Second Story Man

I'm married to the lovely and talented Richard, aka: Mr. Fixit, Chef Ricci, Sparky and now...Second Story Man.

Here's his photo on the side. You can see how handsome and amiable this man is! The amiable trait is is necessary part of our relationship, because no matter how diligently I try to upset his apple cart, he keeps right on course. Amazing!

My latest attempt to derange my beloved occurred this past Wednesday night. Since I was fasting for a medical procedure, my guy had thoughtfully gone out to Subway to eat a dinner sandwich. I hurriedly got myself together to run off to our local library, where I am the designated Moderator for our Book Club. We were due to discuss the lively and entertaining 'The Great Depression: America, 1929-1941' by Robert S. McElvain. (If I keep selecting such scintillating books, they may just elect a new moderator). I gathered my notes, packed the book and my notes into my purse, and left via the inside door to our garage, zipping happily into town.

Did I mention that, as seniors, we are religious about locking our doors that lead outside? One can never be too careful, you know. Before hopping into 'Maxine', my trusty old Ford Taurus SES, I checked the outside garage door, and locked it. I am nothing if not reliable!

The book of choice was the catalyst for over and hour's worth of in depth conversations about the economy, political parties, FDR, Eleanor Roosevelt, JFK, Obama, war, taxes, insurance, Social Security, and more that I needn't write about here, because this post is not about our Book Club! Did I mention that seniors can sometimes be unfocused?

Returning home, I easily let myself in via the garage door opener, double-checked to see that the outside garage door was indeed still locked (it's a senior thing, okay?), entered through the garage/laundry room door, and locked that one for the night, too. I saw that my honey's truck was back, so I knew he was home, too.

Cheerfully, I called out to Rich that I was back. He was comfortably stretched out on the sofa in the Great Room, watching TV. His first words were "Were you mad at me?".

Now, I have been married long enough to know when not to answer a question directly. Hedging, I said, cleverly, "No! Why?" (Seniors have fascinating conversations).

During the next few minutes, I learned the following facts: Subway had a good sandwich; diesel gas prices were up a bit; I had left the inside garage door locked, along with every other ground level door in the house locked up tighter that Fort Knox.

"How did you get in?"

"I climbed up to the upper deck and got in through the sliding door into our bedroom. You had the only key to the house and I didn't want to bother you at Book Club."

I looked at Rich with admiration shining in my eyes! If he had told me this 30 years ago, I wouldn't have thought twice about it, but -- at 66 -- for him to shinny up a deck support, toss himself over the upper deck rail, and be none the worse for wear was absolutely amazing! Colossal! Stupendous!

I, of course, had not locked him out deliberately, but must have pressed the lock button inadvertently when I left the house. I think he believes me.

Now, if we remember, we are going to get some more keys made. My Second Story Man does not really need to try that again for a while.

From Trees to Pottery

It's a really challenging day outside: foggy and rainy, although the temperature is mild and whispers of Spring. I'm about to go down to our basement studio, but as I looked out the office window, I saw our trees standing in the mist and fog. I began to think about how my mind views trees. Why do my 'faux bois' pottery pieces often depict 'tree people'?

As a child (yes, it WAS a long time ago, but only I can say that!), I remember spending a lot of time outdoors. I loved being outside, and some of my favorite times were when my Mom would take me to the local Forest Preserve. We would walk the paths, and check out the trees. She knew the species of the trees. That fascinated me. She must have been the first to tell me how the Native Americans acknowledged the 'soul' of trees, and the idea fired my young imagination.

And, somewhere in the childhood time frame, I read, re-read, and re-re-read 'The Legend of Sleepy Hollow'. In fact, now that I think on this, there were the often frightening fairy tales of the brothers Grimm. The notion that trees at night in the mass are scary beings intrigued me no end.

When I was older, I would be bumming around the old Chicago Public Library (in those days, I was allowed to travel to Downtown Chicago alone, using public transportation, at the age of 13. Imagine!). I was taking out books on Native American beliefs. It was said in our family that my Father's Grandmother was a full-blooded Cherokee Indian, which I though was extremely cool. I wanted to embrace that culture.

Then, with the advent of husband, children, work...life became wonderfully busy. Yet, I still remember with much love the HUGE maple tree in front of our house in Maywood where all the neighborhood children would gather, and many would climb into its sturdy branches. I remember how, in Bartlett, I fought the removal of the old Black Walnut trees along the easement in front of our home there...and won. And it was in Bartlett, through our walks through Pratt Wayne Woods, that the love of trees rebloomed. Rich, my husband, took many photos of some of the great trees in those woods, and I wrote many a poem about them, also.

