Smiling, Breathing, and Going Slow

A few days ago I woke to a sound that brought me ease and joy–sunflowers being cracked open. Weird sound to instill peaceful bliss, right? Not really. You see, before I even opened my eyes I knew there was a male Rose-Breasted Grosbeak at the bird feeder hanging outside my bedroom window.

Male Rose-Breasted Grosbeak

There are only a few things that will bring me joy upon opening my eyes: seeing my son’s beautiful face and dark chocolate-colored eyes; or seeing my sister Dyan’s smile; or a butler holding a tray that contains freshly brewed coffee, a croissant, butter and jam, and an email informing me that I’ve won the Blogger of the Year Award; or a male Rose-Breasted Grosbeak.

I was going to add Keanu to the list but now that he’s married it feels weird. Plus, I’m too old for love. Bring on the croissants and the birds.

Image by Jan Vašek from Pixabay.

To be honest, just about any bird will put a smile on my early morning face–except a House Sparrow.

House Sparrows on top of the oak slag.

I know they’re cute but deep within each little feathered body lies a black heart.

I’m not kidding. (The following image is not for the faint-hearted.)

Dead juvenile Eastern Bluebird.

A male House Sparrow attacked the juvenile Bluebird and (swallow) ripped the bluebird’s skull open.

Nasty House Sparrows.

Sometimes, Mother Nature is a bitch.

The North American Bluebird Society has an interesting fact sheet about the aggression of House Sparrows towards Eastern Bluebirds. Read it here.

As long as I’m ragging on Mother Nature…I mean ‘dat bitch’, let’s chat about hornets the size of Texas.

This is the second hornet I’ve killed that measured the length of the first two digits of my little finger, which measures close to one and a half inches.

WTF is happening? Is the Concord River becoming Jurassic World?

I don’t know what type of hornets I’m running into, that doesn’t matter. I want them GONE!

If I get stung I am going to be one angry bitch!


Let me tell you a story. I call it The Great ‘Are You Kidding Me’ Escape.

One evening around 8:30PM an old woman was reading in bed and her two cats were by her side. A large insect (probably a giant hornet), being attracted to the bedside light (or the woman’s blood), slapped against the window screen. Samantha, the black cat who always finds a way to get into trouble, leapt across the prone body of the old woman and went for the large insect. Smack. Sam hit the screen and both the screen and Sam went for a ride down to the ground. The old woman looked with amazement at the open window, sans screen and sans cat, and exclaimed, “WTF!” (She said the whole phrase.) The old woman grumbled and mumbled and swore as she put on her bathrobe and slippers and headed out into the darkening night. The motion light came on and the old woman saw Sam, and the screen, under the window. The old woman called out to Sam. Sam looked at the old woman, then turned and ran across the street and into the tick-and-poison ivy infested marsh. The old woman swore some more and went into the house for the flashlight. Fast forward through a very long, tearful night to 4AM and a pathetic mewing outside the kitchen window. Sam had come home, with a tick, and poison ivy.

Sam, sleeping with her brother, the day after her Great Escape.

Sam’s little escapade cost me over $60 for flea and tick treatment for her and Oreo, who could have gotten something from his gadabout sister; $8 for poison ivy treatment for me; and an afternoon spent securing the screens.

Stupid screens.

Stupid insect.

Stupid cat.

Now it’s time for the That’s Creepy portion of the blog.

While walking Harlee…

“I had nothing to do with this. It was all the old lady.”

(Shush Harlee, I’m telling the story.)

As I was saying, which really wasn’t saying, more like typing…actually, I was typing…anyway, moving on…Harlee and I were out walking and passed a house a few streets away from mine. What did I spy? A soldier out with the trash. A pot soldier.

Not that kind of pot.
These kinds of pots.

The pot soldier was made out of plant pots and cute as a bug (but not a hornet, which, in truth, isn’t a bug). I longed to rescue the pot soldier so I texted three people asking what I should do and they all said to walk away from the pot soldier.

Well, to my surprise, he leapt into my arms.

Meet Hermie, my pot soldier.

Who said I was too old to find love?

Oh, I did.

Let’s move on to the topic of my ducks and what the heck happened to my ducklings? Three hens swam by a little over two weeks ago with ducklings in tow.

Mama Mallard hen with ducklings.

That was the last time I saw the ducklings. Except for the lone baby who stopped by my neighbor’s beach, all the other ducklings are gone.

The poor little duckling just sat on the beach and peeped. I only saw him, or her, that one morning. Since then no sighting; no peeping.

But I have plenty of adult Mallards who seem to want nothing better than to loll about my property…

Lazy ducks.

…and eat corn.

Hungry ducks.

At least the Canada geese haven’t shirked their duties.

The Ruby-Throated Hummingbirds are here, flitting about. I’ve waited many months to hear what I can only describe as their chirppy-chittery calls.


That’s about all I have at the moment which is what I’m trying to do — live in the moment and not lament over the past or fret about the future. It’s called being mindful and as Thich Nhat Hanh said:

Blessed be :}

Mi manchi, mia amata immortale.


About tinthia

Wondering, searching, and wandering, I'm an earth witch with a desire to get it right in my lifetime. The flow of the river feeds my inner goddess and fuels my soul. Blessed be. :}
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4 Responses to Smiling, Breathing, and Going Slow

  1. Gregory G. says:

    Thank you for the moments of peace reading this.

  2. Deborah Caliguri says:

    Always looking forward to your blogs and posts. Thank you for sharing the beautiful Concord. Your photos put me back to my childhood right next door. Stay safe. xx

  3. tinthia says:

    You as well. Stop by for a visit sometime. 🙂

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