Notes from the home front

Some people like Fall best, but Spring is my favorite time in Texas, with flowers blooming and soft pleasant temperatures. Sure, we could use more rain, and we're due to get it this coming week I believe. But meantime it has been perfect weather for driving with the top down on the car and for sitting on the deck at night with a book on my iPad and a glass of wine. Sophie keeps me company and defends me by occasionally running off to bark at I don't know what threat.
It was not a peaceful morning here. I have acquired a phone stalker--now you need to realize that my younger son, Jamie, is the ultimate prank phone caller. The other day he woke me from a nap, using a voice I didn't recognize, asked what I was doing, and said, "Oh, I called the wrong number. I meant to call Jean (he named a friend of mine). I'll just call her and call  you back later." Anxious to catch a bit more sleep before I had to get Jacob I said fine, and he said, "Mom, I really got you that time!"
So a few days later when the phone rang during nap time and a man I didn't recognize said,, "Mrs. Alt-air?" I assumed it was Jamie, told him if he didn't stop talking that way I'd hang up on him. I don't remember what he said, but I kept waiting for him to say, "Mom, I didn't get you this time." It didn't happen. The man asked how I was and such inanities. Finally I hung up and he called right back. Still no admission that it was Jamie, so I said, "Call me back at four," and he agreed. Later that night I emailed Jamie to ask what happened to "I'll call you back at four." Not unusual there was no answer.
Well, this morning at 6:10 the same voice called to say "Good morning, Mrs. Alt-air. How are you?" I mumbled "Good morning and goodbye" and hung up. It didn't wake Jacob but it sure brought me awake because I knew it wasn't Jamie. Later, I looked on the phone for the name and area code--876. Looked it up, and it's Jamaica--comes with a warning about scam calls. I'm hoping my "friend" doesn't call back.
Jacob got up before I did--I wanted to linger in that half-sleep of a morning when I didn't need to pop out of bed. Sophie would have none of it. She barked and barked at me until I got up. Nope, she didn't need to go outside--she just wanted me up and moving about the house. She knows she is allowed on two pieces of furniture--Jacob's bed and the overstuffed chair in my office--once clean duck, not dirty gray. So last night, Jacob had her up in my bed with him, and today on the couch. I said "I have two spoiled babies," and Jacob replied, "Yes,  you do."
For years, like my father before me, I've fought the squirrel/bird feeder battle. The last few years I've had a caged bird feeder with traps that close up when anything heavy lands on the little perches. Small birds are just heavy enough to open the traps and release seed. Sorry, doves and mockingbirds--eat what falls on the ground. But tonight I found a squirrel on there--three times. I'd bang on the grate on the indoor greenhouse window, and he'd scurry away--only to come back, perch in the tree and glare at me. We did this about  three or four times before he finally gave up. I don't think he was getting any bird seed anyway.
In spite of prank callers and squirrels, life is sure sweet with children, dogs, birds, and lovely weather.

Grace--or a good rant?

Squirrel bulletin: this is my new super-duper bird feeder. It has spring-loaded perches--a bird's weight doesn't do anything, but a squirrel's weight closes them down. I put it up this morning, and at first I saw neither birds nor squirrels, but by afternoon I saw a brave bird eating; when another bird came along, he'd chase it away--there are plenty of perches, for pete's sake! They are really mean and squabbling little creatures. Several were fluttering around and chirping; even the papa cardinal flitted by a few times. I suppose they'll get used to it. One squirrel got on it and prowled up and down, never did get any seed that I could tell--and I stood inside and watched. It occurred to me if he went at it upside down he might get some--here's hoping he doesn't figure it out.

Last night I read a blog about grace, that quality that is bred into southern girls. Now, being a northerner, I could beg off, except that I know my mom tried hard to teach me about grace, with such sayings as "You catch more flies with a teaspoon of sugar than a cup of vinegar." It's a lesson I've learned to a certain degree. Grace is about turning the other cheek, meeting an insult with a smile, being above the fray. I'm sure it makes you look the better person, but sometimes it surely is hard. The woman who wrote the blog got a cancer diagnosis and a pink slip from  her employer in the same day and yet she managed apparently to handle them with grace. What she wasn't able to handle so easily was counseling her young daughter on how to handle insults.

