Rockin' Robin Returns

I haven't seen Rockin' Robin (who built a nest under our screen porch overhang) for several days, until this afternoon. She came back and was sitting on the nest. I checked Wikipedia and discovered that the female robin builds the nest alone and incubates the eggs also alone. Lon said he thought there were eggs in the nest already and that got me wondering.

When Rockin' Robin left her nest this afternoon, my curiosity got the best of me and I hauled Lon's aluminum ladder from the garage and opened it next to the nest. When I climbed up, I couldn't see down inside the nest because it sits too close to the overhang. I went in the house and came back out with a small mirror. Using the mirror, I could see down into the nest where one aqua blue egg rested. I angled the mirror in several directions but still saw only a single egg. I was careful not to touch the nest. I'm puzzled because a clutch normally consists of three to five eggs.

As I was climbing down the ladder, Rockin' Robin or her husband came back and swooped in my direction, scolding me loudly for getting close to the nest. He or she sat in a tree nearby and I was concerned that maybe she wouldn't come back to sit on her egg after seeing me near it. I was relieved when a few minutes later Rockin' Robin settled back over the egg once again.

She didn't stay on the nest very long and now she's been gone for quite a while again. Wikipedia didn't go into detail about the nesting habits so I don't know if what's going on is fine or not. I don't know if a second and third egg may be laid soon or if there will only be one. I think Rockin' Robin should be on her nest instead of gallivanting all over the countryside.

According to the encyclopedia, the egg or eggs will hatch in two weeks and the chick or chicks will leave the nest two weeks after that.

(I've included two photos taken outside the screen porch and one from inside. Rockin' Robin didn't seem to mind when I slowly moved closer to her to take the pictures).

Shaddy and Our Gang

The following short, short story is a piece of creative non-fiction based on an actual day in my life at least fifty years ago. I've embellished it out of necessity; too much time separates me from the exact details of that particular afternoon.

EVERY FOURTH CHILD BORN IS CHINESE

My two younger brothers, Carl and John, and I are watching Spanky and Our Gang on television after school. In this particular episode, Alfalfa, one of the main characters in the show, opens his piece of bubble gum and reads these words inside the wrapper: Every fourth child born is Chinese. The remainder of the half-hour follows Alfalfa and the rest of the gang as they proceed to the Chinese laundry downtown to observe a Chinese family first hand.

My attention shifts immediately from Alfalfa to on my brothers, sitting on the floor in front of the TV. My eyes come to rest on Carl, the fourth child born into our family. Poor Carl. He’s so easy to pick on because he's so sweet; without hesitation, I pounce because sweet, I'm not.

“Well, Carlie. Did you hear that? You know what that means, don’t you? Tom, Bob and I, we're one, two and three; you're next at number four. No doubt, you're Chinese! How about that! You can start up your own Chinese laundry when you’re all grown up. Meanwhile, here are a few shirts for you to clean and press. It'll be good practice. Hop to it, would ya? Please? Pretty please with fortune cookies on it?

Carl goes into the kitchen. “Mom, Shaddy says I’m Chinese. Am I?”

“Shaddy, what nonsense are you feeding him this time? Stop it before I come in there,” Mom calls out to me from the sink where she's peeling potatoes for supper.

Carl comes back in the living room looking content with Mom's reassurance that I'm talking nonsense.

“Mom doesn’t want you to know the truth,” I whisper to him. “You heard what they said on TV. They don’t lie on TV,especially on a show like Spanky and Our Gang! It's a kid's show. Really now!

Carl looks a bit puzzled, but not really upset. Darn! I don’t think he cares one way or the other if he’s Chinese or not as long as he’s fed when he’s hungry and has a bed to crawl in when he’s tired. That wasn’t much fun, I think to myself. Hmmm. Where’d John go? Maybe I can convince him every fifth child born is a raving lunatic.

“Hey, John. Where’d ya go?”

