Yup, it’s that time again.
Cornell Lab of Ornithology is holding its annual bird counting endeavor in the hopes of keeping tabs on our feathered friends.
So hang your feeders, buy some black oil sunflower seeds, make a cup of tea (or pour some wine if you’re so disposed), and count.
Blessed be :]
Il mio amato immortale.
Today’s word of the day.
A great word, bringing to mind the fragile wings of a moth.
Blessed be :}
Il mio amato immortale.
It’s fleeting some say.
Others say she drags.
Still there are those who lament her lack of quantity.
Wherever you stand on the debate, there is one thing that holds true — one can’t capture it, no matter the number of pictures we take, recordings we make, or memories we store in our brains.
Time follows her own rules.
And the time has come to say goodbye to Summer 2024.
The sunflowers will smile no more…
and my roses will lose their blush, their sweet scent no longer filling the afternoon air.
The end of summer brings farewells to old friends saying goodbye way too soon.
I’ll miss the nightly visits of the female Rose-breasted Grosbeak at my bedroom window feeder.
And the hummingbirds, ahhh the hummingbirds–fortified by the offerings of my gardens and nectar feeders, they will travel long and hard, without a backward wave of their tiny wings.
It’s interesting that when the dog days of summer are upon me I long for the coolness autumn offers, but when summer fades away I will miss her warms nights, the songs of the crickets, and her languid days.
Time.
Hold on tight, for she is a fleeting mistress.
Blessed be :}
Il mio amato immortale.
Let’s start with the bees.
Honeybees to be exact.
In my chimney and, like a scene from Hitchcock’s The Birds, flying out of the fireplace and into my living room.
Yup, honeybees; very angry honeybees when they realized there was no exit to the outside.
While Bailey chased the bees I quickly blocked the fireplace using a large piece of cardboard and half a roll of packing tape.
The bees managed to squeeze out the edge but would get caught by the tape.
Sigh.
I didn’t want them to suffer a slow death so I …. (shudder) squished them.
A call to my handyman remedied the situation. He removed the metal cover to the chimney (this will become important later in the post) and checked for a hive.
He didn’t find a hive but he did see lots of bees hovering around.
Hmmmmm, perhaps they’re intent on building a new hive, he said, and improved my makeshift blockade inside the house.
I told him to leave the metal chimney cover off.
Looking at me quizzically, he wanted to know why.
I’m not just a pretty face; I know that Chimney Swifts eat insects and roost in chimneys (thus the name).
Fast forward a few weeks — no bees and I have Chimney Swifts.
Cool.
Blessed be :}
Il mio amato immortale.
It is with a deep joy in my soul that I once again send you this Solstice Prayer:
May the summer season bring you drink to quench your thirst and food to fill your belly.
May the sun warm your bones and hold you gently in his embrace.
May the breeze caress your skin and cool your brow.
May your soul find joy in the colors, scents, and songs of nature.
May you know peace and tranquility in the shade of an oak.
May your journey be without peril.
May you soar.
Blessed be.
Blessed be :}
Mi manchi, mia amata immortale.
Welcome to May. The season of Beltane, when the position on the wheel of the year marks the halfway point between the spring equinox and the summer solstice.
Beltane is a time of growth.
A time to stoke our creative fire held deep within our bellies.
A time to celebrate optimism and life.
A time to frolic like a randy squirrel.
Take time to notice what is happening in Mother Nature’s world. Listen for Spring Peepers …
or for the call of a Pileated Woodpecker deep within a wooded area.
Look up and watch for Chimney Swifts darting across the sky. Their unique chittering call is another way to identify them.
Look down and catch the growth going on at your feet.
Spend some time by a river and watch for the herons.
Delight in the blessings Mother Nature offers as the wheel of the year spins and the dance continues.
Blessed Beltane.
Blessed be :]
Mi manchi profondamente, mio amato immortale.
I feared all my demons would fly out of my head when the doctor created the hole for my VP shunt; something similar to the scene from Night on Bald Mountain from Disney’s Fantasia.
Thank goodness my demons were well-behaved and remained tucked in the corners of my brain– the places where cobwebs shroud to the neurons.
The surgery went exceedingly well, aside from my hallucinations in the recovery room. I am told I kept calling for my sister. Yes, the very same sister who is dancing amongst the waves in the celestial ocean of the Universe.
