Sometimes A Thousand Words Are Better Than A Picture

My brief Memorial Day weekend at our cabin in Kentucky was filled with memories and mental pictures I will carry with me for years to come.  I have been coming to this place since I was a child, and it just gets better.  Each visit is unique and builds on the last.  This one was no exception.

Sure, I took photos, but sometimes I didn’t want to be behind the camera but right there where things were happening to enjoy the full beauty, not the amplification by my zoom lens or the super closeness from the macro.  Sometimes it was better to just be there and take the photos inside my own head, processed and stored somewhere, retrievable without electricity, with my eyes open or shut.

Some things just can’t be photographed adequately, either.  Like the night my son, dog and I sat in the dark by the lake, watching the fireflies light up the fog rolling in and looking to the hills in the distance and where lightening was flashing around growing rain clouds, approaching very slowly.  It was a beautiful sight to see the jagged forks of lightening that looked like they were cracking open the galaxies beyond.  We sat in awe for a long time.  No camera could capture the sight nor the intimacy of sharing that time together.

Later that night the thunder, lightening and heavy rain reached our cabin and it was quite a storm.  At night there is no light at the lake and the lightening is the sole illuminator.  The rain pelting down on the tin roof makes quite a commotion.  Two lightening bugs found their way indoors and danced in the dark cabin, brightening the blackness with their un-choreographed etch-a-sketching.

I tried photographing the view from our cabin in the early evening when the lake shimmers with the last of the day's sunshine.  It looks pretty in the photograph but it looks glorious in real life, as if tiny fairies are dancing along the top of the ripples of water, searching for something above or below, uncertain which way to go.

There is a carpet of moss next to the old sulphur spring on the opposite side of the lake from our cabin.  We always walk across the moss and go to the spring, checking to see how many frogs hop into the water as we get closer.  The moss is bright green and very soft.  I often reach down to feel it, or take off my shoes and walk across it, feeling the tickle between my toes and the soft dampness.  This photograph doesn’t capture the look or the feel of really being there.  My mental picture is far better; being there is just the best.

Nobody photographed it when my son put his arm around me and said “I love it here, Mom”.  That is my special mental picture, and Canon couldn’t beat that with the most expensive camera they make.  Nope, that memory is all mine.

When our aging yellow dog galloped in the grass and gleefully walked in the stream and drank the cool water on our first walk of the day, I didn’t have my camera.  It was great fun to see his old spirit and energy return for a short time.  Back at the cabin, he slept for hours in preparation for the next walk.  I’m sure his mental picture was of himself as a younger dog, enjoying all the sights and sounds of nature that are part of every day there.

On a late afternoon walk, I found this lucky feather.  It felt like it had been put there especially for me.  I took the photo and never touched the feather, leaving it instead for the next person who might think it a lucky feather left there especially for them.  The photo doesn’t capture the beauty of the surroundings, nor the extraordinary spotlight of end of the day sunshine.

Thousands of newly-hatched bass swam in the still water at the end of one of the docks.  It was amazing to see so many, looking very much the same; but on closer inspection each had its own unique characteristics.  How amazing that they must have all hatched at once; and it was uncanny how they swam in waves, mimicking the movements of the adjacent brothers and sisters.  This photo does not show their synchronized swimming, nor the largess of the school.

The air is damp and crisp on the morning after a storm.  When the fog finally lifts off the lake it looks like glass and reflects the trees and the other cottages and everything is still.  The scent is sweet and grassy and the birds call out to one another.  No camera could take it all in but the memories are vivid.

My Father told me the story about our relative who planted two cypress trees by the lake and was told that they would never survive that far north.  She has been dead for about 40 years.  The two trees, now some 40 feet tall, are thriving.  I told the story to my son again during the weekend.  He loves that story, as did I when Dad told me; I hope he tells his children too.  This photograph doesn’t capture the beauty of the trees, nor the tenderness of the storytelling, but you get a little glimpse.

