I'm just not that into you

Anonymity, I like y0u. I really do. But the truth is that I don't "like" like you. It's time for a change, don't you think?

Nesting

“Listen, honey, I’m not saying that I doubt you. It’s just that the evidence doesn’t seem to be in your favor.”

“No, really - I swear this is the spot. Okay, it doesn’t appear to be here, but I think I know where I am. I’m not an idiot. And I don’t appreciate your tone, might I add.”

So the swallows quibbled in unusual non-sing-songy low tones in the cove that shelters our front entry. The couple argued at length, sounding a bit like an exasperated and hopelessly lost couple after realizing that they are stranded on a service road in the middle of a forest when attempting to take a “short-cut” across the mountains.

Apparently some time after the winter migration, our landlord power-washed Mr. and Mrs. Swallow’s home into oblivion. Only a faint stain on the limestone brick remained. But Mr. Swallow wouldn’t be fooled; even if the original nest wasn’t there, he knew instinctively that this is where the nest was supposed to be. There was nothing left to do but rebuild, so the birds evidently concluded.

Over the course of the next week, beak-loads of custom made adobe were flown in (60/40 mix of mud and pine needles I’m guessing) and packed down on the old house site.

I didn’t like it. Not one little bit. First of all, birds are kind of scary. Oh, they are beautiful to spy from a distance, but with the claws and pecking beaks and all…let’s just say I feel a tremor of anxiety well in me every time I venture out the front door.

Second, there is the whole poop issue. Poop on the front door. Poop on the ground below the nest. Birds poop a lot, and the poop falls where it may. However, I’m not sure that the seemingly indiscriminate pooping is accidental. I don’t really want to be the next target.

Third, there is the whole bird/parasite synergy that I’d like to avoid. “West Nile Virus”, “Bird Flu” – need I say more? Seriously, it will keep me up at night if I dare entertain the possibility.

So I decided that I needed to encourage these birds to relocate. I thought that if I destroyed the fledgling nest that the birds would say to themselves, “Our house is ruined again! All of that hard work fallen in the poop pile! Forget about this spot. Let’s start over somewhere else.” A ridiculous assumption on my part, for sure, but short of killing the birds, I was felling a little desperate.

Being a short person, I grabbed the tallest step stool that I could (two feet tall?) and the longest broom so that I might be able to reach the packed mud fifteen feet or more above. On tiptoe, I maneuvered the broom to sweep away what I could reach of the nest. Within seconds, the façade of the nest was gone – and dropped mostly down my shirt (which is how I know the consistency of their nest building materials). Of course I screamed! And I screamed more when Mr. and Mrs. Swallow darted in and out of the alcove as they attempted to figure out what the heck I was doing to their nest.

Not deterred one bit, Mr. and Mrs. Swallow built on. Only they decided to get down to business rather than make the nest look pretty (sorry Mrs. Swallow). Abandoning the scalloped edges of the nest, Mr. Swallow concentrated on building the body of the nest.

I attempted several other times to deter the birds (one incident involved a fireplace poker tied to a long stick; the other involved my cat). But Mr. and Mrs. Swallow had an agenda that I obviously couldn’t understand. Plus, none of my feeble attempts at scaring the birds away put a dent in the thousand plus daily beak loads of adobe.

Needless to say, I put my personal quest to get rid of the birds on hold. Poetroad was glad of that. A few days later when I pleaded with him to do something about those pesky birds, he gently appealed, “Don’t get rid of them. I kind of like having the birds there.” Because he sounded sentimental, I abandoned my quest altogether.

It’s well into week two, and the nest is almost complete. Wouldn’t you know that the new nest covers the exact same spot that the old nest did? Did you know that many swallows mate for life? Did you know that mates – and/or their children – will return to the same nest every year?

Soon enough there will be baby birds twittering in that nest – a testimony to determination and a dedication to family. Yes, in their life time a nest or two is destroyed, and for sure a host of other obstacles are faced on the trek to and from Capistrano (or wherever swallows go for the winter). But they just keep on going. Sometimes that's all we can do - and that's enough.

Peachy

The color of the walls in our house are supposed to be a "peach" color, but it looks more like the color of flesh to me - which kind of weirds me out. Personally, I prefer decorating with shades of brown or blue. I also like the color red. Flesh. Nuh uh. No. Envision silly putty smeared on the walls. I'll try to ignore the flesh color for now, but I have the instinctual urge to smear a little rouge here and there.

