Making Progress

I made great strides today. Figuratively. Literally they were teeny tiny Artie Johnson shuffling steps. I went to Target to pick up a couple of things, which I can do with my walker. It has a basket under the seat. When I parked, I was right next to where they park the shopping carts. I wondered if I might be able to push one, instead of the walker. I could and did! All over the store! I’m pooped tonight, but it’s a good feeling.

I found Trudy and her nest last week. Can you spot her?


She’s at the top of the horse shed, just to the left of the tree. Tonight when I got home, I could hear peeping coming from there. I think there is at least one peadiddle, or whatever baby peafowl are called. Now the problem is how are they supposed to get down? Stay tuned.

Make My Day

Sometimes you have things dumped in your lap that you just KNOW are a challenge to do the right thing. In my case, the main challenge is usually to figure out what the right thing is. Once that’s evident, there’s no way I could consciously do the wrong thing. (The only other option is to do nothing at all if the right thing is something I don’t WANT to do.)

Remember last week I had round 2 with the blood pressure girl and her equipment that is in sore need of either baling twine or duct tape? Well, she followed through on her threat to tattle to the doctor about my so-called untreated high blood pressure.

He recommends that I come in to have my blood pressure checked and sign up for a Hypertension Class. “This one-session class provides information on self-care skills and lifestyle change strategies to help you manage your hypertension.”

I’m not really sure what the right thing is in this case, but it probably wouldn’t involve copying 75 pages from my weekly log book, would it? That's where I've kept the results of taking my BP and blood sugar 3 times a day for over a year. And a 10-page report on the negative effects of prescribing blood pressure medication to people with autonomic neuropathy and orthostatic hypotension might be overkill. Not to mention snide.

But at this point the only question in my mind is what color 3-ring binder to use.

Kamikaze Birds

I've never had a hummingbird feeder. When the Albizzia julibrissin (silk tree) is blooming, there are lots of hummers around, but I didn't want to tempt them to stay. There were always too many feral cats around. Any location for a feeder that would be visible from the house would make the birds an easy target for the cats.

But last week when we were shopping for bird seed, Bob suggested that since there are no more cats outside, we should get a feeder for the hummers. And we did.

We put it right outside the dining room window, where I can see it from my computer. The birds came immediately and have been fighting over it ever since.

Yesterday morning I could see that the food would run out during the day, so I took a cup of nectar and went down the steps very carefully, balancing it on the walker, (didn't need sticky red stuff on my work clothes) and around the corner to fill it. When I reached for the feeder, I got dive-bombed by 5 little kamikaze pilots who were protecting their territory.

You just know that those little, mad, buzzy sounds the hummers make are not a "song." They're cuss words, for sure. Luckily I had glasses on, so didn't fear for my eyes when one of them hovered inches in front of them. When I tried to pour the food from the cup into the feeder, two came down and landed on my finger and started slurping directly from the cup. Another landed on the edge of the cup and slurped. I didn't know hummers did this. I asked, "aren't you guys supposed to be wild?" I think the answer was "shut up and let us eat in peace."

Bob says Frances, who lives across the street, has lots of feeders out. I suspect these birds may think everyone is as wonderful and safe as she is.

I thought because the feeder is 5 feet from my desk, I'd be able to sit here and watch the birds through the window and identify them. Oh sure. All the females are brown. The birds are backlighted, so their colors aren't apparent. And once again the books are more confusing than clarifying. But I think these are black-chinned hummers.

The smartest hummer I ever saw was a female that made her nest high up on a fencing display near the nursery dept. at Home Depot. She had a continuous supply of fresh flowers to dine on.

From the tiny to the huge: the buzzards that are nesting along the river are out this morning, too. Every time they fly over the house the starlings mob them, as if a buzzard could do them any harm. The chickens at least can tell the difference between a buzzard and a hawk. They always squawk at hawks, but never at buzzards. I always found in AMAZING (re: Huell Howser) that a chicken in a show box inside the car could recognize a hawk flying off in the distance as we drove down the highway to a poultry show. I guess it's important for them to practice that skill. Even the "squawk" a chicken makes as a warning sounds like "hawk!".