In May, the barn swallows are still tending their mud-caked nests under the docks around the lake.  They swoop about, guarding their new families and eating insects.  It is unusual to get more than a few second’s view of them, because they are always on the go and do not stop near humans.  I snapped two photos  of the birds at rest, with my zoom lens; I captured just a little bit of their beautiful colors and the serenity surrounding them.  They are too fast to capture in flight, and the photo would only show a split second in a larger panorama that only the eye and the mind can properly take in.

We rescued a medium-sized box turtle on the narrow country road leading up to the lake.  With nowhere to go but a steep cliff on the other side where he was headed, he was doomed and I decided to take him with us, barely a mile to our cabin.  There I turned him loose in the woods behind the cabin, free to wander back to his old turf or establish a new safer homestead.  He was a bright and yolky yellow with black.  His head and face were yellow.  I wasn’t able to get him to poke his head out for the photo and I left him to his business when I released him.  While in the car for those few minutes, he bravely wandered around the floor, searching for that place on the other side of the road where he was headed, clueless that he would have been flattened had he been under and not inside. 

Wildflowers and the smell of flowers are just part of the lake's beauty in May.  Iris bloom at the shore, first the yellow and then the blues.  Honeysuckle is in the woods and beside the lake and the scent is everywhere.  How can you photograph the sweetening it gives to every cleansing breath you take?

There is something really special about watching someone you love doing something they love.  My son loves fly fishing; this photo is of the first few minutes of the first day when the first thing he wanted to do was fish. 

While I have collected some memorable photographs, the real memories aren’t digital but mental.  The sounds and the smells are etched in my brain along with the great conversation and the laughing and the jokes that nobody else would understand.  Memories are a gift and I just love making them.


It was a perfect place to spend Memorial Day weekend.  I have years of memories of friends and family who have shared this place with us; many of them are no longer with us but we remember them and our time together each time we return.

The Magic of the Fireflies

We called them lightening bugs when I was a child.  That name evokes visions of streaks of light, thunder and stormy weather.  It also brings back a lot of good, simple memories.

I remember running around our backyard chasing lightening bugs when I was growing up in Florida.  My brother, sister and I would see who could catch the most.  We put them in jars and watched them glow and shook them to see the light streaks in the dark, like sparklers on the Fourth of July.  I always let mine loose quickly, afraid they would expire in their cramped quarters.

Sometime between childhood and this baby boomer age I have grown into, I started calling them fireflies.  I don't know why or if maybe it is a regional thing, but now they have come to mean the start of summer and the illumination of the garden and the tall pine trees that surround it.  It is a magical time in late May and into June, over before July 4.

Tonight was the first night I saw them, brightening the pine trees with their signal lights, calling silently  to their potential mates.  Summer  has begun and nights on the deck will be full of magic for weeks to come.

I'll want to linger over dinner on the deck, waiting until the dark sets in, signaled by the first bat sighting in the open spaces between the treetops.  Soon after the darkness falls, the tiny sparklers begin their show, gyrating among the trees, venturing out into the open spaces to light up the garden, the pond and the still-green grass.  The bats begin their hunting and the fireflies dodge them, intent on their own solicitations of the night.

There is something magical about the dancing lights that makes me think of a Tinkerbell convention or tiny little spaceships observing the activities of the earthings.  Occasionally when several are in close proximity, their light is bright enough to illuminate a spot in the trees or, when they come close, brighten the spot where I am.  I imagine a walk through the woods in the night, fireflies  lighting my path to a clearing where all the animals are having a hoe-down and dancing and communicating between species, illuminated by the magic of the fireflies.

I remember a special night when Mother was visiting some years ago and we sat on the lower deck, feet propped up on a bench, and watching the fireflies.  It was so peaceful and we enjoyed just sitting, lost in our own thoughts and taking in the beauty before us.

Eventually there will be thousands of them in my garden and the tiny little rockets with their afterglow will carouse through the night.  Intent on their personal missions, the fireflies are ignorant of the spectacle they make for those other than their own kind and we have the option of sitting back for a spell, using them as our excuse for slowing down and enjoying the simple things.

