Prayers And Casseroles

 “Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.”

      John Lennon

We all know what happened to John Lennon. He was a talented, still young man when he was shot. The world was stunned by the sudden, unexpected event. “How could this happen” was the question on everyone’s mind. Some nut just appeared and took away all the love, all the talent, all the creation yet to happen. It was so random and unfair. No matter how people struggled to get their heads around it, it did not make sense. There were no explanations. For comfort, people joined hands and sang “Let It Be.” It was something to do.

I have looked at our group family photos from our Fourth of July reunions and asked myself, who might not be there next time. Numerous have had life threatening medical issues. When we have shared this with friends, they’ve said, “We’ll pray.” Sometimes a casserole would show up. I appreciated their intentions, but prayers and casseroles make me nervous. When people start talking prayers and casseroles, I feel like maybe things really will turn out badly. Maybe it’s worse than I think or out of control! Like the near miss of a whizzing bullet, each time one of the family has dodged a mortal catastrophe, my circuits jammed with terror. I’ve wanted to believe I could influence the outcome with substantial action; prayers and casseroles seemed so flimsy.
We recently got a call that this time, it wasn’t just a close call; one of us had caught the bullet. Our cousin, Nancy Lovetere had died. Of all of us, she was one of the most unlikely. She took fabulous care of herself and ran every day. She wore huge, silver starfish earrings, silly ankle-breaker, girlie shoes and hot pink lipstick. At sixty, she had a navel piercing and a killer body to sport that absurdity. She always had a big smile. She was a writer with plans for stories to tell and she had grandchildren. Her death was stupid and outrageous at the hand of a bungling surgeon. “The colon was nicked,” was the minimizing explanation. The senseless randomness of her death leaves me feeling vulnerable and small, so very small. I have thought about God and taking better care of myself. Maybe a prayer or a casserole would be just the thing.

American Painted Lady Not So Lovely

A great friend brought to me a jar of caterpillars of the American Painted Lady butterfly. They are beautiful in their own way. I like the geometry of the yellow stripes and red spots. They see a wider range of patterns and color, especially ranges of green than humans do. This may account for the highly defined striping and spotting. They feed on glaucous  leaved foliage, like this Pearly Everlasting. I once had Edelweiss in a garden because my grandmother loved it. She grew up in Munich, Germany. I found numerous of its dried flowers pressed into books in her house. Every year, my Edelweiss was consumed by these caterpillars and it eventually succumbed. The caterpillars spin a silk thread from the spinneret just below the mouth and hang from one end. The suspended caterpillar's skin eventually splits from end to end revealing the chrysalis. As a defense, the chrysalis shakes vigorously if disturbed. It's jiggling is unnerving when this otherwise inert object suddenly feels so alive. After two weeks, the butterfly that has formed inside emerges. The butterflies live about two weeks, then they lay eggs on the plants they have favored for food and the cycle contines again. The American Painted Lady is one of the most common butterflies in the United States and can be found in almost all of our states.