(As I look back on that afternoon and many other days as I was growing up, I wish I had it all to do over again. I wouldn't be so mean. Fortunately, neither Carl or John harbor any resentment for the stunts I pulled as their older sister, at least they don't appear to. Hmmm, maybe they're waiting for just the right moment to show me otherwise).

Rockin' Robin

My husband, Lon, and I were on our screen porch eating dinner on Saturday and listening to fifties music on the radio. A robin was hopping around on a section of downspout under the porch overhang. We'd noticed him earlier in the day hanging around in that same spot. We watched him as he jerked, jumped and hopped in circles, back and forth. He appeared to be dancing to the song playing on the radio. It was so funny to watch that we laughed and laughed and soon I was jiving right along with him. We named him Rockin' Robin and laughed some more.

We wondered why he was so interested in that section of downspout. On Monday, we found out. He started to build a nest while we were at work. At that stage, by the looks of the mess of grasses and twigs, I couldn't begin to imagine that the robin's project would be successful. After work on Tuesday evening, I became hopeful and this evening I was blown away by the finished product. Rockin' Robin must have used mud to form the nesting bowl because after a close inspection, I determined the bird's labor of love had become much more solid and well-shaped than it was yesterday. I should know the basics of robin nest building at my ripe old age of sixty, especially since it's Wisconsin's state bird and I've always resided in this lovely state. Unless something parks itself practically under my nose, I don't take much notice of it. Unfortunately, I live in my own little world and many things around me go unobserved.

I've included pictures taken on Tuesday and Wednesday. The top photo was taken on Wednesday and the lower ones on Tuesday. Rockin' Robin picked a busy area for his nest. An unoccupied birdhouse and a wall-mounted flag pole and flag are at that some corner. We eat out on the porch every chance we get and Lon has the TV going out there nearly every evening. I know Rockin' Robin likes fifties music and I can only hope he'll enjoy the evening ball games.

I'm excited to have a ring-side seat to this spectacle of nature. I'll keep you posted on any further developments.

Don't leave here yet though. I have a valuable tip for you so read on.

If you'd like to enter a drawing for a really neat pen, made from a vintage silverplated knife, please go to my friend Sarah's blog at www.dayspringsarah.blogspot.com or go to my blog list and click on Dayspring. Don't delay. The drawing is tomorrow morning.

What is NaNoWriMo?

NaNoWriMo or National Novel Writing Month is an opportunity to take a fun approach to novel writing. Participants begin writing November 1st with the goal of writing a 175-page (50,000 word) novel by midnight on November 30th.

I heard about this a couple of years ago and then stumbled upon it again recently. The website with all the details is http://www.nanowrimo.org/. This year, NaNoWriMo is "celebrating 10 years of literary abandon." Yesterday, I signed up to join a whole bunch of crazy writers from all around the world in this seemingly silly challenge.

Because we only have 30 days to write, the ONLY thing that matters is the quantity, not the quality. "The kamikaze approach forces you to lower your expectations, take risks, and write on the fly."

Each participant writes on his own computer. If I write 50,000 words of fiction by midnight on November 30th, I can upload my novel for official verification, and be added to the hallowed Winner's Page, receive a certificate and a web badge. I've read on the website that there's a way to scramble the content of my novel before I upload it, although all novels are deleted after verification.

There is no charge to participate although writers are encouraged to donate at least 10 dollars to the Office of Letters and Light, a nonprofit charity which pays for NaNoWriMo's youth and adult novel-writing programs and the operating expenses of NaNoWriMo.There are no prizes. Everyone who completes the required number of words is a winner, a winner in his own mind and that's all that really counts.

The rushed writing we will be doing reminds me of what I did in a writing class I took nearly three years ago; it was called free writing. We were instructed to set a timer for five minutes and to write as fast as we could for that length of time. We weren't to worry about spelling, punctuation, making a whole lot of sense, or writing anything of significance. The object of free writing is to tap into your "stream of consciousness." It taught me to open my mind, tap into my thoughts and then allow them to flow out through my fingers on the keyboard and onto the blank page. I'll show you what a bit of free writing looks like.

