helps.

Many women are afraid of their first mammogram, but there is no need to worry.  By taking a few minutes each day for the week preceding the exam and doing the following practice exercises, you will be totally prepared.  And best of all, you can do these simple practice exercises right in the privacy of your own home.

Exercise #1

Freeze two metal bookends overnight.

Strip to the waist.

Invite a stranger into the room.

Press the bookends against one of your breasts.

Smash the bookends together as hard as you can. Actually, you should have the stranger do it.

Repeat on other breast.

Set up an appointment with the stranger to meet next year and do it again.
Better yet, get a different stranger. Shouldn't be hard.

Exercise #2

Open your refrigerator door and insert one breast between the door and the main box.

Have one of your strongest friends slam the door shut as hard as possible and lean on the door for good measure.

Hold that position for five seconds.

Turn and do the other breast.

Repeat again in case the first time wasn’t effective.

Exercise #3 (Should be done in winter)

Visit your garage at 3:00 a.m. when the temperature of the concrete floor is just perfect.

Take off all your clothes and lie comfortably on the floor with one breast wedged under the rear tire of your car.

Ask a friend to slowly back the car up until the breast is sufficiently flattened and chilled.

Turn over and repeat for the other breast.

Congratulations! You are now prepared for your mammogram.

Seriously, as we say these days, the latest information I can find suggests that women at high risk for breast cancer should probably get a mammogram starting at age 40 and go every year for about 15 years. I hope that is no one I know.

Today

I went to Winco. It's on Front Street. Front is a four-lane one-way street, with the far left lane being the left turn lane, so you could turn left onto Broadway. But not today. Today some--and I say this knowing full well that people think I'm old--some old guy was driving in that lane towards me, towards all of the rest of us. Which means he was going the wrong way. Most of us were in the other three lanes. Thank goodness.

I motioned and yelled. Didn't help. He just kept right on going.

There were driveways he could turn into. I didn't see him do that, and I don't know if he ever did. I don't know what happened because soon everything was visible only in my rear view mirror. Then it was over.

*     *     *

Two other old guys captured my attention a little later. Both were on the street corners holding signs, asking for help/money.

The first looked like he needed help all right. But I could not read his sign. Two reasons, 1. It was two paragraphs written in not very dark ink, explaining his need, but I could not read it. (I said that.) Too faint and too long; 2. I couldn't stop.

He looked awful.

The second guy was sitting at the place where I had to drive out of the Winco parking lot. He was trying to light a cigarette. I had to stop there to check for traffic before entering the traffic. I didn't read his sign when he finally stood and held it up. I didn't give him anything. Didn't ask him how he was buying cigarettes. Didn't tell him he should not smoke.

*     *     *

My visiting teachers came today. They haven't visited in a few months. One has been ill for a while. I watched as they got out of the car and saw one of them open the trunk and get something.

Yeah, I figured they would bring something to me. I said to myself out loud, "Oh please, do not bring me something sweet to eat."

Rena, the wonderful little woman from Germany, brought homemade huckleberry coffee cake. It's sweet all right, but it's now evening and I have eaten only 1/3 of it. Yes, it's also good.

Bobbi, the one who has been ill and is highly sensitive to scent and becomes ill in its presence, brought me some cheese. Goat gouda, to be precise, because she now has goats and knows that I had goats. I used to make cheese with our goats' milk. But it wasn't gouda; I don't remember if it was even good. But the ice cream was.

I will now go out and have another bite of coffee cake and cheese.

Change Is Good

Alyce, you know, Alyce my daughter, has changed my life. She and Saxby. Saxby her son. Because of them I now buy chunky--the label says crunchy--peanut butter. It's what they eat.

All my life I have preferred plain--the label says creamy--peanut butter, with its plainness. But now I prefer chunky. It's not plain but it's good.

Shows to go you, people can change.

I have liked peanut butter all my life. As a very young child I made my own peanut butter sandwiches, peanut butter and mustard or, and this was the exception, peanut butter and Miracle Whip. I said I was a child. Where was my mother at these times? Obviously, we had no jam or, and more likely, I didn't like jam. Too sweet. I also don't like Miracle Whip now. I did, but I don't.