Tomorrow night cannot come too soon.   I plan to watch the show.  Tonight I might just wake up and go to the window for a spell.

Lucky Frog Liberation

When my brother was visiting last week we took a trip to The Great Wall, an international grocery store filled with interesting food items.  They also have amazing fruits and vegetables at great prices.

At the back of the store in the meat section they have live fish, live eels, live turtles and live frogs.  It breaks my heart to go back there and usually I avoid that part of the store; although sometimes I am just curious enough to view the assorted body parts, such as chicken feet, that are sold in styrofoam packages.  On this particular day, my brother, niece and son invited me to look over the live bullfrogs and choose which two I would like to liberate - to buy by the pound and take home to my pond.

The tiny container where the enormous bullfrogs were kept did not allow space for them to move about, much less swim.  It was sad to peer in, knowing only two would be saved.  Some did not look very healthy or even alive, but the two I chose were quite awake and seemingly not damaged in any way.  My brother dealt with the butcher who put both of them into a small paper bag.

I held the bag in my hand and as my warmth began to reach the frogs, the bag began to jiggle.  By the time we got to the checkout, they were bouncing about in the bag, trying to come out of the folded-down top.  We put them on the conveyer belt and the bag moved up and down and the top started to open a bit, a frog appendage attempting to reach the open air.  The checkout clerk made a gasping noise and put her hands to her face.  She did not know what to charge us and had to find out the frog price per pound.  I tried to explain that we were not going to eat them but instead to liberate them.  She didn't care.  She wanted those frogs off of her space, all two pounds of them - BIG FROGS!

Because frogs are wet and they pee everywhere, we decided to put the paper bag inside of a plastic one. It still gyrated as it sat on my brother's lap on the way home.   Soon they would be free, ready to face the wilds of the backyard and the challenges of life in the pond.

My eldest wisely was concerned about possible contamination of the existing pond inhabitants and we decided to put them in a large aquarium, filled with about 8" of water, a log and a couple of floating plants.  They had room to swim about or climb out to dry on the log.  Most importantly, we put an antibacterial solution in the water so that they would be disinfected by the time we released them into the pond.

It was very cold for the next three days of their quarantine period.  Once I went out out to check on them and they did not move.  I poked them and they did not respond and I though they had died.  Sadly, I turned one over and it flipped its leg and tried to right itself.  I was so relieved.  They were simply in hibernation mode, unprepared as they were for the change in temperature from the meat department.

Finally the day came to turn them loose.  My son picked the first one up and put him on a rock that jutted out into the pond.  He just sat there.  We tried to coax him into jumping; poking him did not help.  My son gave him a shove and into the water he went, probably swimming multiple strokes for the first time since he was a very tiny frog back at the frog farm.  It must have been exhilarating for him.  We noticed the second one had a damaged eye, probably poked during his time in the meat department.  We went through the same routine with him, ending by pushing him into the pond.

Since then we have never seen one-eye again.  He was the one who rarely surfaced during the isolation period so maybe he stays below the surface of the pond all of the time.  Or maybe a predator came at him on his bad side and took advantage of him.  But Lucky, the first to jump, is just about the happiest frog I have ever seen.  He has enough fear that he won't let you get close to him, but he has the guts to surface and float happily among the plants, head above the water, front feet resting on a plant or floating.  When startled he darts below the surface and swims quickly to the opposite side, making it there in only a couple of strokes.

It must have all been so overwhelming for him at first, having never been outdoors and free to do what he wanted.  His legs seemed stiff and difficult to move, probably due to lack of use.  He seems to have regained his olympic swimming strength now.  He is a looker.  We think he is an American Bullfrog.   I hate to say it but as much as I think he is special, the pictures in the frog book look an awful lot alike.  But one thing is for sure, this is one lucky frog.  I just hope that he has sense enough to stay away from the hawks and owls and enjoys lots of mosquitoes and water bugs this summer.  It is a good life and I feel fantastic knowing that I was part of a successful liberation, for only $3.99 a pound!