The pigeons are also good at identifying flying predators, but they don't vocalize a warning, they just dive for cover. Once we had a pair of young white pigeons on the front porch that stayed in a dog carrier at night and during the day we'd open the door and let them fly around at will. One afternoon the pigeons were right outside the dining room window that faces the porch, sitting on top of their carrier. Bob and I were at the computer in front of the window. Suddenly it got dark and we looked up just in time to see a redtail hawk swooping onto the porch, intent on catching a pigeon. It looked as big as a condor coming straight at the window. There was a loud crash and a lot of commotion before we got to the porch.

There were a few white feathers floating around, but the hawk was gone and so were both pigeons. An hour or so later the pigeons came walking out from under the shrubbery and back onto the porch.

Update: the front porch wren is still on her nest. She doesn't fly out of it anymore when we go out the front door, she just pokes her head out to see what's going on. Trudy Patoodeh is on a nest in a new location. She stops by once a day to grab some food, then sneaks back to the nest. I don't think Rudy even knows where it is. Rudy stayed pretty close to the ground on those windy days. It's hard to maneuver in the wind when you have a big kite on your butt.

A Fun Web Site

It’s hard to get bored when you have access to the internet. Someone sent me this web site quite a while back and I love to check it once in a while.

http://www.yannarthusbertrand.org/yann2/accueil.php

It has pictures of animals and their owners from around the world. I wish I’d had access to these when I had a 4-H group. When they’d complain about having to wear their whites for showmanship, I could whip out the picture of an English lady wearing a dress to show her bull. These are just some samples of the photographer’s work. Check out the site for yourself. The captions are all in French, which I have translated for you.

Gillhouse Fairlady 5th, called “Little Pudding”, presented by John Hurford. Royal Show, Great Britain.


Caylers Crackerjack, from Baggrave Farms, shown by Leisa Cargill, Royal Show, Great Britain.


Nogales Vanguard Marys Rich, age 3, accompanied by Pedro and Nelly Paressi, Buenos Aires, Argentina.


Stanley House Duchess and her son Stanley House John Bull, presented by Anne Hull, Royal Show, Great Britain.


The Sacramento County Fair began today. If the pictures inspire you to see pigs and cows for yourself, that’s where you can find them all spiffed up.

I don’t do the fair anymore, maybe someday if they start letting adults show I’ll wear a dress and show a pig. (When pigs fly.)

BP Wars - Round 2

I saw the physical therapist this a.m. I'm doing fine, getting stronger all the time.

Then I went upstairs to have my blood pressure taken.

Yesterday when I was at the dentist, they took my BP seconds after the shots of novocain, which sent me almost off the deep end. It was 167/85.

Today in the BP station at Kaiser it was 172/81.

These are my readings at home for the past 3 days: 89/56, 127/74, 103/55; 85/51, 100/61, 92/52; 88/53, 115/70, 103/55. I don't meditate myself into a vegetable state before I take my BP at home. I just take it. The cuff at home has been calibrated.

It's pretty obvious to me that my "problem" with blood pressure is a mental one, not a physical one. So what is it about the BP station at Kaiser that makes it even worse to my peabrain than the dentist's office, for heaven sake?

Is it the girl with the amazing skinny arms and the attitude? The faulty blood pressure cuff that she wraps her hands around to keep it on? I don't know. Friend M says take deep breaths to relax. Friend N says hold your arm up, with elbow bent. Any other thoughts? Beverly, you worked in a hospital, what did you observe?

In the meantime I'm going to keep working on this. I hate it that my records at Kaiser say I have "untreated high blood pressure." It just isn't so. I may be an untreated neurotic, though.

Rearranging

I’ve had lots to write about, but no opportunity to do it. The internet was down for a couple of days while Closet World installed a desk unit in the den. It looks really nice. Bob just got things rewired this evening. I’m trying to get books back on their shelves.

I got a new scanner. It might take a couple of days to get that hooked up. My intent is to scan the old family pix and make digital copies for the next generation. A few may make their way onto the blog.

I’ve been out watering the garden. The hose leaks and when I sit in the walker and squirt things, I get really wet. It’s wonderful. The flowers Susie transplanted have all taken a beating in the heat, but the seeds are coming up.

Trudy Patoodeh has disappeared. Rudy is distraught and screeches a lot. I think Trudy is probably on a nest again, but she has a new location. I found out the peacock down the valley was a dumpoff along with 2 others 3 years ago. We must be on someone’s regular dumpoff route. I don’t know why anyone thinks that dumping any kind of animal right next to this highway is a good idea.