Peanut butter and honey was also rare. Not any more. And if anyone had told me a few years ago that I would have a peanut butter and honey sandwich every day, I would have said, "No way." (I was tempted there to say, I would have said, "You're nuts." Too obvious.)

But the truth is I do have such a sandwich every day. Happily. And now I have it with chunks of peanut in the peanut butter. It seems only right.

And always these sandwiches are with my homemade whole wheat bread. I can't help it if that sounds righteous. It's just the truth.

Maybe this is not important enough to write about. Tough.

A Few Matters of Importance. To Me.

Matt and his dad Jeff have gone now. They are this year's mowers. While they were out there mowing, I made three mistakes: 1. I went out to talk to Matt. 2. I went out again to talk to Matt and water my flowers and wash my front door/window. 3. I went out when Jeff rang my doorbell and wanted to show me stuff.

Going out is bad for me this season. I'm not happy about it. I'm supposed to be cured of allergies.

The mowers: This is their first time here. Matt is handsome and tall. Jeff tries not to say things, like, my lawn was just too long. Instead, when I said it looks good, now that it's mowed, he said something like it could have been baled. Cute. So. Grass grows, and I think letting it grow an extra week helped it. And it wasn't all that long.

I don't like to pay them the $30 a week, but I will. I certainly can't do it myself.

*     *     *

Our concert last Friday night was good, but my feet still hurt. I bet I'm not the only one. I have volunteered to take on the job of scheduling, calling about, sending signups, and providing driving directions for our Christmas season sing-outs.

I don't know why. I just thought I should.

*     *     *

Tomorrow night Andrew and I will go to Aaron's senior award concert. You know, Andrew, my son, Aaron, his son. Senior concert should tell you that Aaron is graduating. So is his cousin Davis down there in Austin, Texas.

Aaron plays trombone. He is first chair of the trombone section in his Borah High School band. He is in the marching band, too, and he plays in the jazz band. And Lola has heard him in the jazz band and says he is good. You know, Lola, my daughter, and you can trust her.

Aaron tried out for Boise State's prestigious Blue Thunder Marching Band, and he got in. HE GOT IN! And that's a big deal. He's happy, and we're proud of him.

Under the Darkening Moon

This was a while ago.

We went out to Eisenman Road at 5:45 a.m. to watch the lunar eclipse. That's where Janice said we would see it best. We did see it, and we did freeze our little selves, too. But there is much more life and many more lights out there than either of us knew about. Bright lights. Trucking places, Shopko's distribution center, Brasher's Auto Auction, WES--whatever that is--not to mention the Outlet Mall.

We went down the road a couple of times, then out Gowen. Lots of lights out there, too. Back to Eisenman, where we went a long way, found a spot, backed up a short sloping driveway and parked. "Great!" said Janice, as she got out all of her scopes and cameras and settled in.

I thought it was private property; I had walked up the driveway, seen the address by the door and the mailbox by the door. When the dogs began barking, I told Janice I was pretty sure we were on private property. She said, "No. It's the storage office."

"Well," said I, quoting, "then, Who let the dogs out?"

"Don't worry," she said. "They're fenced in." Apparently Janice doesn't know the song.

I got back in the car. I don't like intruding upon private property. I was freezing anyway.

Janice is hard of hearing and did not put her hearing aids in that morning, so she did not hear the woman at first. And, because she was bending over with her face in her scope, she didn't see her either. I both saw and heard. That woman was not happy and not nice, especially when she had to repeat everything she said. No hearing aids, remember.

I am a grown-up, but I will say the woman was scary. She scared me. She made clear we were on private property and she needed us to leave. And there were those dogs still barking. When Janice finally knew what was going on, she apologized, but her apology fell on, as they say, deaf ears. Sorry, Janice.

"I need you to pack up all your equipment and get the . . . out of here. Now," said the woman in those familiar no uncertain terms.  And that was the nice part.

We left.

Next time, whenever that might be, I hope Janice will put the hearing aids in. I'm not even sure she heard the worst of it, the sharp edge on that woman's voice. I heard it.

