“The woods would be quiet if no bird sang but the one that sang best.”

The morning is cloudy and was rainy earlier but it was a small rain, droplets. I would moan and groan about the sunless world in which I live except this morning was different. Over the sound of the rain I could hear birds singing. They were greeting the morning, and rain didn’t matter: it was the joy of the morning.

I stood at the kitchen window and watched the flicker pecking at suet in the feeder I bought just for him. A bird I don’t know waited its turn. I’ll look it up later in my bird book. One goldfinch was bright with color, the first to break out of winter drab. I noticed the thistle feeder is empty. I’ve had more goldfinches than ever, sometimes seven or eight at the same time, and thistle is a favorite of theirs. The chickadees are few, and I miss them. They, the titmice and nuthatches are the sunflower seed birds. I have three different feeders for them. The sole woodpecker is either at the suet in the small feeder or tapping a pine tree. The small suet feeder looks like a house. It’s kind of cool and the birds grab on upside down.

I don’t remember people having bird feeders in their yards when I will little. The few times we went to Boston in the warmer weather, I remember feeding the pigeons and the ducks at the Public Garden. I also remember feeding the squirrels. That was before their spawn days. I thought it was really neat to see them so up-close. Pigeons are still fun to watch. Drop a few pieces of bread and they all move to the same spot, pushing and shoving and even taking to the air. They are very noisy birds. I always feel bad about pigeons. They’re nobody’s favorite bird. They have squat bodies and are dull in color. Pigeons seem to hang around in large numbers so the odds of getting bread are slim. I always try to throw some to the back of the pack which then makes all them turn just about at the same time and they all squawk about the inconvenience.

My mother used to get pigeons at her feeders, city birds we’d call them. It frustrated her to no end. She wanted cute little birds like chickadees, but, instead, she’d get sparrows, almost as common as the pigeons. The crows dropped by often because my mother was always throwing out something for them. “Save it for the crows,” she’d tell us. Once she got a seagull. That was a puzzler. She called to have me guess the bird which had visited. I didn’t guess seagull. That’s one bird which has never ever stopped at my feeders. I guess my mother’s was a country cousin of sorts visiting its city cousins. She never saw another seagull in her yard.

“You dirty rat…”

The weather hasn’t changed. It is a grey, dark unseasonably warm day. The paper says a high of 48˚. I guess this is the January thaw except nothing needed thawing except the tiniest blots of ice still left on corners from the plows during that ersatz snow storm.

The mouse count is higher: 6 have been relocated. The latest one got caught last night, but I left him in the trap all night. That’s the last time I’ll do that. It was a small one which was shaking when I let him go. He was so unsteady on his feet he had to stay a while in one spot. I watched until he finally moved across the street with a bit more confidence. I don’t want mice in my house, but I also do not want to be responsible for their demise. If the cats get them, that’s fine with me, but I won’t use a deadly trap.

While I was waiting for my coffee to finish brewing, I went to the window to watch the birds. What did I see? A spawn of Satan was dangling on my new suet feeder gnawing on the wooden top trying to get at the suet. I ran outside to scare the beast and was amazed at how wood he’d already eaten away. I got my cayenne pepper and smeared it all over the gnawed sides and the top. The big birds love that feeder because it has a long bottom which allows them to rest their tails on it while they eat. A flicker was there just now when I got another cup of coffee. The rain hasn’t washed away the pepper-I can still see it. I hope that keeps the spawns away.

The rodents have a vendetta against me. Somewhere, in rodent headquarters, my picture or a reasonable facsimile, is on the wall. The beasts meet periodically to figure ways to drive me crazy. The huge, fat spawn which can barely jump from limb to limb is probably the leader. He riles the troops. The mice find the smallest holes and get inside. The spawns mock me by eating not only the seeds but also the feeders.

I’m beginning to think I’m losing it here. It is Gaslight reinvented. The mice and spawns are out to drive me crazy. I’m just so glad the 6 ft fence keeps out the raccoons and the skunks. That would be too great a coalition even for me.

