my people

My great, great, great, great, great, great, great grandfather is Buckingham, Hugh, Sr. of Twitchen, Devon Co., England.

And another great, great, great, great grandfather is Lock, William, Sr. of Devon Co., England.

I'm also the great, great, great, great, great, great granddaughter of William Savage: born 1730 and died in 1800.

These are cool: Great, great grandfather is Andrew Jackson Arnold. And my great, great grandfather's uncle is George Washington Harriman.

And the list goes on and on.

1st day of winter

i know it's not but it certainly felt like it. i raced home from work to put on flannels and thick socks. what a rude awakening. when on earth does the time change? i used to know when this happened: the last sunday in october and the first sunday in april. now it's a mystery to me. i need more sunlight. i can't survive another winter lacking sunlight. it looks like i'm going to need to get one of those light thingies.

so what IS up with the time? ugly angie's comment about the time being wrong made me think of the time change.

i think ugly scott should stick with the weird non-identifiable pics.

please finish the narrative.

it's 7:49 pm.

four winds and dowagiac river

last night: casino.

today: kayaking the dowagiac river. if no one hears from us tomorrow, we put in, of all places, on sink road.

the lifestyles of my plants

each year as the days become shorter and the temperatures drop, i begin to feel sorry for the plants that have to stay outside and face the consequences of being an annual. some of them have struggled all summer because it was dry: a wet may and record rainfall one weekend in september (11 inches over the weekend). i watered as much as i could but always ran out of time each night. so now, as the first frost approaches, the plants are looking better than ever. how sad. many of them look so nice i have the urge to dig them up and put them in pots to continue an inside winter show. i know, though, that they will suffer from shock. the inside plants that have been living outside look good but will not transition to living inside very well. they will hate living in the house for several months. once they get used to it, it'll be time to put them back outside. very sad.

what now

i think i managed to turn off comments. if it's not turned back on, someone will have to let me know. more inspiring/uninspiring stuff later.

transitioning from summer to fall

Yellow Warbler (below) & Goldfinch (right)

i think it's official. summer is over. it must be a psychological thing because it's a relatively hot september day, the pool is at 91 degrees, and i don't feel swimming or sunbathing. what is it about fall? it's really warm out, but doesn't feel very warm. fall brings with it an impending doom. the snow and cold are coming. there is no way to ignore it and no way to wish it away. the leaves are falling, the bugs are dying, and the birds are migrating to better climates. someone should inform the lingering mosquitoes of the end of summer. i've been bitten several times in the last hour.

i spent a great deal of time watching a large group of yellow warblers from the bathroom window this morning. at a glance they look like goldfinches. the goldfinches didn't appear to be thrilled at having company. nevertheless, it's a thrill to see the warblers in our back yard since they don't hang around for the summer.

i did see a brown and black caterpillar munching on a leaf and considered following it until it cocooned itself; however, i got too bored watching it eat so it looks like the same would prove true watching it encase itself. i suppose the mystery of how they do that will remain a mystery to me.

is it too soon to get spring fever?

molly

another year

inside the zip-lock bag
inside the gold tin
inside the brown box

nothing formal
nothing permanent
nothing quite right

not to the yard
not to a shelf
not inscribed

just beside me
just like always

another day
your day

today

bloomless hydrangea

i am totally uninspired tonight.

the dog is, as usual, anxious. he converses with her as though she understands every word. it's a good thing she doesn't understand: her feelings would be hurt.

in response to scott's cricket observation. . . one of my favorite poems (and poetry isn't my thing).

"Seen From Above"

A dead beetle lies on the path through the field.
Three pairs of legs folded neatly on its belly.
Instead of death's confusion, tidiness and order.
The horror of this sight is moderate,
its scope is strictly local, from the wheat grass to the mint.
The grief is quarantined.
The sky is blue.

To preserve our peace of mind, animals die
more shallowly: they aren't deceased, they're dead.
They leave behind, we'd like to think, less feeling and less
world,
departing, we suppose, from a stage less tragic.
Their meek souls never haunt us in the dark,
they know their place,
they show respect.

And so the dead beetle on the path
lies unmourned and shining in the sun.
One glance at it will do for meditation—
clearly nothing much has happened to it.
Important matters are reserved for us,
for our life and death, a death
that always claims the right of way.

