There’s nothing like the morning clouds after a good cold front. Especially nice because of the fall back from Daylight Savings Time, the sun is in a slightly different place when I get to work.
Those changes affect seeing and so the ordinary jumps out unexpectedly making it all seem new.
When the typical turns atypical, the camera comes out and something as fleeting as clouds and sky is suddenly frozen.
I’m still kind of at a loss for words other than ‘wow.’
I doubt I’ll ever forget the moment they called Ohio, and we knew it was all over as soon as the west coast polls closed. We ate the cupcakes we’d been saving for the first state to flip after we finished cheering and jumping around.
Watching the returns come in, the country slowly turning blue, reminded me of the scene in Lord of the Rings when the Ents destroyed the dam on the Isen, and the water flowed down into Isengard washing away the monstrosity of warmongering and environmental destruction that Saruman had wrought. There was still a lot to do, battles to be fought and rings to be destroyed, but you could tell things were changing.
Everything yesterday was the same. Kids to teach, dishes to do, dogs to feed, and errands to run. But I caught myself grinning like a fool when I heard the words on the radio or saw a newspaper.
President-elect Obama.
Finally, on Tuesday, the good guys won, and though everything is the same, it’s a bit different too.
I feel like our country answered to the better angels of its nature in electing someone competent, smart, and decent. A combination that’s been missing too long.
My dad has said several times this year that he hasn’t felt this way about voting since 1960. For me, this was the first time I was able to vote for a politician in whom I truly believed.
It felt good and for once I feel a little less cynical about politics than I always have. I hope Obama exceeds expectations, but his work will certainly be cut out for him. There is much to do. Many wrongs to right.
Still, for the first time in a very long time, I suddenly feel good about where our country can go. It won’t be easy and it won’t be perfect, but it’s a start and it feels good.
Once again, I feel optimistic about our government.
It’s about damn time.
Hope.
President-elect Obama nailed that one.
I guess we know what community organizers do.
Wow.
MWAAAHAHAHAHAHA
Presenting the fearsome Capt. Adm. Jack-O-Lantern Joe…
And Phoebe, the (not really all that) Wicked Witch of the Backyard…
Beware all who dare come begging for treats at this door!
MWAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
[saveagrey]
I saw this bird on my walk the other day. It looked like a flycatcher, and something told me it was an Eastern Phoebe, though I wasn’t certain.
According to my Sibley guide, the Eastern Phoebe is a 7-inch bird. I compare everything to the Northern Mockingbird to judge size since I see them all the time and they’re a handy 10-inches or so, thus half the size of a mockingbird is roughly 5 inches.
As I was watching the suspected phoebe, a mocker conveniently landed a few feet away, and I could clearly see that he was about 2-3 inches longer. After studying the picture I took and comparing it to other pictures online, I’m pretty sure that this is the Eastern Phoebe, which isn’t really all that exciting since they’re pretty common birds, but it’s nice to know what I’m looking at.
While searching around, I stumbled upon these bloggers who also found themselves confronted with the Eastern Phoebe and a bit of uncertainty: Nature Tales and Camera Trails, Birding Girl, and At the Water. Their pictures helped my with my ID, which I hope is right. I also discovered SE Texas Wildlife, which didn’t have a picture of the Eastern Phoebe, but still looks like a cool blog to explore.
Much easier for me to identify is the Western Spotted Couch Phoebe, caught here in her natural habitat:
The little pond down the street is a great place for finding birds like this Great Egret.
As big as these guys are (4′ foot wingspan) they can be easy to miss sitting as they do stone still in the tops of trees.
Remembering to look where you think you’ve already looked can be the difference between looking and seeing.
I’m not sure if I am a real American or a fake American. Sarah Palin’s recent floccinaucinihilipilification of the not so pro American parts of the country has got me thinking (and, yes, busting out the big words that any real American would never utter, by gosh wilikers!).
So, to take stock.
I live in Texas. Real America.
But I live in Austin. Fake America.
But I live in the part of Austin that’s in Williamson County. Real America with a capital A.
But I’m from Rhode Island. Fake America.
Well, that doesn’t help.
I have heard that trusty red Alabama might be considered real America. Let’s see what some of those hard-workin’ betcha by golly wow real Americans have to say about Barack Obama:
“He’s neither-nor,” said Ricky Thompson, a pipe fitter who works at a factory north of Mobile, while standing in the parking lot of a Wal-Mart store just north of here. “He’s other. It’s in the Bible. Come as one. Don’t create other breeds.”
[…]
“I would think of him as I would of another of mixed race,” said Glenn Reynolds, 74, a retired textile worker in Martinsville, Va., and a former supervisor at a Goodyear plant. “God taught the children of Israel not to intermarry. You should be proud of what you are, and not intermarry.”
[…]
“He’s going to tear up the rose bushes and plant a watermelon patch,” said James Halsey, chuckling, while standing in the Wal-Mart parking lot with fellow workers in the environmental cleanup business. “I just don’t think we’ll ever have a black president.”
[…]
“I’ve always been against the blacks,” said Mr. Rowell, who is in his 70s, recalling how he was arrested for throwing firecrackers in the black section of town. But now that he has three biracial grandchildren – “it was really rough on me” – he said he had “found out they were human beings, too.”
Of course this all came from the New York Times, so take it with a grain of salt, I mean, the New York Times?!? talk about your fake America.
