Sunday, May 31, 2015

Of Lucy and June

TO THE WIFE: Warning! This blog features a photo of Lucy, as well as some fond memories. Commence use of kleenex now.

For some reason, we've really been missing Lucy lately. It's been just about six months since she went on to that great dog park in the sky, but for some reason, she seems to be "around" a lot more these days. The wife swears she's "heard" the dog on numerous occasions in the past few weeks. Who am I to argue? As for me, I'll be doing something and stop... give a sigh and realize that Lucy is not going to come bounding around the corner. It's the little things, like coming in the door with a shake or ice cream or bags of groceries...I can fully imagine that wiggly tail, that wibbly-wobbly walk, that exuberance at the sight of me holding something that fully represented a treat to be had. It's times when coming out of the store, walking toward the car in the parking lot....I can see her peeking out the window, whole body wiggling. It's when the wife is eating a big hunk of meat and there is no one begging as there had been in the past. Lucy LOVED when the wife would have a slab of animal product for dinner. She'd sit there, nose way up in the air, bionic sniffer in overdrive, awaiting a morsel of the tasty beef, chicken, whatever. They are all happy memories, so it's rather heart-warming and actually kind of nice to know she's "around." The wife, never a dog person before our dogs came around, has said on more than one occasion in the past month, "I miss that dog." I never thought I'd hear the words "miss" and "dog" in the same sentence from the wife.

I wish Lucy would come around and hang out with Freckles. The almost-birthday girl could use a little Lucy Love. It would be a most marvelous present for the upcoming number 15. (Fifteen! How is that even possible?) Freckles has stopped her weird staring and incessant barking, so I feel like Lucy isn't "bothering" her anymore. All I wanted was for that barking to stop and now I'm asking for it to start. See how I am?

Lucy used to go to the top of the stairs every evening and demand to go to bed at night. She'd make this pathetic-quite-humorous sound-moan-cry, alerting us that it was bedtime (whether it was our bed time or not). I've noticed that Freckles has now started to announce bedtime, albeit not from the top of the stairs (she can't walk stairs) but rather from the landing. This is quite the new development. She meanders over the the gate and barks. So, maybe Lucy is hanging around her, after all.

Speaking of the birthday canine, Freckles remains quite happy to sleep in the car while we work in the yard. It's like a crate on wheels for her. Not only has she trained us to stay on a very regimented morning schedule, she's also trained us to take her with during after-work outings and to make sure that she is car-bound whenever we are outside in the evening. We have fallen into line with her rituals.

This morning, Freckles woke us up at 5 A.M., this being a day we could have slept in. Tomorrow, when it's time for me to get up for work, she'll sleep in until after I leave. Of course, now that she got us up and demanded things like treats and potty time, she is sound alseep and I'm wide awake. She's a smart cookie and knows just how to play us. I trained her well.

The new tree is finally in place and appears to be alive, as opposed to dead tree that previously sat in its place. Grass is growing in the place the green ash once stood. The new tattoos have healed nicely. The wife changed out two of our toilet seats last week (she found them in need of changing, so it was done) and the house has been power-washed (also because the wife pays attention to things that my brain never considers, let alone notices). The peonies are finally making some blooms, three summers into their being. So much action in the Addiverse--it must be summer.

June is a busy month. Besides Freckles' birthday, my birthday, the start of summer, the lessening of seasonal allergies, the third season of OITNB being released on Netflix and the plans the wife has laid, we are coming up on our two June anniversaries. Our civil union anniversary is June 21st and our one-year-ago marriage, which the State of Illinois also views as June 21st, is on June 2nd. Thanks to our friends The Walshies, we have a hunk of cake in the freezer, awaiting consumption one year after celebrating last June 2nd. I'm not sure how a one-year old piece of cake is going to taste but it's the thought that counts. I'm gonna choke it down, no matter how gross it tastes. After all, we had to wait a long time to hold a marriage certificate in our hot little hands. It'll taste like a little slice of heaven, freezer-burned or not.

My big hope for June is (too much information follows here--stop reading if you're a sensitive flower).....

....is that I don't get my period for my birthday. That would be a most-awesome birthday present. I'm still shooting out eggs on a most-timely, monthly basis and I'm due for another round on my 53rd birthday. Dear god, fifty three and eggs are still flying freely.

My hair dresser says I should get pregnant and have my own reality TV show: "53 and Pregnant."

Hmmmmm, I could replace the Duggar show, as their time slot is open.

Then again, who wants to see a 53 year old pregnant person? I know I don't. That's the stuff of tabloids and I have no interest in that......

