Bushtits

Stellar’s Jays are here all year. Likewise Juncos, Chickadees, Northern Flickers, and The Great Horned Owl who lives in the tallest Douglas Fir across the street. They’re neighbors, like Bud and Betty next door.
But starting in late fall, special guests visit for a few weeks. They’re archetypal birds—Bushtits. Tiny—3 or 3 ½ inches long—their conformation is classic ‘bird.’ Tiny mouse-gray bits of beauty flit and flicker in flocks of fifteen or twenty darting from feeder to fence to holly tree with such speed it’s nearly impossible to focus a camera on them. Even their voices are tiny, and if they didn’t come in flocks you’d never know they were there. Bushtits are my favorite winter guests.

Back Yard Aliens

"Hey, guess what!? I heard aliens in the back yard during the night when I got up to go to the bathroom!" I switched on Mr. Coffee on to brew a fresh pot.
"Oh, really?" My wife wandered into the dining room in her bathrobe. "Coffee ready? Mmm, smells good."
"Ready in a couple of minutes . . .Yep. Those aliens made clicks and buzzes, hisses and gurgles. It sounded like the way you’d expect aliens to sound." She pays tranquil attention to my soaring fancies. They entertain us both.
"Remember that huge flash of light I saw out the bedroom window a few years ago? We never figured out what it was. Except it wasn’t lightning. We know that."
"Yeah, we watched the papers to try to figure out what the flash was. Didn’t we finally see something that made us think it could have been a meteor in Eastern Washington?
"I think so. I don’t remember for sure. It was a mystery, anyhow. But other people saw it too, I remember that."
"I s’pose what I heard could have been some kind of animal. It had to be more than one, though, because they were having a conversation. Like one was giving orders." I poured two mugs of coffee, put milk in hers, and carried them to the table. She scanned the morning paper as she picked up her mug.
"Anything in the paper about UFO sightings or strange lights in the sky last night?"
She rustled the pages for a minute. "Not in the front section. Let me look in the Local News . . . N-o-oo, nothing in there either. It prob’ly wouldn’t be in Sports or in the Life & Arts section, d’ya think?"
"Nah. Ya know, I think I know where I’ve heard those sounds before. Remember when we had a raccoon with babies living in a tree in the back? They sounded sorta like that when Mom was herding the little ones I‘d rather think I heard aliens, though. Pass me the Sports and Business sections, please."

State of the Blog

I haven't posted a new blog for a few days. I guess it's because I'm still trying to visualize and realize what I really want to put on my blog; how I want it to appear and read for the people who elect to take a look at it.

The four large pieces on 'Mort and Hank' discussing economic woes were too long so I took them off this blog. I may start another blog to discuss current issues with 'Mort and Hank' still offering dialog about what's happening in the economy and other current issues. I think there's a place for that type of material, but this blog may not be that place.

I'll keep working at it. I certainly have opinions, so they could be good material to share. E and I have conversations that we think are enlightened and informative. I'm sure that you all would agree that little in this world is as scintillating as reading dialog between a couple of sixty-somethings.

We both read a lot--perhaps it would not be amiss for me to review or recommend books. We have two beautiful granddaughters--we could keep you up on them, but a link to our Oregon family's blog would serve better. I'll post a link to their site soon.

This posting will serve to let you all know that I'm still alive and working, and I reckon that's an adequate purpose if not an admirable one.

Saturday Morning

The sparrow, jay, flicker, chickadee and robin serenade me from the holly tree, berry-laden, just outside my bedroom window.

"Hey, you noisy bunch—it’s Saturday—let me sleep!"

But the birds insist, "it’s time to get up!"

Groggily I swing my legs to the floor and will my body upright. Elaine, on the other side of the bed (away from the window) buries herself deeper into the comforter and exhales a little row of Zs. "zzzzzzzzzzzzzz"

The outside air wafting through the window carries essences of fir sap, grass, and from somewhere nearby the faintest scent of a rose.

I shuffle to the other end of the house, start the teakettle and step outside. The newspaper waits in the driveway in its plastic bag. I peal the plastic from the paper and carry it to the deck. Light the first of my six daily cigarettes. I do like the aroma of a Pall Mall!

The kettle whistles me to attention. In the kitchen I brew tea—the steam rises from the pot and promises familiar tastes and aromas to what may become an unfamiliar Saturday.