“Rarely does one see a squirrel tremble.”

Cue the trumpets! It was coffee and the papers on the deck this morning for the first time this season, and the sun was so bright I felt like the Mad Hatter moving from chair to chair to avoid the glare. Gracie came with me and she found the shade. While there, I noticed the deck needs some more sweeping because of the rain storms, and I’ll do that later as I intend to spend most of the day there with book (disguised as my iPad) in hand.

Tonight is the first play of the season, and it is at the Cape Playhouse. The Hound of the Baskervilles is the play, but, according to the review, it,” … is absurd. Ridiculous. Overblown,” but then the critic goes on to say, ” But please, please don’t let that stop you, because those are exactly the things that make it an extremely successful, albeit odd, twist on the old Sherlock Holmes yarn.” I am curious and a bit uneasy. I always think of Sherlock Holmes as a character with whom you don’t meddle, but I will reserve judgment until I see the play.

I woke up when it was almost light, and I heard the chorus of birds greeting the new day. The air was filled with bird songs, and I stayed awake a while to listen. It is a perfect way to start the day, with a joyous sound. I fell asleep again but I think I might have been smiling.

The gray spawns of Satan have not been around. It seems they have been replaced by the evil red spawns who have been known to attack their grey cousins. The red spawns are small enough to fit in between the wires of the squirrel proof feeders, and when I see them at those feeders, I run out to the deck like a screaming mad woman. Well, actually, I am a screaming mad woman with mad having all sorts of connotations. Maybe, once the deck season starts in earnest, the spawns will stay away. I can only hope, but if that doesn’t work, I’m thinking a weapon might be what I need. Maybe I’ll try a potato gun. They can always eat the ammo.

” Dreaming men are haunted men.”

Today is muggy as my mother would say. The air is listless and I feel closed in a bit. As I sit here at the keyboard mulling the day, I’m keeping an eye on the deck through the window near me. My goldfinches are back. They were gone for a while, but two of them are back at the feeders. Lots of chickadees are in and out. Yesterday a red spawn of Satan and I had a stare down. He stood on the deck rail daring me so I chased him away time and time again. I even shook the branches on which he had taken refuge. I turned into a crazy lady. He finally left without getting at any of the feeders I had just filled. Crazy lady one, red spawn of Satan nothing.

Once I finish here I’m heading to the deck with the book I’m reading. It’s a typical summer book without a lot of substance but one with a mystery and one murder so far. It’s called Back of Beyond, and I’m almost finished. Summers past I used to try and read something I couldn’t get through like Crime and Punishment, but I gave up doing that as I never did finish any of them. Besides, I find murder and mayhem far more fun to read. My iPad already has about six mysteries loaded for my trip, but I figure I’ll need a few more. The flights are long.

Last night I had the weirdest dream. I know the dream came from my subconscious because I have to pick up some prescriptions at the pharmacy which has called a couple of times, and the errand has been on my mind. In my dream, I went to Pullo’s, the drugstore which used to be right next to the movie theater when I was a kid. Mr. Pullo had a mustache and always wore a short white coat with buttons across the front like Dr. Kildare used to wear in the movies. In my dream, a boy was hanging by his feet from a bar halfway up the front door. He looked a bit like Cheetah wearing overalls and hanging from a branch in a Tarzan movie, but no one inside seemed to care or even notice. The soda fountain was right where it had been in Pullo’s but the back of the pharmacy was different in my dream. There was a man sitting next to a griddle, like they have in diners, and he was smoking a cigar. Mr. Pullo and he were talking. The man was burly and dressed in a heavy coat and hat. For some reason he looked Russian to me. That’s where the dream ended.

At some point I got up to go to the bathroom, and when I fell back to sleep, the dream started again with the same boy in overalls hanging on the door. I walked into Pullo’s but that is as far as I remember of the rerun.

It’s amazing what our subconscious resurrects. I have an errand I have to do, and I’m getting nagged in my dreams. I swear I’m going today!