Then came Seneca, and our pottery classes. The trees sprang easily from thrown stoneware cylinders, and soon, the ideas for tree spirits and tree people were popping into my head. The tree people transitioned easily from my head to the clay. And now you know...that's why she does it!

Have a great day and enjoy the new photos!

Garden Dreams

It's almost March, and a Gardener's thoughts turn to dreams of the riot of colors and shapes that are sleeping under the mulch. So poetic!

But first, it's time to put on the 'Sloggers' and get out there in that muddy mulch to do some needed chores.

Yesterday, I stretched and groaned while lopping the too-tall tops off the Winged Euonymous (Burning Bush) hedge on the North side of the Garage (the side that Testosterone Tom likes to visit). But...wait...did she say that a sun-loving shrub like Burning Bush is on the NORTH side of her house? Let me say this...I DID NOT PLANT THEM THERE! I am WAY smarter than that! But they were happily rooted and over 7foot tall when we moved here 5 years ago, so they are staying. They make a valiant effort to turn sort of red in the Autumn, but without full sun, they just can't get it right. However, they are HUGE, and every February, I trim them down below the garage roof level. It's great upper body exercise.

I created quite a pile of cuttings, and neatly raked it to the side. It's waiting for me today. The plan is to move it to the 'to be burned later' pile by the woods. Also in the plans is a determined effort to remove the Winter's deposit of branches and twigs that are carpeting our little yard.

So, with dreams of the seasons to come, I will put on the muck boots and set off into the still barren wasteland of my gardens. But...I will leave you with photos of past glories: an early blooming Anemone Flower, and the glories of the Perennial Bed last year.

Sweet Flower Dreams!

A Turkey Reprise

My first blog, and I am already issuing a correction.

Telling the boys from the girls with turkeys can sometimes be difficult. That said in my defense, let me get to the point: Corrigan is a BOY.

NEWS FLASH: TESTOSTERONE TOM AND CORRIGAN ARE ONE AND THE SAME TURKEY!

As I went through the digital shots of the turkeys that we took yesterday and today, it became apparent that the lovesick turkey who was romancing our window was obviously male. Look at him! Wattles, spread tail, beard. This is a handsome and seasonally inspired young male who is also dumb as a post when it comes to finding a 'live one'.

Isn't it obvious why the flock left him behind this morning. It all makes more sense. Those girls were sneaking out of the yard for a darn good reason.

Hope you enjoy the new photos!

The PANoramic View: Wild Turkeys

For all of you who know how we live among the birds and beasts here in the Illinois River Valley, it will come as no great surprise that we have been adopted during this dismal Illinois Winter by a flock of Wild Turkeys. Yup...15 strong, big, hungry turkeys. Mostly hens and adolescents. More on the 'boys' later.

Drawn to our avian friendly yard by leavings under the squirrel feeders (more on the squirrels at another time), the flock has proven surprisingly adept at getting at the corn they obviously crave. Wild turkeys can fly. They can sit in the squirrel feeding platforms to feast on the corn. They intimidate the squirrels, who, in turn, climb up to our upper deck and intimidate the birds so THEY can eat.

Wild turkeys rest in the trees, where they look very, very large. The hawk leaves the area when they're here.

But...wild turkeys are, well, turkeys.

TESTOSTERONE TOM:

A great commotion among our flock of wild turkeys signalled the advent of the bird we now call Testosterone Tom. Yup...one of the boys. Tom arrived with attitude one morning, seeking to impress the hens in our yard with his virility and availability. The girls were, well, underwhelmed. Tom's efforts were laudable: he puffed, he strutted, he shook his great fan of tail feathers, and he talked sweet turkey talk to the objects of his attention. The girls kept on eating.

Tom began to get a mite 'pushy', first cutting one likely female off from the group, and, failing conquest, going after another, perhaps less fussy, girl.

The last we saw of Tom, he was chasing a 'dream date' into the woods West of our house. The girls have all been back. Tom has not.

CORRIGAN:

Usually, we wake up to the sound of birds and the 'plop' of the squirrels landing on our deck to steal bird food. Yesterday, our wake up call was an incredibly loud garble that reminded us of a cross between a gobble and the call of a wounded chihuahua.

Outside one of the full length windows in our garage, a hen turkey was furiously pecking, preening and talking to the turkey reflection she saw in our window. This lovelorn behavior went on for at least 30 minutes.

She was back this morning, and just as unlucky in winning the affections of the glorious potential mate in the window. While she was throwing herself at the object of her desire, the flock, perhaps embarassed at this indecorous display, moved away in great silence. Corrigan found herself alone, and panicked. Her forlorn cries penetrated our closed windows. She set off in search of her sisters...in totally the wrong direction. We hope they take pity on her and let her know where to find them!