A Plan For The PORKY

We live in deep, spruce woods. Porcupines are frequently a problem. They have denned under our house and eaten stored furniture; they have pooped foul mountains. As if that isn’t horrific enough, our dog loves a mouth full of quills. He can’t get enough of it, no matter what it costs him. It’s cost  us plenty in extractions and repairs at the veterinarian. A few years ago, we had a tribe of them move in on us. At night, they climbed into the few oak trees too feed on acorns. They chewed off the end branches, then went for the acorns that fell to the ground. We could hear them squealing, yowling and scuffling around. Falling acorns striking the roofs of our vehicles sounded like gunfire! We had a problem we would have to contend with. Shooting them was obviously necessary. We borrowed a friend’s shotgun which stood in the front hall, loaded for a couple of weeks. Neither of us could bring ourselves to pull the trigger. Then one night, we had been at a party and came home late. Shortly after we went to bed, the acorn missiles started coming in. Bam, bam, bam! We got up to see who was firing at us. From the safety of the front door, David turned on the exterior lights -there they were six baby porcupines. David looked at the shotgun and groaned, “What the hell are we going to do now?” “If we shot the parents last year, we wouldn’t be in such a mess now.” At the party, I had a few Martinis and was now in the mood to take action against the wildlife hoards. “Not to worry, dear” said I. “I’ve got a plan.” David peered at me with deep suspicion and nervously asked “What are you going to do?” Keep in mind that we don’t sleep with any clothes on (I know, I know - TMI), so this conversation was being had while naked. “Don’t you worry, Davie. I’m going to take care of them now. You just stand there and wait.” With that, I ran barefoot and naked with hair flying, arms flailing and screaming into the yard. Forgetting about the crushed rock driveway, I was suddenly prancing and yiping my way to the porcupines. I screamed and hollered, but they did not move. All of a sudden, I was standing bare-assed in the midst of a herd of porcupines. “Go away!” I commanded. I figured, as with dogs and horses, never let them see your fear. Still, they did not move. Naked in the midst of porcupines is about as vulnerable as a girl can feel. But, I had to save face. I turned back to the house. I walked calmly, slapping my hands together as if I had neatly dispatched them all. David’s mouth was agape. “You’re crazy! And look! They’re still there! They didn’t move an inch!” I told him not to worry, that I had taken care of them and they would not be back. Low voiced, he muttered something about nuts as we went to bed. The following day, an adult porky was dead at the head of our driveway. Some will tell you a car hit it. I say it ran away from me, had a heart attack and died. They never came back. And not a shot was fired. I’m sure that tales of horror were told around porky campfires about the mad woman with wild hair and flailing breasts. It was so successful that I thought I’d market my services to the community. I could hear the late, great pitchman Billy Mays hollering, “Varmint Control- Twenty-five dollars- Middle aged woman will run naked and screaming in your yard! Results guaranteed!”



(The little one in these photos was seen yesterday across the road from us. It was lying around on the branches of these locust trees and nibbling the leaves)

Bon Voyage, Clarise And The Kids!

Right on time, they were gone today when I returned from Weeding For Dollars. I did take a couple of photographs this morning, before I left. I didn't get up on the ladder to look for the third chick. I just assumed it was in there, but maybe not. These two characters were looking out for their mother, and perhaps their sibling as it may have left earlier in the day. We have our kitchen door back, so David can take the trash out as an anniversary gift. Tomorrow, we will have been married for eight years. It does not seem possible anymore than it seems possible that the nest is finally, really empty. After my son went back to Colorado, it took me three weeks to straighten up the slip cover on the sofa. Each time I went to do it, I could see him sprawled out there and I couldn't erase that image with tidiness. My darling daughter left this summer, too. A few weeks before she moved to  New Jersey, she left a message on the wipe board in the kitchen. It's been almost two months, and the message is still there. I haven't been able to bring myself to remove it, like the slip cover. And yes, I keep their answering machine messages, too. What are any of us besides the impressions that we leave behind? The indentation of a body on a sofa, a hastily scrawled note, a voice mail - or an empty nest, literally. Some people leave huge impressions in the form of art, writing, recorded music, political offices and more. Some, just a dent in the couch which to the mother, means everything. I can hear Clarise chirping from the woods. I can hear the slightly frantic note in her calls. I'm sure her youngsters are out there and that she's saying, "Be careful! Drive safely! Wear a helmet! Floss daily!" I hope I left them with a good impression.

The Little Monsters, Day 12

Doesn't this one look like as if it has ears? They look like mad scientists, complete with singularity of focus and insanity in their eyes! "The worm! The worm, give us the worm!" Clarise has been bringing bundles of invertebrates and berries. There is a caterpillar and a grasshopper in this load, along with other stuff I can't identify. Feeding is really quick, no appetizers nor grace said. She stuffs it into those golden maws, grabs a fecal sac to discard and runs off to do it again. All three of them seem equally vigorous. Tuesday should be the day they begin to evacuate. I'm going to lay the ladder down on it's side on the ground, so that if any of the nincompoops falls to the ground, I'll get to them before some predator, hopefully.

DAY TEN, Wretched Little Hens!

Okay, I don't know if they are hens or roosters or what they are. They are looking like they could actually blow this phone booth on time, though! They have true feathers, now. They also look like they have ears when they are sitting down. Clarise is very vocal these days, especially if anyone is in the yard. She's got nerve! We don't have to be near her nest, just out of the house and she blats incessantly. She's gone from just aggressive to full on hostile!

Not The Usual Suspects

       Sometimes, I make myself take photographs of things other than wildlife. I took three of these shots in the house while it was simply too hot to do anything else out of doors. It's amazing what the mind can come up with when it's 95 degrees and the brain feels crush.