Okay. Here I go. Free writing is like opening a faucet and just letting the words runonot the page no stopping no fixing so litle worrying about the stuff that pours out i love the way it works and that the way we'll wirte in the nanowir mo thing. How in the world will I think of things to wirte I wonder I guess I'll just put my fingers os the keyboard and let them do the walking for me

That's enough of that. I think you get the idea. I've been surprised at some of the good writing I have come upon simply by opening my mind and letting the thoughts come out raw and unedited.

In order to get an idea of how much writing I will have to do in November's challenge, I divided 50,000 words by 30 days and came up with 1,667 words per day. Yesterday, I sat down at my laptop for a practice run. I wrote continually until my word count on my word processing program showed 1,667. I should have timed myself, but I didn't. It didn't seem to take too long, although my shoulders and neck complained during the process. I'm looking forward to getting the used copy of a NaNo Handbook that I ordered on amazon.com.yesterday. I have a handful of questions I'm sure will be addressed in it.

You might enjoy checking out the website. The whole attitude on the site is light-hearted. The challenge is meant to be fun and that concept is emphasized repeatedly. "Let's write laughably awful yet lengthy prose together. Make no mistake: You will be writing a lot of crap."

In 2008, NaNoWriMo had 119,301 participants, with 21,683 winners. A number of the novels written in the challenge have gone on to be published, after a great deal of editing of course. One was a New York Times #1 Bestseller.

I'm looking forward to November and the crazy ride I'll be on.

The Little House (A Short Story)

(I wrote the following short, short story a couple of years ago. I thought you might get a kick out of it. I had a big, bald head when I was born so I included a photo of me that was taken when I looked a little better).

THE LITTLE HOUSE

In January of 1949, I poked my head out of my familiar world into a new and very different one. My scalp cringed in the cold air and my eyes squinted at the light. That was enough. I wanted to go back inside. To my dismay, no one asked me what I wanted. Instead, I was tugged and squeezed until my shoulders, arms, legs and all the rest of me appeared.

The noises, the voices, the hustle and bustle swirled around me. Again, I wanted to duck back inside, but nobody gave me the option. I didn’t realize that no one who pokes his head out of the womb ever returns to that safe haven where he lived and thrived for nine months. When it’s time to be born, you just plain are.

I wasn’t sure about this strange world I’d come into. I was tempted to grab the umbilical cord like a bungee rope in my hands and to swing down and away. Instead, I postponed that stunt. Years later, I plummeted in a downward spiral and found myself dangling by a thread. That’s another story.

Back to January of ‘49, after Mom rested for a few days in the hospital, Dad brought her and me home. When we arrived at Elmwood Avenue, I was whisked inside. Winter in Wisconsin is not welcoming to a newborn or anyone else for that matter. The house I was brought into was twenty feet wide by twenty feet long. Honestly, I had expected more.

When I crossed the threshold, I assumed I had entered the foyer. I’d been eavesdropping from Mom’s tummy when she read books aloud before I was born. The stories of princesses in huge castles and handsome couples dancing in beautiful mansions had filled my head with grandiose expectations. This dwelling, my home, resembled that of the old woman who lived in a shoe. In time, I came to realize that this was the best my father could do when he built this house four years before I made my grand entrance.

There wasn’t much to see inside this tiny square box of a house; I took it all in with a slight turn of my head. I scowled as I pondered my situation. Just how would Mom, Dad and I get along in such close quarters? As I wrestled with this whole mess, Mom laid me in a cradle and covered me with a blanket.

After a short nap, I looked up, blinked my eyes and saw two smiling eyes blinking right back at me.

“Hi,” the eyes said, staring at me in wonder as I stared right back. I didn’t know it then, but the eyes belonged to my brother Tommy. My tiny mind balked, once again. Would these walls soon burst off their foundation with four of us squeezed inside this cracker box?

“I want to see her,” I heard from a second young person. Two small hands appeared on the edge of the cradle and a face peeked at me for just a second and then it was gone.