--Wislawa Szymborska

roundup & walnuts

ugly scott used up my most interesting material for the day.

the walnut tree is dropping walnuts like crazy while the squirrels run around frantically eating and burying their precious morsels of bitter gold. but the thing i notice the most is how stained the squirrels faces and hands have become. this i notice as i inspect, daily, the progress of the unwanted grass growing in the landscaping. which leads me to wonder why grass grows were i don't want it and dies where i do want it.

Sloe Gin Fizz

1 1/2 oz. Sloe Gin

1/2 oz. Lemon Juice
Club Soda or Sparkling Water

Combine sloe gin and lemon soda or lemon juice in
a shaker filled with ice, shake, pour into a highball
glass filled with ice and fill with club soda or sparkling water.

walking the dog

what a beautiful day! man, it was nice out. we went for a nice walk after work...got ice cream.

rita likes ferretts. . .

she now knows they're harmless. . .

we called ours "chewy". . .

dude says they stink. . .

bill's opinion is unknown.

beans

Happy Birthday Beans. I miss you.

Spent the evening mowing the very tall grass.

Praying Mantis

this has been a good year for the praying matis. . . at least in our back yard. this one was on the side of the neighbors garage this afternoon and was approximately six inches long. we see them nearly every day. earlier in the summer or spring, we encountered what seemed like hundreds of young mantis' while working on the landscape. scott isn't particularly fond of them and swears they chase him around. i've read two articles about them catching and eating hummingbirds: http://www.birdwatchersdigest.com/site/backyardbirds/hummingbirds/mantis-hummer.aspx. i do hope to never witness anything like it.

the cat

the cat seems to now how to live. it eats, sleeps, watches things, and begs for treats. she, when in the living room, always lays in that spot. she's very predictable in that she will lick her fur and then attack the plant. it's quite a comical scene: i always laugh as i watch the episodes unfold day after day. the routine never changes and neither does my reaction.

"Lisa's Plants" (because it's special)

Lisa came home to find that her plants had moved inside.

She didn’t notice them immediately, being preoccupied by herhyperactive dog, whom she scolded in a cheery voice for jumping onher and tripping her as she entered the house. “I see you, Zoë,” she saidto the dog. She rubbed Zoë’s face like she was polishing a crystal ball. The dog continued to jump alongside her as she made her way to thebedroom.

One might think the dog was trying to get Lisa’s attention forsomething specific—for instance, telling her that the plants were nowoccupying the house—but that wasn’t the case. Though Lisa arrived homeafter being gone approximately nine hours and fifteen minutes every day,Zoë was consistently surprised she was alive. To the dog, her cominghome was tantamount to her being pulled up from the bottom of a well. On the way to the bedroom, Lisa didn’t notice three viburnumssitting quite comfortably at the dining room table; nor did she notice thepatches of moss she walked directly over.

Before she noticed anything was different at all, she had changed out of her dress and into her sweats (which she grabbed from the arms of a trumpet vine), reassured the dog further, and gone back to the kitchenwhere a group of impatiens were in the sink, waiting to be watered. One was urging the others to join him over by the refrigerator. Lisa saw nothing. Instead, she walked the familiar path to the pantry, found a rawhide chewfor the dog, patted it again, and went to sit on the living room couch.

At that point, her feet on the coffee table, Zoë beneath her legsloudly chewing, she saw all. Beside her, a slightly wilted sunflower sat onthe couch, its roots dangling in the water glass she had left the night beforeon the floor. Its head tilted perilously close to the ceiling fan. A row ofbug-pocked hostas, just about to bloom, sat in semi-circle around the TV. A hydrangea crouched coolly in a doorway.

The remote was in Lisa’s hand, but she forgot to turn on the news,which she watched every morning and every evening to catch the weatherreport. The formerly invisible plants were now all she could see. Shepushed herself away from the sunflower.

Lisa wanted to ask the plants what they were doing. “What are youdoing in the house?” she actually said, though not expecting an answer.

Being plants, they heard her, but they kept their thoughts to themselves. And I mean “themselves” collectively rather than individually:they sent whispers around the room to each other, just no message to Lisa.

My plants are all inside, she thought quite simply. Who put themhere? She squinted and moved her head slightly back and forth as if theanswer to the mystery might lie in the corner of the room. Notice what shedidn’t think: the plants moved inside by themselves. Who would? She shivered, imagining someone in her house. She remembered astory she had heard as a teenager about a family in Manitowoc, Wisconsin,who awoke to find all the shoes from their shoe store on their front lawn. Neatly arranged. The story had made all the papers as a funny humaninterest story. Even then, Lisa didn’t think it was funny. She feltempathetically violated.