The kitchen, on the other hand, looks like the insides of a lemon meringue pie (my favorite pie). Again, not my number one choice in color, but I can live with it. I could do without the funky wallpaper border, though. Get this - it's a repeated picture of a bird perched on a basket of fruit that is set behind a halved watermelon. I can understand wanting to put pictures of fruit around the kitchen. Really, I can. Why the inclusion of a bird in the scene? If a bird was sitting next to the exposed flesh of a watermelon that I might eat, that fruit would be in the trash expeditiously. Do you realize, people, what kind of bacteria a bird carries? Some birds have parasites and junk. What if it pooped on the watermelon? What was this artist thinking?

Thankfully, the bedrooms are a nice boring cream color (you know - the color Selene and I pained over my beautiful brown bedroom in back in Oregon). Once we put up our pictures, that will help!

Ten Things Times Two

Ten Things that have happened over the past two months in no particular order:

10. Pastor of our church resigned (yes – the very church in Austin that we relocated from Oregon for because Poetroad accepted the “Director of Worship and Arts” position here)

9. Brazilian waxed myself

8. Ice storm in Austin

7. Found out that a close friend is pregnant with her third child

6. Got lost six or more times in and around Austin

5. Joined a church

4. Was in charge of the “ambiance” for the Women’s Retreat (that means I planned and executed the décor from the “stage” to the retreat booklets)

3. Tutored a friend to help her pass an important test

2. Two year old began potty training; lots of potty on the floor, little training

1. 5^th Grade Science Fair

Ten things I’m looking forward to in the next few months:

10. Spring break

9. Visit from parents

8. Visit from friends from Oregon

7. Summer break

6. Meeting new friends

5. Bird sightings

4. Spring storms

3. Getting in shape

2. Going to the beach

1. Going to the beach!

Document That

Pardon me for getting political, but I read a letter to the editor yesterday that made me chuckle. The gist of the letter is that Al Gore is, and I cringe to use this word, a hypocrite. Gasp!

Right up front, I have to admit that I have not verified these facts (and perhaps am dangerously close to taking the path that Gore has taken…no, not the failed presidential wanna be path – the “H” path). However, even if the numbers are not exactly on target, it is easy for me to believe that the letter writer is on the right path. Basically, Mr. Gore made a little (Oscar winning) documentary in which he exposes the truth about global warming. And his other face sits comfortably in front of the (natural gas?) fire in his 20 room mansion in Tennessee.

Here’s the thing: I am all for success, and I don’t think it’s a crime that the rich live well. But it takes oodles of electricity and gas to heat and cool (and electrify) a house that large. Regardless of where his theoretical dollars go to pay for the theoretical “carbon credits,” we all know that the energy that his house uses is the same energy that Joe Schmo uses in the house next door to Mr. Gore’s.

It just goes to show that there are hypocrites in every discipline. In fact, I think I’d be hard pressed to inspect any group of “believers” (and I use that in the loosest sense of the word as I can) and not find a hypocrite or two (or a bunch). Whenever a person or a group of people make an effort to define what it is that they believe, stand for, pursue in life (whether it be “Up for Orphans” or the “Vegan Pets” society – or a religion), they run a risk of occasionally not being able to conduct their affairs according to that system of beliefs. Some will have a more difficult time than others adhering to the “guidelines,” too. If a person blatantly, egregiously, and continually lives a life counter to that system of beliefs, then I would question whether or not that person actually believes in what he says he does.

But the fact that any sect is rife with hypocrites doesn’t negate a cause or belief. So what if Al Gore is a hypocrite? I’ll still manically recycle. I can’t “un-born” my children (sorry folks – I guess I’ll have to wear the “breeder” label with pride), but I’ll still live in a smaller house than I could, I’ll still let my house get a little cooler or warmer than I can afford, and I’ll continue to modify my lifestyle in other ways because I believe that humans should do what they can to slow down global warming.

And I’ll still go to church even though I know that there are disciples of Christ (even high profile ones) who are hypocrites. Much to my chagrin, I myself have been guilty of being a hypocrite a time or two. However, I believe in the cause of Christ more - so much so that I’ll do everything I can do to live a life of integrity even though it’s pretty much guaranteed that I’ll miss the mark again. Now wouldn’t that be a scandalous documentary?!

"Scent"imental

Either Poetroad loves me...or he really loves me because this year for Valentines day I received the sentimental "Yellow Rose" (of Texas...) bouquet AND a beautiful ring (and and AND - he bought the matching, yet more manly, ring for himself). Poetroad said the roses commemorate our first year of our Texas adventure. The ring symbolizes that this is a journey of faith we are taking together (which I've felt written on my heart since September).