Tonight I saw two ringneck doves at the feeder, along with one of our pigeons. The doves are HUGE! Bigger than the pigeon.

Diane from next door told me there are 4 or 5 buzzard nests along the river in the cottonwood trees this year.

As the rest of the county is overbuilt, the wildlife seems to all be squeezing into our little area. I can understand why the buzzards are here - to clean the rest of the wildlife off the highway.

Just One More Thing...

...to make life interesting.

I got a driver's license renewal in the mail this year, about the same time I had hand controls installed in my car. There was a place where you had to check if you have any medical problems that might affect your driving. Well, of course I checked it. I also attached a note that explained I had hand controls in the car and that I had taken lessons with a driving school and passed.

DMV sent me a very short letter saying they would schedule me for a driving test, that I would be notified by mail.

I just called DMV. I've been waiting for 2 months to be scheduled.

The fellow who picked up the phone had a very heavy accent.

I told him what the problem was. He said, "we just sent you a letter yesterday." "Oh, great!" I said. "Can you tell me when the appointment is, and where?" I was hoping it wouldn't be downtown.

He said, "your license has been suspended." I asked, dumbfounded, "And that would be why?"

"Because you didn't return your medical forms." "What medical forms?" I asked. "I never got anything in the mail from you except a letter that said you would schedule me for a driving test."

"Oh," he said, "well you need to have your doctor return the forms."

"What f---king forms? Did you send him forms? I didn't give him any forms because you never sent me any." Yes, I was a little peeved. "What am I supposed to do now?"

He said, "take your blank medical form to your doctor and have him fill it out."

"I don't HAVE a blank medical form, you stupid idiot!!! How many times do I have to tell you that you didn't send me ANYTHING?"

"Oh. Then I can send you one today."

Then I had to call my favorite doctor to see if he had received anything in the mail. Of course, there's no way you actually get
through to the doctor. Not even to his office. I left a message.

I'll probably have to go there in person. Driving with a suspended license. Then I'll have to run forms down to DMV with my suspended license. And the great danger of that is that once I get there I'll have a snit fit and be hauled off to jail anyway.

The next thing, I'm sure, is that my insurance will be cancelled because my license is suspended. So when my car is left in the DMV parking lot because I was hauled off to jail, the tires will be stolen or something and the insurance won't cover it.

How is it possible to live in this kind of a world? Hello? Did I wake up on the wrong planet? Did I actully die when they cut off my toe. And this is hell? Well, at least I still have email, so hell isn't all bad.

Practicing with my new glasses for the vision test.

Animal House #1

When I was thinking about all the baby birds we’ve raised here, it brought to mind lots of fun stories. This first story is not about birds and it’s old. Bob was maybe 4 or 5 at the time. But it’s one of my favorites:
................

We had two dogs at the time. Mikey was a Yorkshire Terrier that I got for my mom a year before she died. I ended up with him for the next 10 years. Gertie was a Queensland Heeler, John’s first dog. Mikey lived in the house and Gertie mostly stayed outside. Mikey was a relentless hunter. There’s a reason why Yorkies have been kept small. If they were regular-sized, they would be notorious killers.

We had cats at the time. I think the one that was in the house then was Kitty, an old gray cat with a bad back that was a dump off.

One morning Bob was playing with Legos, Kitty was asleep on the bed in the sunshine, and Mike was in the bedroom yapping his head off. It sounded like he had found a mouse, so I went to investigate.

Mike was standing in front of my sweater shelf, snarling and scratching. When I came into the room he twirled around and around and went back to barking with a vengeance.

“You think you have a mouse, do you?” I ran my hand over the sweaters, pretending to be interested in the “hunt.” Halfway up the stack I was apalled to find a long, nasty tail hanging out. When I parted the sweaters, a rat jumped out, Mikey hot on its trail.

Bob heard all the barking and screaming and came running into the room. “Get the broom!” I said. He got the broom and returned, then got up on the bed with the cat, not wanting a rat to run up his pants leg. The cat kept sleeping. Or pretending to sleep.

After a while we still hadn’t found the rat, so we gave up and left the room, figuring we’d have to set a trap and arguing about who would have to empty it.

But Mikey did not give up. He stayed in the bedroom.