....although....

Nah.  I have enough trouble keeping up with chin hairs and a crusty old dog. I'll stick to eating dry, freezer-burned cake, following the demands of Freckles, watching to make sure that new tree stays alive, binging on Netflix serious and celebrating two anniversaries instead of one.....

....and, eating ice cream in honor of Lucy.

I'll keep the ice cream and monthly menstrual flow. I'll leave the reality TV show to my hair dresser.



Monday, May 25, 2015

Of Graduates and Educators

Dear Graduate,
Congratulations on your accomplishment. I'd like to share a few words of wisdom now that you've secured that degree. I know no gradate wants to hear what the elders have to say. Perhaps that's why I'm putting this forth electronically--I've got a lot bigger chance you'll read something on an electronic device than I do of you listening to me in person. Don't worry--I'll put photos and memes and snippets in this entry. I'm not so old that I don't recognize that today's youth has been brought up on visual snippets and sound bites. This is not a condemnation of your way of being; after all, it's the elders that created this way of being...besides: Who do you think invented M-TV? 

We did. We brought you the computer, the cell phone, 24-hour sports channels, sports drinks and the microwave. There was no Google before us. 

Respect Us. Without your elders, you'd still be watching antenna TV, making popcorn on the stove and looking for the encyclopedia. The only cutting and pasting going on had to do with a pair of scissors and some paste out of a container. I know you find this hard to believe this, as there are days the professor wrestled with the room's technology and you sat there rolling your eyes. Respect, graduate. Respect. Those teachers paved the way to you have an easier time at work.

Dear Educator,
It's summer vacation. Need I say anything else? I think not.

Dear Graduate, 
There is no syllabus in life. You have to make your own plan. Good luck with that.

Dear Educator,
You won't have to talk about the syllabus or lesson plan for at least 12 weeks. Be brave. They never read the syllabus, anyway. 

Dear Graduate,
Look up. My fear for your generation is that you are all going to have permanent neck damage from always looking down at electronic devices. I also fear you are missing the beauty of a friend's soul because you are looking down instead of into anyone's eyes. I was struck by this while on your campus a few weeks ago. All the students walking down the sidewalk between buildings were looking down at their phone while walking. No one said hi. Heck, no one even saw each other. They walked with the "I'm reading my phone" gait. I could have been a naked psycho mass murdered and no one would have noticed. 

What on earth can be so important that you can't walk without looking down? I love a good text or email or message or status update as much as the next person and I have a hard time ignoring my electronic devices, too but there is so much "stuff" around that we are all missing because we didn't want to miss that last tweet.

So, graduate: Look up. Look up at the sky. Look at the way the sunlight makes shadows on the building. Look up at dinner and see who's enjoying the meal with you. Force yourself to talk to each other when in person. Take a stand and refuse to support the demise of looking up.

Besides, your boss--just like your teacher--knows you are texting. Your date knows you are texting. Everyone knows you are texting. No one looks at his/her crotch so much without reason. You're reading your phone, which is in your lap. You think you are a ninja but you are not. 


Dear Educator,Look up and look out. That text-walking is for the young. Look up so you don't get hit by a car, walk into a wall or fall down a curb while texting. You're too pooped to pop. Texting and walking is going to be too exhausting, anyway. By the way, did I mention it's time for Summer Vacation?

Dear Graduate,
Your head and your cell phone are full of stuff but that's not what counts in life. I hate to tell you but all that stuff in there won't matter to you when you are a quarter century older. Cell phone photos won't matter if you didn't take time to enjoy and live the moment the photo was taken. I know you scoff at me. The big special events, the vacations, the epic college parties are easier than not to remember (well, not the epic college parties but you get my drift). Make sure you etch into your brain a few of those "little moments" of which there are no photos and of which did not make the status update. Make room to remember that 3 A.M. conversation with a friend, that time you found a piece of pizza under your bed and ate it, that snowball that found its target. Selfies and tweets do not make a memory.

Dear Almost-retirement-age Educator,
You understand this. You are my people. You know what one of my favorite childhood memories is? Playing "against the wall" baseball (with the awesome and infamous pinkie ball) in the summer. I can still see the chalk strike zone drawn on the red brick school wall, that ever-famous pinkie ball, the really bad wind-up that I thought was perfect, pretending to be Don Kessinger while pitching (even though he was a short stop). I can hear me and Artie arguing if the pitch had been a ball or a strike. (There's a lot of arguing during "against the wall.") This memory has no bearing on my life today except that it makes me smile and if I'm not smiling, what's the point? I encourage you to make sure you burned those memories into your brain a long time ago. After all, your brain is probably on the edge of blowing up by now.You might want to close a few of those open tabs.