Achieving Balance

My two year old produced this piece. Perfectly balanced bath toys. Yes, I know these aren't rocks. Still, I think she should stack more things around the house to balance the Qi (Chi) of the place. Or the cheese. Yeah, we probably have more cheese than Qi around here.

Late Happy Valentines Day

Love you all! Happy Valentines Day!

My five year old...

saw my picture on my blog and said, "Hey, that's you, Mom!"

"Yes it is."

"You look pretty," she said. And then she leaned over and whispered in my ear, "You always look pretty, Mom."

That girl always surprises me with what she says. Today is a nice day to be surprised.

That's a bit ironic...

You Should Be A Poet

You craft words well, in creative and unexpected ways. And you have a great talent for evoking beautiful imagery... Or describing the most intense heartbreak ever. You're already naturally a poet, even if you've never written a poem.

What Type of Writer Should You Be?

Learning A New Lingidy

Well, maybe it isn't quite a new "lingidy" that I'm learning, but rather it's that I'm learning a new way to pronounce words. Here are a list of local town names, the assumed pronunciation, and the Austin correct pronunciation:

Burnett: Bur-net : Burn-it

Buda: Boo-duh : Bud-duh CORRECTION (I was corrected on this today; it's not "Bud-duh" - it's "Byoo-dua")

Elgin: El-jin: El-gen

Llano: Yah-no: Lan-o

NEW: Manchaca: Man-chaw-kuh : Man-shak (Apparently, they just cut the chase and abbreviate here. I can just imagine how that happened. Some ol' cowboy was trying to pronounce the name..."Man-chalk....uh...man-cha-cha...ah, shoot! Dadburnet! Let's just say it Man-shak.")

San Marcos: Sahn Mahr-kohs: Sahn Mahr-cus

Basically, I'm afraid to ask for directions to go anywhere from a local for fear that I might end up somewhere I didn't intend to go. Although Poetroad and I have figured out that if it's a Spanish word, if we butcher it, then we'll get close to the local pronunciation.

Ice Storm '07

The snow never really accumulated, but the ice did. KJ (pictured here) said, "This is the best winter ever!"

Just as I predicted, the town practically shut down for about two days. And some nearby towns completely shut down. Seriously. The emergency scroll on TV read, " The city of Taylor closed until 1:00 PM." Now that is some ice storm! Thankfully, we never lost power and were able to easily navigate the slushy streets. Basically, these were bonus vacation days. Yay Texas!

Better than OK (so the Texans would say...)

It figures. The year we decide to move to Texas (and, I must admit, I was looking forward to enjoying some Winter warmth), is an "El Niño" year. That means that it is raining here. A lot. On Saturday, it rained three inches where I live (five inches down town). When I talked to my mom on the phone later that day, she said laughingly, "It serves you right."

Right now, it is 29 degrees outside, and a band of rain is headed this way. Freezing rain, that is. Of course there are those of you who have had to endure worse weather conditions in the past few weeks. But you have to understand that a little ice storm in Central Texas creates a lot of crazy. Hour by hour weather reports. Weather spotters. Grocery store picked clean (as if we might have to hunker down in our houses for a week). Then again, this is Central Texas. The city just might shut down with the predicted 1/4 inch of ice expected.

In the mean time, I've been walking around town wearing flops. Just today, I decided to dig out my winter coat (which I bought in San Francisco a few years ago). Although when I was outside a few minutes ago (wearing my flops), it didn't feel that cold. It's a "warm" 29 degrees. Must be the humidity.

So this is what it's like to live in Texas...

Hi, y'all! I've been here for about three weeks, and we've finally unpacked enough for me to take a second to post a post. Here we are at the Capitol! We even took the tour. You probably already knew that Texas was once it's own country. That was news to me! (No, I wasn't asleep in U.S. History class - I never took it; crazy, eh?) But knowing that Texas was once it's own country answers a lot of my questions about Texans...

Seriously though, I'm glad to back in the blogosphere, and I hope to have more time to post now that three are in school full time.

Old Vs. New

It doesn't show up well in these pics, but the new paint color is sort of a putty/grey color. It looks great. (Of course it looks great - would I decorate any other way?) But grey is not my favorite.

Visiting Gracie

The little poets and I visited Gracie last weekend - we helped her move into her new digs. Well, I watched the younger kids and provided some decent child labor for the move. The best part was that we got to stay the night with her family on the first night that they occupied their new home. Which would have been even more perfect if my youngest had not have had an ear infection that kept us both up most of the night. Nevertheless, Gracie cooked us breakfast on her very cool stove.
You can tell that she is just a little excited to be able to cook on her OWN stove again.

