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!

Perspective

Our house in Caldwell had floor to ceiling windows on the sunny side. In Spring a robin flew directly at one of the windows many times a day, knocking himself out, and falling to the ground. I wondered why knocking himself to the ground didn't teach him to stop this behavior, why he kept doing it. I thought at first he wanted to get inside the house.

Days and days he did this, and I finally I decided upon a reason that made sense to me. It was because he could see his image in the glass and had fallen in love with himself. He wanted to be with that beautiful bird.

I wrote a poem about it and expressed that idea in the poem. I took it to my writing group. My friend told me she had the very same experience one year. Her conclusion was nothing like mine. She concluded the robin could see his image in the window and wanted to fight that other bird. His flying at the window was an attack.

That also made sense to me. I'd like to think I'm right, but it's likely she is.

Here at Greenwood Circle

It's quiet now. Thirty minutes ago four dogs were barking, maybe five, all at once. I have made a count of the dogs in my immediate neighborhood. Eleven. Three of my neighbors have two each. Is that really necessary?

I did not go outside to see why the barking, just stayed in here muttering about it.  When I did go out a few minutes ago to get my mail, the new little dog next door yipped and yapped and full on barked, as he/she always does if I come outside. Always is misleading. That dog has only been here for three days, and I don't know whose dog it is. Dash doesn't seem to mind the companionship. I mind the barking. It's persistent. I explained to the little dog that I was here first and he has some nerve barking at me. I'm the one who belongs here. He's the  newcomer, and, after all, who is he anyway? He paid no attention to my explanation. Typical.

I get a little tired of Dash and his frequent squirrel chases. They're never silent, but at least I know what's going on and sometimes even hope he catches one. It's the big ugly dog on the other side that I can't tolerate. He's loud and intrusive. I don't see him, and I'm pretty sure he can't see me, but if I step outside, or if anyone comes near this part of the block, he starts up. He has super hearing and smell, no doubt. I have been known to tell him to shut up. Rude, I know. Beneath my dignity, I know.

Swell, he has started up again, and his pal chimes in. Something has started them all up again. Hardly worth writing about.

I have a life, so don't tell me to get one.

Encounter In The Bathroom

Spiders can hear. At least I thought so when that white spider crawling down my bathroom mirror answered my quiet "Well, hello" by ducking behind the mirror. I wasn't close or loud, and, by the way, I wasn't speaking to make friends. I had murder on my mind. I pounded on the mirror, shoved a narrow comb behind, trying to scare him out. No luck. I came away from this morning encounter convinced that spiders can hear and their hearing is good.

I came away a bit worried, too. Was home for that spider behind my mirror? This is a big mirror. No lifting it from the wall.  Would the spider sneak out at night and do something nasty? Would I wake up with it spinning a web around my face? Given its size, I felt sure it could bite. Would I never find it? Would I one day discover a whole line of baby white spiders traipsing across my bathroom ceiling?

Well, the day was upon me. I could not hang out in my bathroom, stalking a spider who might be smarter than me.

That was Thursday morning. Saturday came, and I was changing the bedding on my bed. I pulled down a quilt from the top shelf of my little bathroom closet and there was the white spider, hanging on a string of web attached to the top of the door. It scurried upward and disappeared. I tried to reach up there with the toilet wand, make him come down again. No luck.

Now I was really worried. This guy (don't know the gender, of course) gets around, probably knows my bathroom better than I do. And he likes it here. Or she. I spoke to him again, louder this time and let him know he was not welcome in my bathroom. Or in my house, for that matter. What do I pay those Orkin people for, anyway?  I think he heard me, or I thought he did. But he made no reply and didn't show himself again for about a half hour. 

At that time he made a fatal mistake. Yippee!

He was sitting on the wall above my hamper. This time I said, "Oh, there you are," but not out loud. I didn't want him to hear me and run away. I quietly grabbed some toilet paper, moved close, and got him. The toilet received him, and he was gone.

So I am relieved. But because I knew I wanted to write some kind of report on this personal triumph, I did some research on spiders and their hearing capabilities.

There are no such capabilities. Spiders cannot hear. They don't have ears. They feel vibrations. So say the people who know these things. I suppose they have dissected spider after spider to discover that they have no ears, but how do they know spiders feel vibrations? Have the spiders said something about that? Not to me they haven't.

Not Bragging, Just Sayin'

Today I pulled the quilts off my bed, folded them, put them in storage.

Remade the bed--no easy job--putting on a blanket and different quilt.

Checked my email thrice.

Played, and won, of course, a game of Just Words.

Played, and lost, a game of Solitaire.

Scolded myself for wasting my time.

Stepped outside and kicked a lantern on.

Mixed up five little bottles of protein drink and took them to the outside fridge.

Cleaned two sinks, two toilets, parts of one bathtub, the parts I could reach without falling on my head.

Weighed myself. I know, I know. Shouldn't weigh myself every day. But, hey, the scale is right in front of the toilet, so why not?

Killed the spider who has been trying to make my bathroom his/her home--spiders can hear, you know.

Took a bath in the partially cleaned tub. It wasn't terribly dirty.

And now it is 7:58 AM.

It's Not Just About Electric Trains, But It Is About That

All my young life I wanted an electric train. Not that I thought about it every day, but I thought about it often. Certainly at Christmastime I hoped, and I know I spoke of it to my mother more than once. I never got one. Was I told that electric trains were not something girls could have? Don't know. Perhaps I just figured that out later, based on my experiences with "boys get everything; girls get to watch," trying to find a reason for never getting one. My older brothers never had electric trains either, but I don't know if a train was something they ever wanted.

It may have been a money issue. Our family was big, five children, and we weren't wealthy, although I never heard any talk about not having enough money. But perhaps money was too scarce to afford expensive toys like trains.

And there's the question of where you keep the train and where you set it up to run. I can only think of setting it up on the dining room table, but that would be terribly impractical. We ate at that table. And we played ping pong on that table. I'm still amazed that our mother let us do that.

Obviously, I'll never have the answer, no matter how much guessing I do. I don't remember if my own children ever asked for electric trains. I do remember hearing complaints about what so-and-so had. You know, "Why can't I have that?"

Why I think of this now, I'm not sure, except that last night was another sleepless night, and I do mean sleepless. That's what you do on such a night--think, worry, remember. All sorts of things pop into the brain.