The best sights pop up when you're not looking for them

It was my sweet and gentle son, so often off in his own little world, who drew my attention to the family of sparrows who live just outside the cougar pavillion at the zoo. I would have completely missed these beautiful moments - and so many others over the past twelve years - if not for my quirky and beautiful little guy.

It's Open Letter Time Again!

Dear D-Bag who just roared down my road on a noisy crotch rocket, thus shattering the early evening tranquility and harshing on my mellow:

I'm terribly sorry about your tiny willy. My spam folder tells me that there's a pill for that now.

Oh, and please sign your organ donor card.

Love and cupcakes,

Miniature Rose

April showers ..

.. and May and June and July showers ..

.. still manage to bring August flowers!

Otters!!

The new otter exhibit at The NY State Zoo at Thompson Park has opened, and Louis is a delight!

Up close and personal!

Downward facing otter.

Upward facing otter.

Otter getting some oxygen.

And down he goes again!
T

They don't call me NeuROSEs for nothing!

Over the past 4 months, Amadeus and I have journeyed over 5,000 miles together. The only glitch in our relationship is the uncertainty of where the next gas station which sells diesel might be on our path. I'm sure there's an iPhone app which would take this uncertainty out of the equation, but, alas, I'm to cheap to buy an iPhone I do not have an iPhone. Also, as my nickname would suggest, I need something to be neurotic about. The location of a diesel station is a pretty mild substitute, and an adequate distraction from, life's larger issues.

This week, Amadeus took me to a funeral in the beautiful heart of Ontario's Cottage Country. On the return journey, some 450 miles into a tank of diesel, I thought it might be wise to fuel up again as the needle on the gauge was getting precariously close to the quarter tank notch. I pulled in to a station in Trenton, Ontario, which advertised that it sold diesel. I was a little dubious, for this place was clearly a throwback in time. Not only did the pumps still have those little yellow balls floating in the bubble on the side, but there was also an actual person whose job it was to run those pumps and fuel up people's vehicles. So, I asked the proprieter if the diesel they sold was, in fact, the ultra-low-sulfur diesel for which Amadeus thirsted. Indeed, I was assured, it was that new-fangled stuff, and all of the cool kids with VW diesel fuelled up there.

Onwards we drove. Amadeus chugged right along to the next stop in our journey. When I stepped out, though, my nostrils were assaulted with that unmistakable sulfur-y, rotten egg smell. OH NOES, thought I. It wasn't ultra-low-sulfur diesel! I just killed Amadeus!!!!!

Then I heard a strange whirring sound. I looked up, and saw the large truck that was pumping out the septic tank next door.

Yeah, maybe I'll shell out some bucks for an iPhone. It's probably cheaper than therapy, in the long run.

Graceful

Two different families of swans, Prince Edward County, July 18, 2009.

As if I needed another reason to admire the President

I found this picture, lifted from The Boston Globe, to be utterly, utterly charming.

I spend an inordinate amount of time at work trying to decipher the handwriting of physicians. The old stereotype of poor penmanship on the part of doctors is, sadly, grounded in reality. Fortunately, there are exceptions to the rule. I have found that there is a direct, positive correlation between the neatness of the handwriting and the professional courteousness and overall niceness of the doctor. There is one particular physician whose notes are an absolute joy to read, not only for the perfect calligraphy, but for the care and attention to detail he incorporates into his communication.

I don't think it's a mere coincidence that Mr. Obama's penmanship is so exquisitely beautiful. The fact that he is a fellow southpaw is just icing on the cake.

The best seats (not) in the house

The Zen-Like state into which I float while folding the laundry was interrupted just now by some faint booming. I stepped out onto the moist grass and across the road to watch the fireworks being launched from Thompson Park Hill. The fact that I was in my nightgown was irrelevant. The fireflies who zoomed around me were more concerned with adding their own lumenescence to the show than with my inappropriate attire. The coyotes yipped and yelped at the cacophony which floated on the night air.

When the last of the rockets' red glare faded into the night, I walked back across the lush, barely manicured grass, letting the dew caress my un-pedicured feet. In that moment, I was acutely aware that I might not possess everything I've ever wished for .. but I'm pretty darned close.

As Canadian as ..

.. possible, under the circumstances!

So, last night, I was feeling a little guilty and pitiful that I wouldn't be celebrating Canada Day in the Great White North. I had asked for, and received, a sufficient block of time off from work to facilitate making the trip across the border, but ongoing renovations at both my house and my parents' abode put the kibosh on that idea.

Then, as I was perusing the delightful Twitter Feed of that incredibly talented Canadian mammal known as Jian Ghomeshi, I was hit by a bolt of inspiration. Jian is currently obsessed with butter tarts, which are a uniquely Canadian treat. A-Ha, I thought! I could try my hand at making butter tarts!

A quick click of the mouse later, I was on the Canadian Living Magazine website. Unsurprisingly, a search for "butter tart" within that particular site yields 2026 results, including a recipe for Maple Butter Tarts. The Gods of Canadian Culinary Goodness were smiling upon me, as I actually had all of the ingredients on hand. I chose the Maple Chocolate variation, and ..