Peony Envy

US National Arboretum, Peony Collection

Recently I visited the US National Arboretum, one of my favorite spots.  In addition to walking through the azalea gardens,  empty of admirers because most had peaked and had only wilted flowers, we saw the boxwood gardens and adjacent perennial gardens featuring peonies. 

US National Arboretum, Peony Collection

While I loved seeing the beautiful peonies, it made me envious and a little annoyed because they were excessively beautiful.  There were so many of different varieties and colors.  I was star-struck and coveted the collection.

US National Arboretum, Peony Collection

I didn’t grow up with peonies and until the last couple of years, I never paid much attention to them.  Perhaps that is because I have had so much more time to open my eyes and enjoy the spring or maybe it's an aging thing.   

Puny Peony in Falls Church

There is a peony bush tucked in the back of a partially-shaded flower bed in my garden.  It never blooms and doesn't grow much.  In 13 years it hasn't changed size but it always comes back.   I think it is a puny peony.   Like some people, and animals, it just isn’t up to the challenge of blooming and instead puts out its greens and does no more.  It lives; it does not thrive.

My peony

A few years ago I purchased three peony tubers in the spring and planted them in a sunny spot in the garden.  They barely had any leaves that first year (I have since found out it is best to plant peonies in the fall).  The second year I had completely forgotten about them and was surprised to see them emerge from the cold earth late in the spring; again, no blooms.

My Peony

This year I had quite a surprise.  One of the three peony bushes put out two blooms.  They were not big gorgeous blooms like what you see at the National Arboretum or in my neighbors’ yards, but the color is beautiful and they lasted about a week.  I don’t know about the two smaller bushes; maybe next year will be the year for their to peak (or peek?).

Friend's Peonies

Meanwhile my dear neighbor and friend has brought me cuttings from her voluptuous peonies and on my morning walks with the dog I see the peonies of others in the neighborhood, all beautiful, full and enormous.  Mine pale in comparison.  It must be the lack of full sun in my yard.  Or maybe they need to be fed.

US National Arboretum, Peony Collection

There is a lot to be said for shade in the summer months, but it makes it hard to grow some things – like jealousy-inducing peonies.  So I continue to be envious right now that everyone else's peonies outshine mine and remain gorgeous as my two little blooms lose their leaves. 

Sometimes you just have to work with and appreciate the resources you have.  My shade-loving hostas are gorgeous and enormous, and soon will have their fragrant beautiful flowers; my azaleas were full and brilliant this year; the bleeding hearts are to be coveted; the rhododendron are stunning; and soon my hydrangeas in dark pink, brilliant blue and deep purple will be blooming and ready to cut and share.  

US National Arboretum, Peony Collection

It seems there are lessons everywhere these days.  Peonies are good teachers.  Envy is not a particularly attractive trait and really I don't consider my problem with peony envy a serious personality flaw.  Rather it is an opportunity to reflect, examine my actions (maybe I should try feeding them and move the puny one to a sunny spot), rejoice for the beauty I am so fortunate to be able to enjoy, and wait patiently for the wonders unfolding in other parts of my garden as summer progresses.  No matter how gorgeous and prolific my perennials and bushes are, I promise I will never mention that mine are bigger than yours!

Visit the peony collection at the United States National Arboretum! 

Happy Birthday Dad!

Today is my Dad's 90th birthday.  I miss him every day and on this day I honor him.  He passed away in January, 2002 following a stroke.

He was born in 1920, to loving parents who doted on him and treated him like a little prince. His Mother died of complications of asthma when he was six and he was left in the care of a loving aunt, who moved into their home to care for him and was about the best substitute for a real mother that a young man could have. It was from her that he learned to be a perfect gentleman, generous in every way.

Dad was a public servant, a county hospital administrator in the sleepy Florida town where I grew up with my siblings and our Mother.   Dad wasn't an athlete and had no interest in sports; I grew up in a house where we watched news and police action shows if we were allowed to watch tv; we watched the Rose Bowl Parade, not the game.

