photo credit: My little Ruby-throated Friend via photopin (license)
This little guy entertained us as we ate lunch one day.
The wood ducks were passing through last weekend.
It was difficult to count them because they kept doing this and disappearing under the water.
I spotted this today. For a second I thought it was a maze in the woods.
Then I figured it out. Those are piped maple trees, and that little wooden
building might be the cook shack. Maple syrup season is probably over this week,
according to the chatter I heard on Tuesday.
Speaking of (the first) Tuesday (in April), spring brings certain local elections --
village and town boards, school referenda, a supreme court justice.
These were three of my fellow election judges.
The fifth election judge monitored the single voting machine.
I'm pretty sure that voter is one of the volunteer fireman that pulled Smokey and I
out of the lake a couple weeks ago. Small towns: you see the same people over and over.
She and I occupied ourselves in the same manner during the down times.
(no photo)
When I got home that night I heard the loons crying. It made me very happy.
Today brought the traditional April snowfall.
::sob::
See Perceval The Energetic is visiting for the week while a Younger Son does a storage network install at the FAA in Oklahoma City. Ser Percy is very aware of our two cats, and our two cats stay well away from him.
On Monday I was winding yarn and sorting and stowing it when Ser Percival showed up.
He was intent in the way that only a pit bull on the trail of something can be.
I wondered if there were a mouse somewhere in this end of the room. There is
an assortment of paint cans under a table just out of camera range to the right,
making a dandy hiding place for a small rodent.
The object of Percy's attention was in this nook between the wall, the file cabinet,
a stack of yarn-filled plastic bins, and the table. What could it be?
Hannibal was smugly snuggled onto towel that had fallen into the nook.
He knew he was safe. I could hear him saying, Nyah nyah nyah. Dog!
It's Woody Woodpecker!
We have lots of downy woodpeckers and hairy woodpeckers and red-bellied woodpeckers and the occasional red-headed woodpecker or northern flicker here, but seeing a pileated woodpecker is cause for a stealthy photo. We have seen one on our property only three or four times in 25 years, but I think they are more common elsewhere in the county.
Last Saturday the county humane society held its annual dog walk.
This is Rusty The Wonder Dog, mentioned in the article linked above.
Those who paid the extra $10 registration fee got these snazzy orange t-shirts.
Participating dogs got bandanas, which their owners often chose to match their own outfits.
These collies and shelties were gorgeous.
Pugs? I think so. Boston terriers*? I got a lesson in distinguishing a pug from a French bulldog.
(The latter has stand-up ears.)
I was working the registration desk and did not walk either of our dogs. Besides, Lucy is too old and Misha way too insecure around other people and dogs.
It was a great day and a great fund-raiser for the shelter.
* Thanks, Vicki!
View from NG's writing studio. View from my laundry room window.
Clearly, Neil Gaiman takes far better photographs than I do.
The cats have given my new rocker their furry seal of approval.
As long as it doesn't rock, they like it. When it rocks, they scowl.
We saw this as we were driving out from the dead end road to which our driveway leads.
This is Mrs.* Painted** Turtle laying her eggs.
In the middle of the road.
Not the most ideal place for baby turtle to hatch. That is, assuming no one drives over the nest and squishes the eggs before they hatch. Painted turtles always lay their eggs in sand. Or gravel, as the case may be. One year she, or one of her distant cousins, laid her eggs at the end of our driveway. So sad.
Push, Mrs. Turtle, push!
::cleansing breath::
Push!
* I know she is a Mrs. because painted turtles are nothing if not conventional.
** You can tell she is a painted turtle because the edge of her salmon-colored underplate plastron is showing. Here is a better view I found on the web:
I have noticed that any number of [non-fiction] books have a premise that would be perfect for a long article or a pamplet*, but which do not warrant an entire book. Not that that stops the pundits and analysts and socio-political commentators from writing them. In that vein, I present any number of my recent thoughts and occurrences that do not warrant an entire blog post but which are perfect for the blog equivalent of a not-book.
* * * * *
We have been taking care of Elder Son's new dog while he is at Bonnaroo. Said dog is bigger (105 pounds) than our own two dogs put together (45 pounds + 55 pounds). This means we are buying twice the amount of dog food and cleaning up twice the amount of poop. This dog's name is, most appropriately, Moose. In the photo at left, he is standing on the floor with his paws on my chair. Notice how I am eye to eye with his collar. When he wants to get on the bed, he doesn't need to jump -- he just walks onto it. Happily, he is a big softie who wants nothing more than a head rub and to be told he is a good doggie. And to be fed.
He also drinks what seems to us to be an incredible amount of water. Smokey and I marvel at how frequently we find ourselves filling the water dish; Elder Son remarks, "Wow, I wonder what his medical term that was gobblety-gook to me rate is?"
Moose was a bed hog the first couple nights after Elder Son left. I would wake up at 3am and find him occupying the entire lower two-thirds of the bed. Then I would discover that moving a 105-pound inert mass of canine was not as easy as I might have hoped. But after rolling him out of his spot those two nights, he seemed to understand that his place was between Smokey and I, not in the place where I wanted my lower body to be.