“I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars.”

It wasn’t until 10 o’clock that I woke up this morning. Gracie was sleeping beside me with her head on the other pillow and Fern was sleeping against my leg. I have no idea where Maddie was, but she came in the room when she heard us stirring. The morning was perfect for sleeping, cool and cloudy, so we all took advantage. Since then I have been piddling around and all of a sudden I realized how late it had gotten so here I am. The weather for the rest of the week is predicted to be like today: cloudy and maybe rainy. I was going to go to the movies but so will everyone else. The rule of thumb is no movie on a rainy or cloudy day because the tourists are all there.

The birds have been really active today, and for the first time in a long time, a goldfinch is back. They used to be frequent visitors. I saw a male cardinal earlier and a few finches at the small feeder. A spawn of Satan has already emptied one of the feeders. I watched him hanging by his feet from a branch as he ate upside down. The blasted red squirrel is also around. He is most decidedly evil. I have seen him harassing the gray spawns, and he has scolded me on many occasions. He is also small enough to fit inside the squirrel proof bars on the other feeders. If I had a sling shot, that red squirrel would be in my cross hairs (I know slingshots don’t have them. I was being figurative).

I can hear lawns being mowed, kids playing in their front yards and dogs barking. My quiet neighborhood wakes up like this every Saturday morning. It always reminds me of when I was a kid, and Saturday was the nosiest day of the week. Everybody was outside talking to each other as they did the week’s chores. My mother and our neighbor each had their own clothes lines, but they were together in rows. My mother had the first three lines and our neighbor the second three. It was the same in every backyard. The houses were all duplexes in the project where we lived. My street had three duplexes while the whole project had twelve. The rest of the houses were up the hill and   around a small rotary. The last house was beside the parking lot nobody used except us kids.  It was where we went roller skating.

Every lawn got mowed on Saturday. It was a point of pride in my neighborhood to have a healthy green lawn. Neighbors whose lawns were scraggly and had patches of sand were talked about by the fathers who pushed the hand mowers every Saturday. Most early evenings I could hear the sprinklers. The metal ones always made noises when they whirled. My dad used to turn his onbefore coming into the house when he got home from work.

My dad, his whole life, used a blade lawn mower. He swore it cut the grass better than any other other kind. We’d offer to buy a gas mower for Father’s Day, but he always said no. He loved cutting the grass in that back and forth pattern he’d perfected over the years. He would never let us cut the grass. We didn’t do it right. I miss the sound of that mower, and I miss watching my dad cut his lawn.

“We call this a fine mess of squirrels.”

The day is lovely, sunny and warm. I sat outside for a long while talking to my neighbor as her dog, Cody, romped in the backyard with Gracie. They are the best of friends and have been since Gracie was a puppy. Cody tires first, but Gracie is relentless.

Tonight my friends are coming for dinner. It has been a long while since I cooked a real meal. Most evenings I am content with eggs or a sandwich or even cereal. We’re having Mediterranean chicken which translates into a Moroccan rub, couscous with raisins and pine nuts and baby carrots which I’ll probably steam. I needed them for color. When I choose a menu, I imagine how all the dishes will mesh, and I visualize the meal to make sure it has a bit of color. I used to cook all the time, but I’ve gotten lazy; however, with summer coming, I’ll be making dinner more often for deck dining. Saturday is always movie night, and I like to serve dinner first while we wait until it gets dark enough to see the movie. My sister and brother-in-law are coming this summer. Rod said he wants to see a movie on the deck  and wants to take an outside shower. I’ll be happy to accommodate him as Rod is the best of hosts when I visit Colorado.

Yesterday a small red spawn of Satan was in one of the feeders. I ran at him waving my arms and screaming like a crazy woman, and he jumped out of the feeder onto a tree limb then up the tree where he sat and scolded me. Later he was again in the feeder, but this time I waited until I got closer to scare him. He fell out of the feeder to the ground then scampered up a tree where he sat reprimanding me for the longest time. Gracie was circling the tree. I was not at all sympathetic. From my desk, I can see that feeder, and crazy woman is sitting and watching and waiting.