On the way home, we encountered a little snow on the pass - only a few feet of the sugary stuff at the most (on our drive, JG, front right in pic below, said in awe, "Mom, snow looks like sugar!). This was the first time I've ever had to chain up on my own; I feel so grown-up now. It's safe to say that we enjoyed this adventurous weekend.

Two Hot Babes

I am on the left, and Gracie is on the right. It was her 10th birthday, and we celebrated by going to the state fair. I talked Gracie into going on the "Squirrel Cages" that day (so she reminded me recently). And ever since that day, she has been trying to stop the spinning.

Love you! After all these years, you still look the same, Gracie (only now you have much bigger boobs and better hair). My boobs and my hair, ironically, haven't really changed since then.

Getting Rid of Blue

I'm still here.

Haven't I said that before? Hmmm. It feels like I have.

So I've been busy painting and packing and cleaning - all for the sake of getting the house in presentable shape in order for someone to like it enough to buy it. The most devastating news of all this week is that I must paint my blue room, as potential buyers might be turned off by its - well - "blueness."

Here is what it looks like currently:













And I worked so hard to coordinate the colors, curtains, etc. I *made* those curtains, btw.

At first, I cried when Poetroad broke it to me. I know - silly. But I've invested a lot into my house. Since we are moving shortly to Texas, however, it's probably good that I make a clean break with my house. Like we are "breaking up" - ending our love affair. I know - crazy. It's not the first time I've been accused of that (and it won't be the last).

Goodbye, Blue. I still love you, but we can't be together. I'll remember all of those great times we've spent together, and you'll always be in my thoughts.

I'll feel lonely without you, blue. Stay strong - for the both of us. Goodbye.

Irving, Texas
vs
Austin, Texas

Right Weekend; Wrong Number

The Queen drove over for a visit this weekend, for which I am eternally grateful. I simply like to be around her, and her presence tends to have a very calming affect on my life too (particularly when things are ultra-crazy around here with the move and all). Plus, she brought the chocolate. These are the things that sisters do for each other. And, and, and she even helped me paint my bedroom! That girl is a keeper.

Later that evening, the phone rang. When I answered, I thought I recognized the voice to be Poetroad's dad. It was the same type of firm cowboy "Hello!" said in almost an accusatory sort of way as if to say, "You haven't called your dad in a long time, so I'm calling you." Also, it always sounds as if he is surprised that someone is actually answering the phone, and his tone lets us know that if someone is there to answer the phone, then his son should be using the phone to call his dad.

I thought Poetroad's dad owned that "Hello." He doesn't.

So after a few seconds of light hearted chit chat ("I wasn't sure if you would be back yet; glad you made it home okay..." - Okay, we weren't planning on going anywhere, and we weren't coming home from any place in particular, but you know how older people sometimes get a little confused...), the voice on the other end said lovingly, "Happy Birthday, Possum. You're thirty-four."

Now a normal person would have stopped that poor confused daddy right there and let him know that he indeed had the wrong number. No Possum lives here. But my heart melted. Someone's Daddy was calling her to tell her happy birthday. He loves his little Possum! I wanted to be her, and I pictured my dad on the other end of the phone. What if my daddy (who was sitting downstairs in my living room at the time - and this fact made the idea so *real* to me in the moment) accidentally called the wrong "Little Possum"? I didn't want to disappoint a daddy who was so thoughtful to call on his daughter's birthday.

"Oh, that's so sweet!" I replied. "Thank you!"

And then I hung up the phone.

I was thinking that this sweet daddy would simply assume he and his daughter accidentally got cut off, re-dial the "correct" number, and actually get in touch with the right "Possum."

But that wasn't my luck. The phone rang again. I frantically tried to explain to Poetroad what happened, and convinced him to let the voice mail pick up the call. Surely the voice mail message would clue in the caller that he had the wrong number.

It did not. The phone rang again. Like a scared sixteen year old pleading with her father to get rid of an unwanted suitor, I urged Poetroad to please, please, please answer the phone and gently set the man straight. Which Poetroad did. But it took some coaxing to convince the man that the "Jones Family" did not live here.

Poetroad said that I confused the poor man. I know I unintentionally did confuse him. Rats. But at least I didn't continue the conversation once I realized it was the wrong number. I easily could have.

Hopefully "Possum" knows how much she is loved by her daddy.