One of the values instilled by Dad was his love of living things.  He was an impatient gardner who loved flowers and landscapes and a beautiful garden setting, but he liked things just so - plants needed to bloom or they were replaced and he had a tendency to over-water and over-feed, a habit that extended to child rearing.

Dad didn't have much experience with other children.  As an only child, he spent much time with adults.  But he learned a lot of valuable lessons about the importance of communication, taking care of others and giving unto others.  He was a very generous person and taught us that it is more important to give, although he also demonstrated again and again the thrill of receiving.

Dad was a very proud grandparent and loved the boys so much.  He bought them special gifts, took them on outings and followed all of their activities with interest.  We spoke by phone often and Dad ended every call with "we love you sweetheart". How I miss that.

I will always be grateful to Dad for giving me the appreciation for written communication and encouraging me to write.  I remember the first year I got to help address the Christmas cards and the fountain pen I received to help me with the task.  It felt very important to sign the cards for the family and most of all I loved the encouragement and the time with just the two of us.  It was special and all ours.

What a gift my Dad was to so many people.  He was also an inspiration with his faith in God.  It is fitting that he's watching over us from heaven now, waiting for us to join him and smiling, knowing we will all get through our individual challenges and in the end it will only really matter that we were faithful and, as he was, loving and caring to those around us.

Happy Birthday, Dad.  I miss you every day and especially today.

Love,
Katherine

PS We still laugh about the day Dallas the dog stole your enormous brick of Stilton cheese and you ran through the house yelling "give me back my cheese."

This blog also appears on The Washington Post website

Lessons of the Bonsai

Trident maple at the US National Arboretum

in training since 1895

My sons gave me a bonsai for Christmas.  Jennifer Juniper is 17 years old and grew up in Texas.  Along with Jennifer came an array of supplies – food, books, clippers and wire.  It was all very confusing at first, but I took the adoption seriously, read the manuals and tried to tune in to her special needs.

Jennifer Juniper on Christmas Day, 2009

My eldest told me that I needed a new hobby because I was spending entirely too much time talking to the birds that visited the suet feeders on our deck.   I think he was most bothered when I referred to  Mr. and Mrs. Cardinal by name and went on about how well put-together her colors were.  Maybe I got a little more excited about the birds and their attire than I would have had my life been filled with more human interaction like one gets when employed and around people all day.

 Serissa

Soon after Jennifer’s arrival, the three of us visited a local nursery that specializes in bonsai and got Jennifer a sister, Serissa.  It seemed fitting to have a tropical plant to round out the sisterhood and provide more things for the unemployed to be obsessed with.

Each day since, I have watered and misted the sisters, plucking dead leaves from Serissa and until recently have let Jennifer to just rest until it was time to go outdoors.

Last month, when it started getting warmer, I put Jennifer out on the sunny deck and she experienced rainfall and real sunshine and cold nights and warm days and had quite a variety of experiences.  It must have been overwhelming at first, but she responded with lots of new growth.  Because she arrived in the dead of winter from a much warmer climate, she lived indoors until the spring.  But from now on, she will live outdoors and enjoy the change of seasons, as junipers generally do.

The only way to keep a bonsai a bonsai is to keep it trimmed so sadly I had to clip the one tiny pinecone on Jennifer’s boughs and Serissa also requires regular pruning.

 Serissa 2

Earlier this month, my eldest and I took a bonsai class at Wolf Trap Nursery.  We were very excited about it and arrived eager to plant our very own bonsai and learn more about their care and feeding.  It was held outdoors and surprisingly cool that morning, so we huddled around the wire mesh-topped tables after anxiously choosing our plants.  He chose a Serissa with interesting exposed roots and I chose a ficus.  Making a selection of pots was difficult as there were many colorful choices and we each wanted the one was that was perfect for our adoptee.