“All the Venables sat at Sunday dinner”

Outside, in the damp, cool morning I was comfortable wearing a sweatshirt, and I thought the weather perfect for hot coffee. During any break from reading the papers, I watched both the usual backyard morning antics and a few new ones. The birds were constant, mostly tufted titmice, but the chickadees too came, and I noticed a second downy woodpecker. I always there was only one. The antics were performed by a couple of gray squirrels. They are building a nest  for the winter. Each, in turn, would chew off and carry away a small branch. I had followed them with my eyes as they carried the branches to the top part of the tree and was able to find their nest. One squirrel, during his turn at the branches, hung by his feet and swung back and forth until his front paws grabbed the branch and then he pulled it free and ran up the trunk of the tree. I decided to start taking pictures of their antics so I came inside to get my camera, my telephoto lens, the phone, just in case I get a call, a second newspaper and another cup of coffee. The lens and the phone got stuffed into the sweatshirt pouch, and I managed to juggle everything else. I opened the door with my elbow, stepped onto the deck and found out it was raining. I walked back inside. put away the camera, the lens and the phone then sat down to read the paper. I miss being on the deck.

I now have no plans for the day. On a rainy day the roads are filled with tourists so I’ll be content staying home. It will be like a Sunday when I was a kid, a quiet day almost like a whisper.

Saturday was the favorite day of the week: no school, Saturday morning television and a matinee at one. Friday was a big day, the end of the school week, which made getting up and going to school a bit more tolerable. Monday was, of course, the worst day, the inescapable start of the school week. Sunday was different than all the rest. It meant church clothes, mass and staying around for the family dinner. It always seemed a formal day. Today feels a bit like that.

“It’s easy to smile when you have a squirrel’s intellect.”

I’m outside. The sun was here earlier but has since disappeared behind a sea of clouds, varying gray clouds. None seem ominous. The breeze is strong and the air dry. I couldn’t bear the thought of going inside to write so I brought my laptop to the deck. It’s not a quiet day, but I can still hear the fountain and the birds at the feeders and the squirrels in the leaves. I can also hear little kids laughing and talking, a most unusual sound for here. The voices belong to the family next door, renting for the week. They speak Albania to one another, and it’s been interesting listening to a language I have never heard before. None of it is familiar. I went online and learned to say hello.

Today is a stay around the house day. Cloudy days invite the tourists to take to the road so I don’t.  A few weeks ago I heard a local writer speak about her new book so I bought it, starting reading it and put it down after only a few pages. I got snotty I guess. I didn’t like all the grammatical errors. Today I’ll give it another go and try to ignore my standards for the English language. I’m holding off on the title for now. If I like it, I’ll let you know.

It was a showdown at the OK Corral this morning. The red squirrel and I went eye to eye, and he flinched and fled, but I found his antics pretty funny. He’d jump from one branch to another, stop and look right at me then jump to another branch, stop and look at me then jump again, always jumping near the feeder. This went on for about ten minutes until he realized I wasn’t going anywhere. It was then I watched him jump to the biggest tree in the yard, run across a huge branch and jump into the neighbor’s yard.

This squirrel and I have a long, unpleasant history. He is an ungrateful cur. Once I saw he’d caught his paw on the wire on the inside of the squirrel proof feeder, the inside where the seeds are, so I tried to push his foot clear. He went after me. I then used my phone to push his foot, and he was freed but he attacked my phone.  He chirped at me over and over, and I knew he was mad. Many other times he’s been in the feeder but usually manages to escape when I come on the deck, but he didn’t the other day. I saw him and walked slowly and quietly to the feeder where he was chomping on the sunflowers seeds. He never saw or heard me so he was quite startled when I tapped the feeder. As he fell to the ground, he looked like a flying squirrel with his arms and legs straight out, but he landed just fine and took off only to return today.