A while later we heard him again, snarling and yapping in the closet. I went to the closet with the broom and poked around in the shoes and other things on the floor. No rat. Then something moved, right at eye level. The shoulder of a shirt that hung in the closet. The second time it moved, I told Bob to go get Gertie.

If we caught the rat, Mike couldn’t kill it. His jaws were barely strong enough to kill a grasshopper. I probably couldn’t have done much damage to a rat with a broom, either, even if I wasn’t closing my eyes and saying “eeeeewwww.”

Back came Bob with Gert. “Sic’em” he said. She looked around frantically and all she saw was the cat on the bed. “Noooooooo!” We grabbed her and pointed her to the closet. The cat took this opportunity to leave the room. We closed the door behind her.

Bob got back on the bed and I whopped the shirt with the broom. The rat fell on the floor. For the next few minutes there was wild confusion. Both dogs ran back and forth across the floor chasing the rat. Mike could fit under the dressers and the bed, not being much bigger than the rat. Bob and I were screaming “Get it! Sic’em! Kill, kill!” Or something like that.

Then there was silence. The rat had escaped. The dogs were looking everywhere, Bob and I were looking everywhere. Then Bob screamed and pointed at the curtain rod above the bed behind him. The rat was doing a balancing act on it. It fell onto the bed. Bob almost fainted. I swiped at it with the broom and sent it across the room like a hockey puck. Gertie grabbed it, seemingly in midair. I opened the bedroom door and said “Outside.” Gertie ran to the back door with the rat in her teeth, opened the door herself, and handily dispatched the monster on the lawn.

Bob and I were cheering and doing high-fives when we noticed there were people standing at the front screen door with shocked looks on their faces.

It was the Jehovah’s Witnesses. They had heard the barking and screaming and thumping and undoubtedly thought they were witnessing a domestic massacre. Child, or animal abuse, at the very least.

Nope. Just a typical day in the country.

Happy BD Little Bro

Happy Birthday to my baby brother who is 59 on Monday. I’m sure there are many relatives who will join me in amazement that he lived this long. With all the car wrecks and airplane crashes early in life, he was fortunate to live long enough to meet and marry wonderful Maureen. Perhaps common sense and a sense of self-preservation would have have eventually prevailed, but I doubt it. And “Aunty Mo” has been a treasure to us all.

Jerry and Mo a couple of years ago.


On another note, the bird on the porch has been officially identified by an avian science specialist from UCD. It is a House Wren. These tiny birds can lay between 5 and 12 eggs (eeek!). They eat insects. I expect there won't be a spider or mosquito left in the neighborhood by the time these babies are hatched and grown. The eggs take 13 days to incubate and the babies are fledged by 18 days.

The peafowl have been named. They are Rudy and Trudy Patooteh. I caught Rudy "tasting" the alyssum this a.m.


I hollered at him to stop. He threw up his head and honked and tooted. I think he was passing along the warning, he didn't seem to feel guilty.

I Wonder...

I drive myself crazy with sentences that start "I wonder....." I'm not happy until I've researched all the possibilities and am reasonably sure I have the right answer. Bob has a much easier time, he just takes the first easy answer and goes with it.

For example yesterday when I was watering the flowers, a small gopher snake crossed the sidewalk in front of Bob. He bent down and "communicated" with it: it just laid there and watched him. I said, "that snake is obviously too small to eat a gopher, I WONDER what baby gopher snakes eat?" Bob said, "baby gophers." And toodled off into the house.

Meanwhile, here I am this morning on the internet, still wondering. I found out that baby gopher snakes are large enough, when they hatch, to eat small mice. With no feral cats, we have lots of small mice out and about.

Here's something else I learned: "In winter, gopher snakes hibernate, retreating to communal dens, sometimes sharing the lair with rattlesnakes, whipsnakes, or racers." Did you know that?

Tits on the Porch

Can you tell the difference between a Bushtit and a Wrentit? A Wrentit and a Wren? Me neither.

But I have no excuse, I own every bird I.D. book imaginable. The problem is the birds look different in each book. I have finally decided, though, that the little tiny birds inhabiting the bird house on the porch right now are Wrentits. The door of the birdhouse is pointed toward the window, so you can’t see it in this picture. But Charley can see it from the window, and so can I when I sit in my chair in the living room.