"Stop jumping, Bobby. You're bumping the cradle," Mom said.

“I have to see her,” the hands on the cradle seemed to say. Presently, Mom held the little fellow up above the side of the cradle. This was brother number two, Bobby. I rolled my eyes, as I added one more to the running total. I counted on my fingers and then recounted on my toes. Anyway I figured, it still added up to five people in 400 square feet of house. My face grew red and I grunted in disbelief. What were Mom and Dad thinking back in April of 1948? Did they even consider the possibility, that nine months later, I would be waltzing in? And besides that, where were my beautiful gowns and glass slippers?

I wanted to kick my legs and wave my arms in frustration, but I feared I might clobber somebody or something. I wasn’t born yesterday. For Pete’s sake, I was already five days out of the uterus. Even so, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to know that frantic movements could easily spell disaster in these elbow-to-elbow conditions.

After a bottle and a burp, I realized that my wondering was escalating to worrying--advanced thinking for a newborn (even one of my caliber). Annoyed and weary, I closed my eyes and dreamed of how simple life used to be.

I've Hit the Walls

While I do silly things, my husband does meaningful things like hanging wallpaper in our home. I've hit the wall as far as writing goes this evening, so I'm going to focus on walls, specifically those in our home. When it comes to making wallpaper choices, Lon and I work together. When it comes to doing the actual work, Lon is on his own. (My first grade teacher noted on my report card that I don't work well with others. I took her comment to heart and never even tried after that).

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The top picture is taken in our kitchen.

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The pine cone paper in the photo with the coat hooks is in the entry at the front door.

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The reddish paper is on two walls in the family room and the textured paper (in the photo on the right) is on the other two walls.

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The striped paper above the chair rail and the solid colored paper under the chair rail are on the walls in one half of the bedroom. The leaf pattern is on the other half of the bedroom.

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The tree paper is in the bathroom.

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I like it here in our home and appreciate all Lon does to make our house fun to live in.

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Thanks for visiting. Y'all come back now, ya hear?

Two Right Feet

You'll be relieved to know I arrived fully equipped for my swim today. My Y experience was a stroll in the park compared to Saturday's. The only rule I broke was not showering before I entered the pool. I must admit, I've become a hardened criminal regarding that regulation; I don't even flinch when I see the sign and promptly disobey it.

I took my sweet time as I entered the pool area, nonchalantly kicking off my flipflops, rotating my arms to loosen my shoulders, and adjusting my goggles, all BEFORE I very gradually let myself into the water. How truly sweet it was. I repeated Saturday's back and forth, back and forth routine until I was done and then I got out of the water. I felt a slight surge of residual guilt when I found myself face-to-face with the lifeguard. I quickly relaxed when he simply smiled and chatted with me for a minute or so and then went his way and I went mine.

Before I let you go, I've got another Y story to tell. Can you stay just a little longer? I planned to run on the indoor track one day a year or so ago. When I put my running shoes on, the right one went on just fine and dandy. As I attempted to slip the second shoe on my left foot, I groaned. I own a few pair of cross-training shoes, all white with varying trim colors. I had grabbed two right shoes from my closet at home when I packed my bag. I sat back down on the bench and groaned again.

As a rule, I'm not mentally flexible. When I set out to do something, I'm serious about it. My options that day were: I could forget about exercising and get out of there or I could put the two right shoes on and go work out on the weight machines. Running was not an option. (I bet you know what I did). It was only a little awkward as I made my way upstairs, but once I started using the machines I was sitting down so the shoe issue wasn't an issue. I took some comfort in knowing that at least I didn't have two LEFT feet.

I have to admit I did feel self-conscious and tried to slink from machine to machine so no one would get a look at my shoes. Little did I know that this slinking ability would come in handy at a later date in the pool.

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I don't know why people think exercising is boring. It's actually quite challenging in more ways than meet the eye.

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(If you haven't read my previous post, Wanted: Dead or Alive, you may have felt lost at times as you read this one. You're welcome to go back to it. Then you'll know the rest of the story).