 Frank Ficus

We carefully trimmed and shaped our trees, planted them with utmost care and each ended up with lovely small plants to care for.  The instructor was very complimentary of our work and we felt extremely proud that we had followed instructions carefully and were not afraid to heavily trim our adoptees down to nearly half their size. 

We brought Jennifer and Serissa to the class so that the instructor could counsel us on their care.  He told us my care of them had been nearly expert and they were very healthy.  He suggested giving Jennifer a good haircut and exposing more of her trunk and branches.  On the way back to the car, my son gave me a high five and a hug and said “Mom, we rock at bonsai.”  It was a special moment.

 The Serissa Sisters, Jennifer Juniper and Frank Ficus

Since then I have felt a bit more of a burden as the adopted mom of now four plants.  I am starting to feel like this could get to be just a little bit addicting.  Every morning I care for them and fuss over them (and yes they do get verbal encouragement, as well).  It takes more time with four than two.  But it is a healthy hobby that gives me a great deal of satisfaction and you see up close every day the results of your love and attention.  Raising other living things, be they children or animals, is like that and the rewards are great. 

I am still actively seeking my next career move.  Truth be known, I am also adapting to the pleasures of being home and learning lessons from the bonsai, the old yellow dog and the robins that must be planning a bumper crop of babies this year.  In honor of the Serissa sisters, Jennifer Juniper and Frank the Ficus, I share these lessons.  It is a list in progress.  Every day I learn something new.

Life Lessons from the Bonsai

• Waiting is part of the experience.  While you wait, you watch and attend to all the other things in the environment and experience things you wouldn’t have taken the time to absorb before.  That is probably the most important lesson of unemployment and the one I struggle with the most.

• Good things happen slowly; you are in it for the long haul.  Bonsai live for hundreds of years with proper care.  Finding the next career path is not a fast process when you are making drastic changes.

• If you discard excess you will see what is beneath. Trimming excess growth from the trees involves careful use of the shears to eliminate the unnecessary and expose the beauty of the shape.  When you are making a major career change, you need to throw off the excess, such as generalizations, fears, old baggage and things that hide your branches and trunk. 

• Nutrition is very important.  In a tiny little pot, a beautiful thing grows slow and healthy with the proper balance of food; fighting the tendency to overfeed is a constant problem.  Like the bonsai that has been repotted or had its roots and branches trimmed, people under stress need to consume balanced meals and fight the inclination to overeat.

• If you dry out, you will die.  The bonsai depend primarily on water for their nourishment and neglecting hydration for only a few days can damage or even kill them.  People can live on water alone for some time, although we are not designed to subsist that way for extended periods.  But daily consumption of plenty of plain old H2O is key to survival and good health.

• Sun is very important.  Many bonsai need considerable sunlight to promote healthy growth, prevent disease, do the photosynthesis thing and dwarf  (ultraviolet life dwarfs leaves and ideal conditions are to give them almost too much light); but with too much sunlight they will dry up, sunburn and be damaged.  In the throws of a major job search, people have a tendency to isolate, stay indoors on the internet and telephone and not get enough vitamin D (produced when you are exposed to ultraviolet light), which is important for preventing osteoporosis, some kinds of cancer and even depression).  Likewise, if we spend all of our time outside playing in the sun, we don’t accomplish our goals and have other health problems.

• Resting in the shade is important too.  Too much sun is not good for the bonsai; they get too dry or too hot and deters proper growth and nutrients are diverted to fight the overexposure.  Resting in a quiet, shaded spot is good for the soul and body of the unemployed who cannot search for a job nonstop without the proper rest.

• Cutting back promotes growth.  Eliminating branches and leaves and allowing the bonsai to focus its energy on developing young, smaller growth is important in its development.  As we face major life changes including job searches, it is often necessary to cut expenses and reassess priorities and necessities; in the process we gain strength and wisdom . 

• It is more interesting to have diverse friends.  Jennifer and the Serissa Sisters and Frank Ficus mix well together; they look fantastic as a foursome and yet each have their individuality.  Particularly during a career change and job search, we need to have many friends and contacts to support and help us see ourselves in different lights and strengthen our outreach.