The little birds have been busy with their nest this week, hauling in fuzz from the cottonwoods. The only thing I can’t figure out is why there are 3 of them, not just a pair. Is this some new arrangement in birdland?

I have an arrow pointing to one of the birds in the camellia bush. I know, you can’t see it. I can barely see the birds when I stand on the porch and look at them with my bird I.D. book in hand. It’s embarrassing. They sit on the branches and pose and screech at me to go away. I keep thinking one of them's going to land on my shoulder and point at its picture in the book just to end the controversy and send me on my way.

I love birds. Over the years we’ve raised a lot of baby birds in this house. None recently. Charley is a relentless bird hunter. With no cats outside, though, the birds seem to be doing fine on their own. (So are the mice and gophers.)

I’m always ready in case of emergencies. I keep a colony of mealworms growing on top of the refrigerator (doesn’t everyone?), a container of baby bird food mix in the freezer, and an assortment of fake nests. Just in case.

No More Drab

With all the colorful flowers around here, not to mention the penguins, I was feeling rather drab. So, to get ready for the upcoming parties we’re gonna have, I’ve been trying on a new persona.



It’s not quite up to K’s bellydancing standards, but it beats basic beige. Maybe this will draw out the other bumblebees.

Thanks to Melanie for the pic.

Glimpses of Weirdness

Bob, for all the faults I find in him, is really a pretty good sport. I truly appreciate that he has taken care of me this past year with few complaints, and almost always has a ready smile. Or at least a smirk.

Tonight he is camped in front of his computer again, playing World of Warcraft with people he has known since kindergarten. They’re out there in their pretend world hunting down and dispatching monsters. Bob’s character can turn into a particularly nasty bear-like animal.

I interrupted the warrior and suggested I should take his blood pressure while he was playing, just for curiosity’s sake. He slipped on the cuff and kept right on slashing and burning. When the cuff started to get tight, he winced and whined, “It’s tooooo tight.” “Oh no,” I said. “I wonder if it’s malfunctioning? I hope it doesn’t amputate your arm.” I thought I was being funny.

It seems that nasty bear-like characters can handle giant evil creatures, with all their blood and gore, but they can’t tolerate having their blood pressure taken. It was pretty high, which of course is why the cuff got so tight.

Now I have a new threat I can use: “Take out the garbage or tonight while you’re asleep I’ll take your blood pressure.” Nyah-ha-ha.

Last night we had another real-life battle with the raccoon. Three times it returned to the Ancona pen and three times one of us got up and chased it away. (Well, I can’t really go outside, but I did stand at the window and scream at it.) Bob went out by himself the last time. He took his airsoft gun. I don’t know if he was actually shooting at the raccoon, or if it was just in frustration. Hopefully the raccoon has a sore enough bottom to consider staying in the wild. If we trap the little devil, maybe I could torture it by taking its blood pressure.

The penguins have started to wander, looking for a more peaceful place to sleep at night, someplace away from all the violence in the yard. I don’t blame them, but I hope they stay off the highway.

I am up to 410 miles on my pretend bike. It’s starting to get too easy to pedal and I can’t adjust the tension any tighter. Yesterday I looked into a membership at the health club at Rancho Murieta, where they have big-time fake bikes. I liked it except they have the bikes facing a bank of TVs. Also the whole place smelled vaguely of adolescent boys and their tennis shoes. Not enough to make you gag, just enough to make you hold your breath and wish you were somewhere else. Haven’t decided on this yet.

So tonight I thought I’d try getting down on the floor and doing my exercises again. I haven’t done this since maybe last September. Getting on the floor is easy. Getting back up is difficult when your knees don’t work. Tonight I kept flailing around and finally managed, though.

To my friend M from high school: I hope all this volcano stuff isn’t ruining your plans to spend the summer in Chile.

To my sister-in-law T, you are such a class act! I’d bet my other big toe you’re going to be totally healthy in no time.

To Uncle Ray, I love relatives who keep their baby ducks in the house at night. (That’s probably 2/3rds of us.)

Love you all!

Flowers

Susie will be here to plant flowers tomorrow. Today I went out to water them and it was so nice outside. The orange tree and the lemon tree are blooming, also the honeysuckle. Their scent is everywhere in the yard.