.. they were a hit! Let's just say that I now have a little extra leverage with my extremely appreciative American husband.

Happy Canada Day, eh?

Quote of the day

It's like we're sitting on top of a gold mine!

That was my son's reaction to tasting the first wild strawberry of the season, just now, as we picked them on our back forty.

Indeed, we do, kiddo. Indeed, we do.

A random collection of thoughts

Tap .. tap .. is this thing on? Is anyone still out there, peeking in on this poor neglected blog from time to time?

The blame for this blog neglect can be shared between the extra hours I've been putting in at work and overseeing a fairly big home improvement project.

Having renovations done to one's house is rather like making sausages. If one wishes to enjoy the finished product, it's best not to observe the process. This is especially true when the process involves scaffolding, and the observer is a Orthopedics/Rehab Nurse whose nickname at work is NeuROSEs.

When said renovations take place outside, it's wise to spend a few dollars in a big cooler, lots of ice, and a selection of refreshing beverages for the crew. This small investment will yield a large return in more and better labour. Trust me on this one.

Sometimes, I think I my job entails far too much ahem excrement, both literally and metaphorically speaking. After reading this local news story, I shall not complain about my job!

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may ...

A few weeks ago, on a Saturday evening, just after sunset, the coyotes in our back forty erupted into howls. It wasn't the usual yip-yip-yipping that accompanies a successful hunt, but a beautiful and haunting chorus that made the little hairs on the back of my neck stand up. After a few seconds, I realized that the coyotes were harmonizing with the sirens of one of the local volunteer fire departments.

Not again, I pleaded with the fates. There had already been too many terrible car crashes in this area over the past few months.

Again, replied the newspaper the next morning. Again, and again, and again, and again. Four young lives extinguished in the blink of an eye. Five, if you count the unborn child that one of the deceased carried in her womb. In an instant, a moment of Saturday night shenanigans resulted in hundreds of broken hearts. I can't help but think that this was the reason for the coyotes' mournful serenade.

At first, I didn't recognize any of the names in the ensuing news articles. After a few days, I realized that I had a very tangential connection, in that the father of two of the victims was a regular visitor to one of the long-term patients on my unit. And then my blood ran cold, to think of the unspeakable pain that this man and his family now faced.

Within days of this tragedy, I read the obituaries of three people who had been my patients a few weeks earlier, when I had been floated to another floor. Their deaths were expected, but still, I was jarred. Shortly thereafter, my Great Uncle passed away. I had just gone to visit him a week earlier. He was clearly not well then, but his death still came suddenly and sooner than expected.

As odd as this may seem, coming from a nurse, I don't encounter death very often, and certainly not in such clusters. I could wax poetic about the fragility of life, or spout some existential nonsense here, but the simple truth is that I've been jarred out of my complacency and procrastination. Projects which have been on my "someday I'm gonna .." list are getting done now. The rosebush, pictured above, is the one that has brought me the most joy so far.

I trust that all of you are well, and hope that you are finding beauty and peace in your respective corners of the world.

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, my friends.

Raindrops on tulips

Don't panic.

I know where my towel is. Do you?

Perfection

At my house, just now.

Wait .. WHAT????

At the risk of sounding glib and tempting fate, my household has remained largely unaffected by the financiapocalypse. The combination of frugality, discipline, and sheer good luck have left us sitting pretty and feeling quite secure in these troubled times. And while I do realize that the slightest change in the winds of luck could have pushed us in an entirely different direction, I have little to no sympathy for individual consumers who have lived beyond their means for the past several years, and are now - finally - having to pay the piper. They made their beds with the overpriced Bajillion-count Egyptian cotton sheets that they so "desperately" needed, and now they can pay for them, with interest. C'est la vie, et ce n'est pas mon problème.

As it turns out, though, it might become mon problème. Consumers like me who use their credit cards wisely, and pay the balance in full every month, may soon feel the clammy hands of the credit card industry dipping into their pockets. To quote Edward Yingling, the Chief Executive of the American Bankers Association: “Those that manage their credit well will in some degree subsidize those that have credit problems.”

The "free ride" enjoyed by people like me, in the form of reward programs, may come to an end. I'll be the first to admit that I've made out like a bandit on the rewards program offered by our LL Bean Visa card, and I have the closet full of clothes and the vast collection of tote bags with free monogramming to prove it. I think it's safe to say, however, that the rewards program was more of a carrot on a stick for me, and that LL Bean comes out ahead in this particular equation. If the banks start punishing "dead weight" consumers like me, who pay no interest or fees, I'll simply stop using the bank's services, and I'll put my money under the mattress. I have no intention of bailing out greedy, undisciplined conspicuous consumers, or the greedy, undisciplined banks who subsidized their shopping sprees.

And to Mr. Yingling, I must issue this warning: Don't blame me when Maine's economy collapses and we run out of tote bags. It will be entirely your fault.

Country living in glorious technicolour

Prince Edward County, Ontario, May 2009

Powerful, dangerous, and beautiful

Lake Ontario, May 2009

Flying jewels

Bird on a wire

The hummingbirds are back, and I am filled with joy.