• Trust your master that you will be well cared for.  As long as I am the keeper of these bonsai, they will be well tended and their growth will be according to a plan.  God has a plan for us, and the seasons of growth, cutting back, resting, basking in the sun, waiting, and waiting some more are all part of it.  We must trust, and comply, give all we can and at times grow weary, while we allow our master to do his work.

Like the robin

I have been watching those crazy robins all winter.  They hang around in groups and swoop too close to cars, get caught by nasty old cats, bathe in my fish pond and then begin doing what robins do in spring ---- get ready for babies.


You know something is going to happen when you see robins everywhere because they are  curious and drop in just to see what's going on or to take advantage of the situation, such as after a hard rain when all the worms rise to the surface or are washed onto the sidewalk.  When there is about to be a big weather change, you can be sure the robins will be out in force.

One particular robin, who I have named Rory, beats his head and wings against my dressing room window for hours every morning.  He and I share some of the same frustrations and I have some sympathy for his situation.

Rory has a purpose in life but just hasn't quite figured it out.  He knows he needs to protect his family and himself no matter what.  He is loyal and strong and wants to do his very best.  He just isn't quite so sure how to go about it.  Because he is insecure, when he sees his reflection in my window he attacks it with a great amount of enthusiasm - over and over.

When the sun rises higher and the reflection changes, he thinks he has successfully fought off another predator and saved his family.  His head and his beak hurt, and one wing might be just a little bit tender, but he feels accomplished.  He probably doesn't remember that he did the same thing yesterday, or even just a couple of minutes earlier.   He has no clue that the intruder in the window will reappear tomorrow with the sunrise.


Why does this have particular meaning to me this spring?  Because I feel a little like Rory only with more insight.


I beat my head against the wall sending out resumes, following up with people who say they will help me with networking (many have, others make promises they don't follow through on), meeting with new people, following leads, making uncomfortable cold calls, and dealing with a fair number of oddly irresponsible potential employers.  And some days the only thing that happens is that my wings and beak and head hurt and the same problem occurs all over again the next day, with the rising of the sun.

Some days I don't want to get out of bed, even though I set the coffee pot to wake me up with a fresh pot of coffee (this week it is a nice German Chocolate flavored coffee from Ybor City, Florida).  When I do get up, I am reminded that it may be another day of beating my head against something.  But now that it is spring, I am also reminded that life can be glorious!

I have a couple of things going for me that Rory doesn't.  I have faith.  I know as sure as the sun shines that God is good and I will be ok.  I have choices and I know that tomorrow will dawn with new possibilities.  But Rory and I share that head-banging nonetheless.  I guess mine just has a little more purpose and intelligence, and if I choose not to spend my day sending out resumes, like today, I can go out and enjoy those fabulous cherry blossoms and the amazing Spring weather.  Rory, on the other hand, is still driven to attack his reflection.


I have the same hope Rory does - that the intruder will go away and tomorrow I won't have to do that all over again.  I sometimes wish I had Rory's bird brain so that I couldn't think ahead and rationalize, or have that sense of dread of more of the same thing happening the next day.


Unlike Rory, I know that my head banging is not a fight to the death (Rory is clearly ready for that).  Instead, it will go on until the right thing comes and hopefully I have my beak intact and am not comatose from the head banging.

Meanwhile one of Rory's cousins is doing the same thing with the outside mirror on my car.  Only he perches on top of the car and admires his enemy, then poops all over my car before banging his head into the mirror.  Every morning I rinse the side of the car with a pitcher of water, trying to erase the remains of all those digested worms.

Soon the hormones of the robins will settle down and they will be watching over nests of eggs and teaching fledglings to fly, all the while watching for hawks, crows and other enemies.  And maybe by the time those baby birds are learning to fly, I will grow some new wings, my beak and head will heal and I'll be soaring off to a new adventure and eating something better than worms!