About the eclipsed moon, which was our reason for going out there, remember. It isn't just a disc. You can see its roundness better than at any other time. It looked like a big black ball and like it might drop out of the sky at any second. Fascinated me. I took many pictures. They're pretty good, but they can't capture the look of the darkened moon. They can only remind me. 

And then there's remembering that woman. Oh well. I am glad I went.  I loved the moon. And I always like an adventure, especially if I'm safe inside a car.

Sunday Morning

My voice. I had one. I could say I still have a voice, that I sing. But it's not the way it used to be. 

Well, what is.

Let me get this in here before I forget. I directed a large group of young men and women, preparing them to go down to Salt Lake to sing in the Church's final June Conference. Among the music we learned and sang very well, thanks to me, Lucille Wilson, and those kids, was the Beethoven Hallelujah. Thrilling. 

I also directed that piece with a large stake choir in Nampa Stake. Again, Lucille Wilson accompanying. This morning I heard the Tabernacle Choir sing it, and I wept through the whole thing.

Why? you ask. I can think of a few reasons. Only one is that it is exciting and beautiful. The rest have to do with me.

That's the news

I went to have my hair done today. Yes, I have become one of those women. But that's not what this is about.

It's about Gwen and Blake, whose pictures were on the cover of the People magazine I picked up. The bold teaser/headline/whatever said:

Gwen and Blake
Their Untold
Love Story

I said, "How's that possible?" You know, the untold part.

My hair looks good; it's raining. Gwen and Blake are getting married; she's pregnant; oh joy! Different magazine, same stuff.

Spring Cleaning

It's something the sparrows do. 

They go into that birdhouse Paul built and pull out all the stuff from last year's nest. It sits for awhile on the deck railing, in front of their house, then is blown off or pushed off by the birds. I never see which. 

Just this week, the sparrows have completed the cleaning. Now one of them--pretty sure it's the woman of the house--sits on the railing, and I don't know why. Waiting for what? Perhaps her husband is off gathering materials for a new nest.

I can watch them from my bedroom window. I have not sat there long enough to see more than I have reported here. But I need to. I will.

When I was young I thought people who watched birds were . . .  old, maybe, or stupid, should "get a life." Now I'm fascinated by what these birds and the finches do. Of course, I'm also old.

Making Me . . . Either Sick or Nervous . . . or Both

Just went out to get the mail.

Saw a dead mouse on the garage floor.

How could this be?

How did it get there? And what killed it?

I swept it out to the gutter.

I do not like this.

Part 2 Addendum and One Other Thing

Janice just called to report that, after some research, she is convinced my dead, hairless, headless animal was a baby squirrel. They live quite a while in the nest, she says, and quite a while before getting hair.

Makes sense. I know there is a squirrel nest in one of those pine trees.

She suggests the big wind the other night blew the baby out and some larger animal ate part of it. The head, actually.

This may be the end of this particular discussion.

The Other Thing:

This morning I put my sweat pants on backwards. That's a first. I'd like to say it was dark, but it was only a little dark.

I didn't discover it for an hour or so, and by that time I had my walking shoes on (properly, of course) and didn't want to bother taking the sweats off over the shoes, and so on.

You might think, as I did, that pants on backwards would be uncomfortable. Nope. These sweats are big, Maybe that's why it seemed to make no difference.

Tomorrow I'll be sure to put them on correctly.

The Goings-On At My House, Well, Outside My House

Part 1

I am just in from raking up pine needles. They fall from my neighbor's three pine trees that stand close to our property line. I have filled my garbage can with needles, but I haven't made a dent, as they say. Have to do more some other day. As if I could ever get them all. They COVER my lawns.

Can you guess how I feel about those trees? I could mention that they receive no "care." But why bother?

Part 2

On the sidewalk, directly behind the post my mail box sits on, was a dead, hairless, headless something. I thought, at first, a baby mouse. Too big for that, though. Rat. I didn't like that thought.

It's been there--this is the third day.

Today, while raking pine needles, I called Ron and Janice to come over and see. They agreed, too big for a mouse. He said gopher. I said rat. She said rat. Hard to tell since it had no head. But the internet has me thinking it was a rat.