I do so miss her.
Onward.
I now have an upside-down smiley-face area in my skull. It’s not really a true hole. It was a hole but now it’s sealed tight as a drum.
Does it hurt, you ask? Like a MF! And the headaches? Man, oh man. But, aside from the pain in my head, I feel GREAT! The following symptoms are gone: peeing myself, tremors, stuttering, falling, shuffling gait, unsteadiness, memory fog–the entire basket of nasties that have plagued me since 2017 have smiled and waved goodbye.
Just the headaches remain. However, they are not the same headaches I’ve suffered through for seven years–that feeling that I was constantly wearing a diving bell three sizes too small.
I do have one thing I need to write before I go any further: To all those doctors who told me I didn’t have NPH; those morons who told me I needed a psychiatrist–GFY! I’m sure you can translate.
So, now what? Am I fixed? Well, possibly. I still don’t understand how the shunt and I are going to work together. I still need to learn how to bend properly, but I’m confident I’ll build up my strength, drop the added weight Ben and Jerry forced upon me over the past year, and find joy in walking my dogs again.
All in good time.
For now I’ll listen to the wind whooshing through the hole in my head and thank my Goddess for her bounty.
Blessed be :}
Mi manchi profondamente, mio amato immortale.
This is a question I’ve asked over the years. I’d pull it out for my first date repertoire; or my son and I would make suggestions while waiting for a movie to start or standing in line for an amusement park ride.
My offerings included steak and ice cream sundaes. Billows of whipped cream and caramel sauce, on the sundae, not the steak, and charbroiled but still rare — the steak, not the sundae.
Well, I was wrong. My last meal has nothing to do with ice cream or the rump of a cow. How do I know this? Because I had my last meal about an hour ago.
There you go. A good ole PBJ on soft white bread.
I didn’t have grape jelly, my jam of choice is strawberry but the end result is the same…comfort.
Nothing says a gentle last meal like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
Ahhhhhhh.
Okay, where am I going with this? Well, you see, I’ve been on a journey since 2017 to find a neurologist who would listen to my when I explained my physical symptoms such as tremors, dizziness, shuffling gait and falling, slurred speech, cognitive decline, incontinence, headaches — the list was long and frightening– without rolling his or her eyes and stating: “You need a psychiatrist.”
Even though my MRIs and CT scans showed enlarged ventricles…
… and I displayed what is known as the triad for hydrocephalus…
…the assortment of doctors would poo-poo my complaints and label me just another hysterical woman.
Well poo-poo on them. I finally met a neurosurgeon at UMass Memorial Hospital, Dr. Mark Johnson, who conducted tests, revisited my scans, and agreed that the installation of a ventriculo-peritoneal shunt was called for.
So my seven-year journey is coming to and end. And even though shunt surgery has a low percentage of life loss, all surgery comes with risks.
Thus my last meal.
Wish me luck.
Blessed be :}
Il mio amato immortale.
Truly, I feel like I have whiplash by how quickly the winter season passed. I guess the old saying is true: Time flies when you spend most of your time on your couch.
What? It’s not a saying? Well it should be.
Moving on.
March 19, 2024, marks the time to celebrate Ostara, the position on the wheel where winter leaves us and spring begins. The season of renewal and rebirth.
Imbolc, to those of you who don’t follow the craft–Groundhog Day, quickened Mother Earth’s soul. Ostara gives each life a big jolt of caffeine and gets the hearts beating.
Yes, even lifeforms without hearts. Trust me, I studied biology–I know these things.
Blessed Ostara.
Let the chorus begin.
Blessed be :}
Il mio amato immortale.
I recently shuffled onto my back porch to allow the sunshine warm my haggard bones. It’s not safe to descend the stairs but I can use the deck to watch and listen to my river.
A mournful cry emanated from under the deck steps.
Oh dear, I thought, an injured or sick animal.
Worse than I imagined. A raccoon in the death grip of rabies.
I called the Animal Control officer and Ashely arrived quickly. She assessed the poor animal and determined that a quick put-down was called for.
One shot.
The birds held their collective breaths and except for the quiet tears forming in my eyes silence prevailed.
Blessed be :{
Il mio amato immortale.