They did let me vote, though, and I voted for one of the pro-American candidates.
Thanks for reminding me of that, Fred.
The day we met Daphne her name was Fancy. She was huddled in a ball at a greyhound meet-n-greet. She was the smallest grey I’ve ever seen and with very little fur, she didn’t look particularly healthy. But the little neckerchief she wore said she needed a home. That was all it took.
Two weeks later we had a new dog. She was scared of everything, and she spent most of that summer hiding under an end table and sneaking to the bedroom at night. The first day, I had to pick her up and carry her outside when she needed to go out. I did that for a few days, but one night at about three in the morning, I heard her bouncing by my side of the bed, eyes shining and ears as up as they could go.
I took her outside, and she wanted to play. We ran around the yard under the stars and chased each other. Then she did her business and went in. After that she always told me when she needed to go out. And, for the past six years, I have gotten up at least once, sometimes twice, in the middle of the night to let her out. Every night.
One of my favorite things about leaving town is knowing that I will get to sleep through the night. But now… now, I know I will miss getting up.
I will miss watching Daphne tree the midnight possums and snap June bugs from the air as they swarm around the porch lights. I will miss hearing the midnight songs of unmated mockingbirds as they trill through the spring nights. I will miss the distant sound of trains that carries across the cool autumn air. I will miss the coyotes I sometimes hear howling in the distance.
If not for her, I’d have missed these things. That’s one things animals do for us: they fill our lives with the unexpected.
Over the years, Daphne grew a beautiful blue fawn brindle coat, thus saving us from having to have a mostly hairless dog. She grew to be playful, quirky, and the laziest animal I’ve ever known, but when she wanted attention or wanted to play, she would wrestle with me like no other dog I’ve had.
I don’t think I ever saw her walk. She preferred to run everywhere she went, glomping along with a footfall surprisingly loud for such a small greyhound. She made weird noises, and only barked at night when there was wildlife in the yard that needed a good treeing.
When Zephyr died, Daphne assumed her rightful role as the alpha dog, though she was a laid back alpha. She never learned to like walks or car rides or going anywhere for that matter, but in the house and in the yard, she was boss. She even overcame her fear of strangers, running to the door when people came over.
We just let her be the dog she wanted to be, and I think it made her happy.
Last Friday, we learned she had cancer. We brought her home for a few more of those precious days. She wouldn’t run anymore, instead walking slowly. She mostly just wanted to hop up on the couch and curl up beside us, resting her head in our laps as we read or watched TV. She still ate a little, but yesterday she took a sudden turn for the worse.
I left work early because I just had a feeling I should. When I got home, I found her on her bed with Simon the cat lying near her. She obviously wasn’t feeling well, and she’d thrown up a lot. Knowing it was time, I called the vet.
R came home shortly after, and we sat with Daphne on her bed while we waited for the vet. Joey and Phoebe and Simon even joined the vigil. When it was time, she passed peacefully in her home, on her bed, surrounded by her people.
We’ll miss our big Daph terribly, but as with the others who went before, I know it won’t be long before thinking about her makes us smile rather than cry.
And somewhere, at the great greyhound meet-n-greet in the sky, Zephyr is surely sniffing her old friend’s butt and saying, “Come on. The squirrels are this way…”
Thanks to y’all who sent well wishes.
Update: Thanks, Fred, for letting Daphne roam the marbled halls of Ironicus Maximus today.
[saveagrey]
We found out today that Daphne has cancer. It’s pretty widespread, and there isn’t anything that can be done. Our vet says that this isn’t going to be painful (for her anyway) so we brought her home to spend her last few weeks eating whatever she wants – the hell with that nasty kidney diet food! – and getting lots of love while lounging on her couch.
[saveagrey]
Several books I’ve read (can’t recall specific titles as I’ve seen it many places) suggest that following agitated Blue Jays and crows can often lead you to an owl or a hawk.
What’s going on in those cases is mobbing behavior, which is when a group of birds harass a predator, usually without directly attacking it, in order to annoy it into leaving.
I had never successfully managed to follow birds to the source of their ire until just a few weeks ago.
On a Saturday morning, I heard Blue Jays screeching in the trees and groups of them flying north along one of the nearby trails. This persisted through most of the morning and, finally, I decided to follow as it was a good morning for walking.
I walked down the trail in the general direction of the jays’ racket until I reached a clearing at the bottom of a hill. I couldn’t see any Blue Jays, but I could hear them in a stand of trees off the trail to the east so I followed their calls into a thick stand of cedar and live oak.
The jays calmed for a few minutes when I entered, but then resumed their cries. I saw flashes of blue in the trees while I tried to locate the object of their insults. Then I sensed movement, large and slow, directly above. I looked up to see a hawk swooping through the trees and angling upward and away, gaining speed with each beat of its wings. The hawk was gone before I got a great look, but by its banded tail, I suspect it was a Red-shouldered Hawk.
So, I thought to myself, I guess there’s something to this mobbing thing after all. It’s always oddly surprising to me when I read something and then later witness the very thing I’ve read about. I’m not sure why that is, except perhaps that there is a part of me that has to see something to really believe it.
Last week, I saw it again from my car. This time it was a small flock of crows chasing something – I couldn’t tell if it was a hawk or an owl – away from a stand of trees along Brushy Creek. I wanted to turn and follow to see what they were chasing, but I decided to head home and let the dogs out instead.
I have seen and believe what can happen if I fail to do that.