* * * * *
On Father's Day I saw several gifs and posts about things people were taught by their fathers. My dad was a very shy and insecure man not much given to being a father, although he tried. What he taught me was never to walk on ice with my hands in my pockets. Not exactly a life-altering lesson, but not a bad one, either. It has saved my butt -- and wrists and probably hip -- any number of times.
* * * * *
I was out running errands one sunny day last week and saw four convertibles with their tops down. The next day was stormy and Younger Son reported he saw four accidents on his way here from Minneapolis, one of said accidents requiring an ambulance. Coincidence or enemy action? Hard to say, really.
* * * * *
Haven't done the unconscious mutterings for a while. Time to re-start my tradition, albeit on a different day than before.
* * * * *
I think I mentioned I have been binge-watching House for the past few weeks. His character seems to me to be a medical version of Sherlock Holmes, right down to his affinities for music and drugs. (I realize that this similarity has probably been remarked upon years ago by TV reviewers, but I just noticed it. Never read any reviews of the show when it was new.) Imagine my delight when there was an exterior shot of his townhouse, showing its number: 221B.
Smokey was watching it with me last night and pointed out that the House character also has a lot of similarities to the Doc Martin character in that PBS series. Both are arrogant and abrasive, but other characters put up with them because of their life-saving brilliance.
* * * * *
Smokey had an appointment last week with his ortho's physician assistant to get shots of rooster comb in his knees. This PA is the one who started and did much of the CPR that kept him alive when his heart stopped just before his knee surgery in March. He brought her a bouquet of flowers at this appointment. She was quite touched. I told him he should bring her flower at every appointment from now until the end of time. She is our hero.
* Does anyone besides the Jehovah's Witnesses write pamphlets any more? Save some trees! Bring back the pamphlet! I say.
Bouquet photo credit: anne arnould via photopin cc
But I thought I would share this photo with you. It was taken across the lake from us, exactly one mile away. Not by me, though.
Bear cubs. There are a mama bear and three cubs hanging around the lake this spring.
As usual, first you get the mutterings.
* * * * *
As you may remember, earlier this week we got a foot (12"! 30cm!) of snow. Today the temp is 70℉ (21℃). Ah, spring in The North. Will we get another dump of snow? I say no. Let's hope I am right.
photo credit: Bill Gracey via photopin cc
On Friday I saw two wood ducks on the lake. In all my life I don't think I have ever seen one in the wild, although I have seen dozens, if not hundreds, of wood duck houses erected by hopeful bird enthusiasts. They are a beautiful bird, as you can see in the photo. Sadly, this pair seemed to be transiting on their way north, gone the next day.
Beside the wood ducks, there have been Canada geese (many, many) and trumpeter swans (two) (the ones in the photo below may not be trumpeters because Wikipedia informs me that the latter generally swim with a straight neck; a lake neighbor more knowledgeable than I identified the ones on our lake as trumpeters),
photo credit: Peter aka anemoneprojectors - camera busted! via photopin cc
and coots (aka mud hens).
photo credit: TexasEagle via photopin cc
No loons yet.
* * * * *
Remember the 600 stitches I cast on for the linen stitch scarf, then ripped out because the colors did not have enough contrast? And re-cast on 600 stitches with completely different yarns? I knat and knat upon them for a couple weeks, but last night I screwed up an entire row. The thought of tinking that row set me back a bit; upon further reflection -- and realizing just how long that scarf was going to be, somewhere between nine and eleven feet (2.7 and 3.3 meters), just as a commenter remarked a few posts ago -- I decided the best thing to do would be to frog it and start over again with fewer stitches.
While I was at it, I rewound the three yarns into new cakes. I love doing that. I will rewind center-pull balls/skeins into cakes just because I like them. We takes our fun where we finds it.
Today I re-cast on, 420 stitches this time, and I am halfway through the first row. My knitterly friends have rescheduled our linen stitch scarf tutorial for next Friday. I should have an inch or two of progress to show by then.
Netflix has provided me with some excellent knitting viewing: The Inexplicable Universe with Neil DeGrasse Tyson. Because the presentation is 95% NDT talking, with very few visuals, it is perfect for knitting. The subject matter so far, astrophysics and cosmology and relativity and quantum physics and string theory, has always fascinated me, even though it is beyond my understanding*. I love this stuff the same way Smokey loves the Sunday morning talking heads shows and the PBS nightly news hour.
* In the words of John von Neumann, "In mathematics** you don't understand things. You just get used to them." So true.***
** And quantum physics.
*** While googling to be sure I had that quotation correct, I found this. (Scroll down to the Foot Shooting Agreement.)
Yes, like many of you, I am doing our taxes. This is the first time in years I haven't had to extend them because I was way too busy in March and April to do them. Retirement is sweet.
Beverage for these taxing days:
That's coconut flavored sparkling water on the left, lime on the right.
Lime colada (non-alcoholic, because taxes)!
And the hat that is my traditional one for doing the taxes (assuming two years in a row counts as tradition).
Note: my eyes actually point in the same direction. Don't know what was going on here.
First blooms of spring, observed outside the government center yesterday
when I turned in my final expense report.
Not only did they dismember this stuffed draft-blocker, they later ripped open the garbage bag
where Smokey had put all the pieces. Then they repeated this scene, complete with innocent expressions.
Sent to me by one of my co-trustees on the humane society board. He sends the best stuff!