Sometimes a rant is good for the soul. I let loose with a rant (mild) at someone near and dear to me yesterday. I felt better, but I don't know about the recipient. Still, I'd been carrying the burden of my hurt with me for several days--as my kids would tease me, "My nose was out of joint." So I unburdened myself. I think if I'd relied on grace, I'd still be carrying that burden--not good for my soul. And sometimes those things you want to rant about and don't get buried deep and come back to bite when you least expect them. The trouble with a rant is that you never know if it's justified or if you're being petulant and you can end up feeling guilty for petulance.

My conclusion: grace most of the time, but an occasional rant if you're sure it's justified and the object of your rant will listen. What's your thought on grace or a rant?

Went to a wrap-up party tonight for the highly successful poetry symposium at TCU, featuring Billy Collins, former poet laureate of the United States and a poet with many books to his credit. I went with my friend Mary Volcansek--we joked about being dates, but neither of us really wanted to go alone. To my delight there were several people there I wanted to say hello to, and I met some new faces, including the writer Alex Lemon who recently made a good splash with a memoir. He's on the TCU faculty and I'd heard a lot about him but never met him--liked him a lot. So it was fun. Mary and I stayed an hour and left--just enough time to greet the people I wanted to but not so long that I hung around wondering who I should talk to next. And it was good to get dressed up (well, sort of) on a Saturday night and go out.



Squirrels are making me squirrely

My dad was an avid gardener and a lover of birds. Especially in his retirement years on a gorgeous piece of property in North Carolina, he put out bird feeders all over, but the main one was by the picture window at the dining table. There was a hummingbird feeder, and we'd sit and watch those feisty little birds chasing each other away. But there was also a seed feeder and too often we'd watch the squirrels pillage the contents. Dad tried every kind of squirrel-safe bird feeder then invented, and the little beasts outwitted him every time.
Now I'm fighting the same battle. I have a cylindrical mesh bird feeder outside my kitchen window, and I love to watch the birds. I'm not as knowledgeable as Dad about the kinds and the other day saw a small black-and-white bird with a bright red spot on the top of his head. Betty is always asking what I want for my birthday, so it was an aha! moment. I've asked her for a small illustrated guide to the birds of North Texas. I do of course recognize a few--a cardinal mama and papa come to the feeder, and Jacob loves to watch for the "red bird." He'll creep quietly into the kitchen and stand and watch (well, he also likes to watch the washing machine through the glass door in the front, so this may not say much about his powers of observation!). Mockingbirds try to get on the feeder, but they're so big they flap around in an ungainly manner.
Alas, the squirrels have discovered how to stretch from the tree to the feeder. They wrap themselves around it and feast away until I happen to the kitchen window and commence to shouting--and, yes--swearing. I bang on the window with a toy gun (I tried shooting it, thinking the clicking noise would alarm them but no such luck). Some of them scurry up the chain, into the trees and away, but some bolder fellows just stare at me with the bright eyes. That makes me so mad I go charging into the back yard, waving a wooden cane, and yelling for Scooby to do his job of squirrel chasing. By then, of course, the critter is gone. I filled the feeder to the top yesterday and it's empty tonight. At a hardship to the birds, I'm going to leave it empty for a couple of days and see if that teaches the squirrels.
The squirrels have already begun to dig in my planter boxes. For Pete's sake, nothing's blooming  yet, and they're disturbing my seeds. I may try mothballs.
But I know what I want for my birthday--children, are you listening?--a caged bird feeder. I saw one in Westcliff Hardware that was neat. The birds land on spring-controlled perches and eat but if a squirrel lands on one, its greater weight closes the trap on the feed. Some caged feeders won't let the medium sized birds, like cardinals, fly through but  this one would let everyone eat--except the critters. However, it was priced beyond what I consider an impulse buy, so I put it on my wish list.
I know we should love all God's creatures, but the squirrels try my patience sorely. Only worse thing was the year roof rats found my bird feeder--and then my attic!