I thinking I’m turning into the crazed squirrel lady. Soon I’ll be an urban legend.

“We’re eyeball to eyeball, and I think the other fellow just blinked.”

The morning is a delight. The humidity is gone, and the breeze, if you’re sitting in the shade, is a bit chilly. I lingered on the deck a long while this morning, and it was a spawn of Satan who had my full attention. He was building a nest. I watched him chew off small oak branches and jump from limb to limb. All the while he was trying to keep the oak branch steady in his mouth until he reached a topmost cluster of two pine branches where he disappeared. I got my telephoto lens and was able to watch him hustle about arranging the leaves. He did this several times and I never tired of watching him. I actually looked up squirrels to find out it is the male who constructs and the female who feeds. Come to find out squirrels are polygamists, and males will take care of several females.

Tonight will be in the low 60′s. It’s movie night because of the rain yesterday. I’m thinking a sweatshirt and my chiminea lit to ward off the chill. Nothing sweetens the air like the smell of pinon wood burning.

Despite duck and cover, I was never afraid as a little kid. The idea of a devastating bomb didn’t make a big impression. It was even fun to have those drills. We used to look at each other from under our desks and try to smile and wave without getting caught. It was the Cuban missile crisis which scared me. By then I was old enough to understand. I remember watching President Kennedy on a flickering black and white TV screen as he explained the quarantine, the naval blockade, and the ultimatums he was giving Russia. We all held our breaths for those thirteen days knowing that a nuclear war was a possibility. Nobody practiced duck and cover. We knew better.

When I went to Russia in the 1970′s, one of the places we visited was the graveyard where Nikita Khrushchev was buried. It was part of the tour, and in those days you couldn’t travel in Russia unless you were on a tour. In that graveyard, each of the tombstones had a picture of the deceased attached. Nikita’s picture was black and white, and he was wearing a suit. He had a huge grin.

“Each species is a masterpiece, a creation assembled with extreme care and genius.”

The morning is overcast and chilly. Rain is predicted for later and for the next two days. I planted flowers and herbs yesterday so the rain is welcome, but I do hope it holds off until later this afternoon as I have more to plant. My trunk and front seat were filled with herbs, flowers, tomatoes and clay pots when I left Agway yesterday. I know I need a few more annuals so one more trip ought to do it. I say one more trip despite knowing that once I grab my wagon and wander the aisles I have an overwhelming urge to buy more and more for the garden. I bought two anise herbs yesterday. I rubbed a leaf between my fingers, and the smell of anise was a delight. I even said wow out loud. Two people turned.

Either I was sleeping too deeply or the spawn of Satan did not dine on my furniture this morning. Rubbing the metal with garlic was suggested by Christer, but with the rain coming I’ll have to wait. My luck, however, is such that the evil one will love the added flavor and bring his friends to dine alfresco.

When I was a kid, I loved feeding squirrels. They’d come right up and take a peanut from my fingers. I was delighted. I remember trips to the Public Garden in Boston. At the Swan Pond, people sat by the side of the pond, threw pieces of bread in the water and fed the ducks. People on benches all around the garden were ringed by squirrels looking for handouts. I remember squirrels running across the walk in front of me and scampering up the trunks of trees. It was like being part of a zoo exhibit where all the animals are close enough to touch. It was the neatest place for a kid.

I don’t remember seeing too many animals in the wild where I was growing up. I remember a few skunks and running in the opposite direction just in case. Raccoons would amble by but they were infrequent visitors. Once in a while, driving in the car, we’d see a deer in a meadow along the side of the road. That was the best sighting of all.

Where I live now, I see many animals in the wild. Coyotes and foxes are common. Deer have run in front of my car just down the street. Wild turkeys are getting more and more common. Rabbits sit on my front lawn as they munch the flowers. The possum was here a whole summer. He was after my tomatoes. I think it a wonderful thing that despite the numbers of houses there is still room for all these animals to ignore us and go about their business.