Hummingbirds and Penguins; or the Big and the Small of It

Hubby was working in the garage  a couple of days ago when he was nearly attacked by a hummingbird who gave him the business then flew off.  I didn’t know until a couple of years ago that some hummingbirds stay here in the Pacific Northwest all winter.  What do they eat? They don’t eat seeds and there aren’t any flowers in bloom.  

Which reminded me of the movie The March of the Penguins, that I watched a few years back. That is a fascinating movie.  You should all watch it.  I’m now going to tell about this great movie. Then go watch it and come back and tell me how horrible my memory is.

According to my recollection, these amazing creatures walk 70 miles and don’t eat for weeks, while they march inland to lay their eggs.  Then one of each mating pair marches back to the sea, which is now not as far away as it used to be due to the balmy Antarctic summer which has melted a lot of the ice.  The determination of these animals is amazing.   The miles and miles and days and days of no food while they march on, and the bitter weather they endured, nearly broke my heart.  I wanted to start a fundraiser so we could buy snow mobiles for them so they can to their destination much faster and easier.

But they probably wouldn’t want to learn to drive.  Just like my visiting hummingbird apparently doesn’t want to go around to the backyard to sip of the nectar I put out for him.

I can only do so much.

Thrift Store Aficiondo

When the kids were little , Thrift Store shopping was a necessity.  Kids grow much faster than the money coming in so off to Goodwill and Salvation Army we went.  Over the years it became an art and then a challenge.  Go on the sale day, often Monday or Sunday, and look for the color-of-the- day tags.  Or go on the holiday weekend sale. Most everything is half off at those sales.  Plan enough time to search and try on and you will surely come away with a bargain or two or three.

This Thrift Store shopping got deep into my youngest’s blood and she pretty much refuses to go to “regular” stores.  Her motto is, why buy new when you can save lots of money and get something great and unique at the Thrift Store.  Sometimes you even find new things, tags still attached.  This weekend she is a bridesmaid in a friend’s wedding. The required attire for the bridesmaids is a “black satin dress.”  And guess what?  Oh yes,  she found just the dress, a beautiful black satin dress at a Thrift Store.  For $9. That’s my girl.

It’s time for me to pull out my clothes for tomorrow.  I think it will be the skinny jeans and the sweater I got at the Thrift store.  And the boots I bought at the boot sale last fall.

Happy shopping!

A Safe, Warm (okay, slightly cold) Bed

I was just a kid when the Beatles arrived in the United States.  I was delighted with their funny hair cuts, British accents, and good looks. I listened to, and sang along with, their songs.  I read magazine articles about them.  And I collected Beatle cards.  Like baseball cards, these cards included interesting facts and quotes from the Fab Four, along with a pack of bubblegum. One of the statements attributed to John, Paul, George, or was it Ringo, said something to the effect that what this Beatle member really missed, was sleeping.  Sleeping?  I thought that was one of the strangest things anyone could miss.  You don’t miss sleep.  You  just go sleep.  Well, at least I did, at that age.

When I was a kid Sunday night’s crawling-into-bed experience was the best of the week.  The sheets were newly washed, my pajamas were newly washed, even my body and hair were newly washed.  I loved that all fresh and clean feeling. I’d snuggle down and drift off into that sweet sleep of childhood.

I grew up and found out that sleep is, indeed, something that can be missed.  Which makes going to bed even sweeter than it used to be.  Most every night as I lay down and pull the covers over me I think about how grateful I am to have my bed.  Most of the people in this world have never experienced a real bed and I say a prayer for them wishing them a safe, comfortable rest.  I savor the softness, the comfort, the safety, and the coolness of my bed.

And I drift off, hopefully, into the sweet sleep of adulthood.

Herding Sheep. And Cats.

What with sequestration and the resulting furloughs apparently upon us, or more personally, upon hubby, our friend may be on to something.

Linda has been learning sheep herding.  It started as a hobby, taking her dog to sheep herding training.  But I’m thinking there may be some job openings in the sheep herding business.  Never hurts to diversify.

I watched the sheep herding class the other day. I tried to put myself in the dog’s place, and imagined what it would be like to know nothing about sheep or herding them, and what it felt like to be told by the shepherd to “come”, then getting hit for coming too close, yelled at for sniffing stuff, but being afraid to run near the sheep.

I felt sorry for the poor dog.  Which probably means sheep herding is not in my immediate future. I have, however, had some experience herding cats.  Well, not really herding cats.  It’s actually experience running a planning committee.  Which is the same as herding cats.

But I digress. Which is what the “cats” on my committee keep doing.  I think I’ll head back to the sheep herding class and see what I can pick up.

Bring on spring!

Bring on spring! I’m ready! Got myself a little tiller for my garden.

Hubby has a mondo tiller for prepping the garden, which is great. But once done, that huge thing goes back into storage. And that’s where Junior tiller comes in. It’s just the right size  for grinding up those nasty weeds that grow so magnificently in what is supposed to be the weed-free zone between rows.

I can’t wait to use it.  I’ll take Junior out there and run up and down the rows, freeing my carrots, and peas, and beans, and sunflowers from those unwanted pests.  Which reminds me of slugs.

Last year I fought a valiant war against those slimy, disgusting creatures trying to keep them from ingesting my entire crop of dahlias.  I ended up spending way too much $$ on beer for those alcoholic pests, and copper tape trying to zap them, and salt trying to melt the creepy things.  They are incredibly disgusting but I must admit they are fighters. And our fight went on for months.

This year I’m moving my dahlia patch to a sunnier location (hubby doesn’t know this yet but he and Mond0 get to plow up a new patch of earth) which will have plenty of room between rows, just right for me and Junior.   I’ll get up early in the morning while it’s still cool and the slugs are out.  And I’ll grind those little suckers up.

It’s going to be great!