As I was sitting and enjoying it all, a little lizard joined me. This one is usually on the new steps in the sun. I think he’s met the nosy peahen and she nipped off his tail. He’s not afraid of people at all, but when the peahen comes around, he runs and hides.

The resident bumblebee is really happy. There must be more than one out there, and it can’t be the same one year after year, but all I ever see is one. It’s not yellow and black, it’s solid black.

Cape Daisies


Neon Cowboy Rose


And then there is the UNWELCOME wildlife. Last night a marauding raccoon broke into the Ancona pen and killed a hen. I’m pretty tolerant, there’s room for all here. But our chickens are in pens that don’t tempt the occasionally curious critter that wanders through the yard. And there’s no mercy for a hard-core murdering raccoon. The trap is set.

Stranger Than Fiction

I haven’t had a TV for 12 years and I like it that way.

Bob has one, he bought it when he graduated from high school. Thankfully, the reception here is poor and the thing is seldom used. Also, it’s in his room where all the junk resides, so it’s not really usable.

Then how did I become a fan of Huell Howser, you ask? Or maybe you don’t ask, but I’m gonna tell you anyway.

I get KVIE on my radio. One night I sat in my chair determined to cycle 15 miles. I turned the radio on and Huell Howser was just introducing a segment of California’s Gold. That evening I biked through Northern California with Huell.

A couple of days later I was listening to the Adam Corolla show on my way to work, and they were doing a parody of Huell’s show. I was AMAZED that anyone else in the world would even know about HH. I started asking about him. Everyone at work knew who he was. My friend Fullo said he’s really an attractive fellow who just sounds like a hick.

One evening the show was about the vernal pools on Mather Field. That was cool, I drive past them every day. Imagine that! HH had been standing right out there in the middle of that puddle talking about how AMAZING it was.

Then last week I just got settled at my bike and flipped on the radio and heard that the show would be about hops in Sloughhouse. It turned out to be a repeat of a 2005 show and was about our neighbor, George S. and how his field was the last of its kind in California. George passed away in 2006, and his wife Virginia moved shortly thereafter. I miss them both.

Today I saw Virginia’s car at the old house and went to say “hi.” She said George and Huell had become friends and she still talks to him on the phone quite often. Wow! So I told her “Next time he calls, tell him your old neighbor is riding her pretend bike through California with him.”

And I ordered a DVD of the show.

How does someone get a name like Huell Howser? Be born in Tennessee. There are all sorts of strange names there. I used to keep a list of strange names, and many of them were from Tennessee. Some of them come from the tradition of naming kids with both of their parents’ last names.

For example, instead of Bob, the son would have been Blawat James. Not a great name for a dyslexic kid to learn to spell. And there are no clever t-shirts that use that name.

Huell Howser

California’s Gold #7004; Hops 2005

To order the DVD:
https://store.businessestore.com/california-117/Basket.aspx

Where Did the Week Go?

I can’t believe it’s been a week since I wrote anything here. I’m going to make this quick.

The peahen abandoned her nest. She’s too nosy and got bored just sitting there and waiting. I’ve read that peafowl are nervous and flighty. This one isn’t. She is curious about the walker, ignores Sergio’s lawnmower and leaf blower, and comes right into the kitchen to get snacks. It’s OK about the nest, 2 peafowl are plenty.

The peacock has an ongoing war with Bob. Bob sneaks up behind him when the bird’s tail is spread and he’s showing off. He parts the bird’s tail feathers and shouts “boo”!!! The bird retaliates by snorking and screeching outside Bob’s bedroom window in the morning. I’m rooting for the bird on this one. How do you vote?

Susie Flowerlady is waiting for some topsoil to be moved before she plants the wonderful flowers she has found at various nurseries. Meanwhile they’re sitting against the house in their pots and I’m enjoying them anyway. She found a rose called Neon Cowboy that is really wild and bright.

The den is waiting for Closet World to come and install a built-in desk and shelf system designed by our own personal CW expert.

I’m waiting for Bob to clean up around the chicken pens. Even with global warming, Hell may freeze over first. I don’t think he’s thrown away an old feed sack since this time last year. I’m still not quite able to get out to the pens myself, but if it’s a mess out there when I do, all his experience playing World of Warcraft will not keep him from getting his real butt kicked to the moon.

Once the waiting is over and the projects are finished, let’s party!