How did it die? you ask. (I knew you would.)

Ron and Janice said there's been a great horned owl around the last few nights. Ron said ,"Yep, it ate the brains." I didn't ask why not eat the whole thing.

Ron picked it up with a twig from the pine tree, examined it, and said, "Do you want this?" Guess what I said. He took it home. Probably going to dissect it, or something.

Part 3 Way outside my house but in my neighborhood.

I went walking outside today, weather permitted such a thing, and I saw something I didn't know ever happened. The nearby McDonald's has closed. Not one single car in the parking lot, that was a clue, so I read the small sign on the door: This McDonald's will close December 15, 2015.

Heavens! It's February 25, and I'm just noticing.

The name is torn off the building, no golden arches anywhere, the children's play area inside is gone.

The little sign suggested four other nearby locations.

This is quite long

Here's every detail, as I remember it.

In the women's dressing room--temple workers' dressing room--I was putting my packet away when a woman on the next shift, midshift, spoke. She had just put on her white clothing and was really talking to herself because she couldn't find her name tag. I spoke to her and asked where she thought it might be. "At home or in my bag," she said. I said, "I'm going to hope for the bag."

She found it, in her bag, and gave me credit, you know, just kidding. I said, "You're a Tanner, aren't you?" She answered, "Yes. How do you know?" I told her I had seen her before.

As she put on her name tag, I looked to see her first name. Christine.

"Are you . . . " but she interrupted. "I'm not related to all the famous Tanners around here. Too bad because they sound like fun."

I said, "You're probably a decent person anyway. Carlene is her name, right?"

"Yes. But my husband is not from here. He's from Milford."

"Milford, Utah?"

"Yes."

"I've been there," I said, which we both agreed was quite remarkable because Milford is not famous or big or even known at all by most people.

So we were connected, sort of.

I said, "My roommate married a Tanner. She was from Carey, a Benson. Lauralie Benson."

"Lauralie Benson married my husband's brother, Gary."

Now that got me. Small world, as they say.

I said, "Wow, I feel like we're kind of related."

Then she told me Lauralie's husband had died soon after they got home from their mission. He had severe dementia. Lauralie, she told me, is doing fine.

I asked, "How's your husband?"

"He's just fine," she said. "One brother died of cancer, one of dementia, another of cancer."

"Is he the only one left?"

"Yes, but he's fine."

It is all quite remarkable to me because two days ago I was thinking about Lauralie. Our speaker in Sacrament meeting was from Carey, so I told him I'd been there and mentioned the names I knew from there: Benson (That's Ezra Taft Benson's brother, Valdo, Stake President and Lauralie's father), Barton, as in John Barton, Lauralie's boyfriend when she was my roommate, and as in Barbara Barton, John's sister--who married Blaine Tingey--and who was our other roommate.

At that time I could not remember Lauralie's married name, Tanner. I remembered it last night, Tuesday. So is it weird? Or was it "meant to be" so that Christine Tanner and I could make this little connection? Not that we'll be long friends, just that such things are very nice.

A Fine Idea

Go here. www.gofundme.com/BigBrotherSaxby
It's the web site Alyce's friend established to help fund another ivf try for Alyce and Ben. And Saxby.

I had never heard of such a thing, but I approve. I like the site, like the idea, like Erica Howard, who is the friend.

The site has a lovely bunch of pictures of that little Larsen family and a narrative about them, their hopes for another child, and why this fund has been established.

People are good. Yes, this is something very good about the times we live in.

Territorialism

Red-shafted flickers, three of them, all male, on my roof, heard before seen, because they were poking through the snow while I read in my living room. So I opened the blind a bit, saw them, all puffed up against winter's cold (our high today:15) pecking--it's what they do, which is the point.

They are beautiful birds, and I love them, in theory, would love them a lot more if they were poking at someone else's house. You may not recall the damage they did to my house several years ago, which caused me to watch for them every year. But I stopped watching because for all of so many years they have not been here. Why now? I wonder.

These three, I shooed them away, and I will shoo them away any time I see them. And I hope to discourage them entirely.

It's my house!