With Zoë one pace behind her, Lisa began to creep around thehouse looking for, but hoping not to find, the intruder who had moved herplants indoors. As she wondered about the reason—probably to shockher into a vulnerable position for attack—she saw a fern move by thebathroom sink. It wasn’t swaying in the wind. There was no wind. Itsmovement came from its bottom rather than its top half. It appeared, inshort, to be walking.

Lisa wished she could have passed out at that moment, like womendo in old movies. Even a shriek would have been satisfying. Unfortunately,it wasn’t in her constitution to have such outward signs of emotion—evenwhen confronted by walking plants.

Having no dramatic outlet, she sat on the floor, holding the dog’shead near her face, gently pushing off every third lick or so with her hand.

She had continued the search for an intruder and found no signs. She called the police, but that was no help. From the minute he arrived, thecop seemed to insinuate that it was her fault. “Did you lock the door?” hekept asking. He was egg-shaped, like one of the Weeble people herbrother had played with when they were little.

As she tried to explain what had happened, she could imagine thecop repeating her words to his friends back at the station, telling them withmuch dramatic flourish about the nutty woman with plants in her house. Shedidn’t dare tell him that she had seen a fern walk.

At least the dog didn’t seem to think she was crazy. Zoë lickedLisa’s ankle.

The last thing the cop said to her was, “Why don’t you just movethem back outdoors?”

Though she called him a dumb ass under her breath when he said it(which caused a small uprooted tomato plant near the magazine stand tojiggle), she attempted to do just that after he had gone.

She grabbed a bush but was immediately startled by what seemed tobe resistance (or even the beginnings of a tug of war) from the plant. Shakingher head and gaining new resolve, she ignored what she felt, explaining to thedog that plants couldn’t pull, and took it back to the mound it had occupied inthe side yard. There she knelt, carefully burying its roots. The ground wasmoist and warm.

She noticed that some of the landscaping bricks she had installed lastsummer were crumbling. Also, the mound itself needed new mulch. “I’llhave to get to that after we get this re-planting done,” she said to Zoë. Looking around the virtually plantless yard, she remembered her initial visionof a birdbath over by the birch tree, a stone path, and a bench. She reallyhadn’t had much time to work on her yard this year.

She began to re-plant the others with Zoë tagging along. All wasgoing well until she noticed another hole where, just moments before, she hadpatted the earth firm. She went inside to find a tuft of elephant grass leaningcockily against the fireplace. Its message was clear (and not unspoken,though still unheard by Lisa): “Not so fast. We’re not giving in this easily.”

Again, she sat at dog level, but this time she kissed Zoë back.

It was only after she had given up and lived indoors with the plants forthree days that she began to hear their quiet barking at night. That and thefrequent shuffling across the wood floor kept her awake.

Within a week, she had grown accustomed to the noise. Things wereas they were. She just couldn’t invite anyone over. Otherwise, she enjoyedthe company of the plants. They even had a calming effect on the dog. Somedays Zoë greeted her in only a half-frenzy.

By the end of the first month, she was sleeping with a Mexican heather,which began to curl at her feet, then edged its way, over a few days, to herhead. She was having coffee in the morning with a tulip, the beginning of aregular routine. “I heard that coffee grounds were good for plants,” she said.

Three months later, when she pulled in the driveway and discovered herentire yard was dirt, she wasn’t even mildly shocked. She wasn’t surprisedwhen she stepped indoors onto the grass. No need to call the Weeble cop. She knew it was her fault.

“It’s about time you came in,” she said to the grass. “Yes, I see you,too,” she said to Zoë, who nuzzled her leg without tripping her.

define fun

new orleans: i miss that city. i'd like to live there one day. the picture represents a happy, fun moment. it makes me smile and that is a good thing.

finally a day without rain

i think it's been raining for the last week. ok, maybe only since sunday or monday. but hey, three or four straight days of gloom is quite enough.

watching connections...can't do two things at once

so, i guess i need a place to rant on occasion. . . and they say it's healthy to write "things" down. in all honestly, "journaling" usually just pisses me off.

the right is our favorite "watering hole." yes, i think the place is haunted.