Dear Graduate,
If it's potentially fun and you want to do it/try it/taste it/be it/wear it and it's legal, you are free to say "yes." Well, as long as it's not during a job interview. Saying "yes" on a whim is not suggested for job interviews, work hours or while living in your parents' home after graduating. 

Dear Educator,
Say yes to eating carbohydrates, especially when said carbohydrates come to you in forms of cookies and pizza. What is wrong with you? You're on vacation! There may be a bus out there with your name on it. Eat the damn cookie. Well, eat the damn cookie as long as you know from whence it came. No offense to students, but there are cookies you probably shouldn't eat. If it's debatable, go out and get ice cream. Did I mention it's summer vacation? You're closer to the beginning of your vacation than to the end of vacation. 

Dear Graduate,
 If it detrimental to your goals and dreams, you may have to say "no." You say no to driving while drunk and to texting while driving because it keeps you alive so you can reach your goals (well, and so you are on compliance with the law), so why not say "no" to things of which prohibit your growth? Of course, there are exceptions to this....it is frowned upon to saying "no" to paying a stipend when living with your parents after graduation or saying "no" when asked to do a job-related task during that entry-level job. Put that degree to work.

It will behoove you to learn when to say "yes" and when to say "no." There is no other way to learn who you are. Words of wisdom when learning when to say yes or no:

Don't be a dick.

Dear Educator,
It's summer vacation. You can say "no" to whatever you damn well please.

The students have graduated or moved on or moved back or stayed right where they were. It's time to eat cookies, plant a garden, catch up on some sleep. I know you are thinking about next year but you need to say "no." Be refreshed. 

For heaven's sake, say "no" to anyone who tries to remind you that July 4th is approaching. You know it's the half way point of your vacation and it's totally inappropriate for anyone to remind you of this. If anyone has the audacity to do this to you, say "no." Don't share your cookies, crayons or cell phone with them. Poke out their eyes. Sign anything you give them in red pen. Correct their grammar in public. Point out that they are staring at their crotches. Put those back to school ads right where they belong......

To graduates and Educators: Happy Summer. Best of luck to the both of you.



Sunday, May 17, 2015

Counting tattoos

Don't you thinking "Counting Tattoos" would be a great name for a band?

I wasn't going to write about tattoos--I was going to write about gardening and weeding and our dead tree--but once the concept of a "Counting Tattoos" band name spontaneously fell out of my brain, I had to go with it. One does not ignore the muse.

This could be genius.

Tattooed God: Dude, are you ready for the Counting Tattoos concert?

Tattooed Goddess: Yeah, I hear their set list is gonna include "Wearing My Heart on my Tattooed Sleeve," "Permanently Impermanent," "Blurred (Ink) Lines," "Check Your Spelling," "Removing You is More Painful than Putting You On," "I'll Never Cover You Up," and "You Should Have Put Some Ink on It."

Tattooed God: "I hope they sing their anthem, "Tattooed Grandpa's Gonna Kick Your Ass."

Last week, someone asked me how many tattoos I have. I opened my mouth to answer but then realized I didn't know how to answer. I mean, I have areas of tattoos but not exactly single tattoos...and, how does one count cover ups tattoos? It's like trying to count someone's tattoo sleeve--is it one tattoo or a bunch of tattoos made into a gestalt? Seems like cover ups should count as two tattoos even though you can only see one. I have one on each leg plus one on each arm, two on my chest and....well, a blob on my back. So, that's 2 + 2 + 2 + 1 = 7 tattoos. But, there are four cover ups, so that's technically 7 + 4 =11 tattoos. Since that didn't seem to reflect the number of tattoos I technically have, I went on a mission to secure an answer....

I decided I would count visits to tattoo parlors. 

Even that isn't fool proof, as some people can't get a tattoo completed in a single sitting or have to go back to get a new tattoo touched up. I just went back to get my new blue bird touched up. He (why I think it is a he, I do not know, especially since it is in honor of our female dog) needed a second visit....so, that's one tattoo which would be counted twice in my new approach.

Lucky you--I'm going to count. Indulge me on a trip down tattoo memory lane. While you're reading, you can think of some more hits for my newly created band, Counting Tattoos. (I see them as a rock band but they can have a little country flavor, if that helps. Lots of tattoos, of course).

Counting Tattoos: The start of an era. I got my first tattoo while at an art therapy convention in Denver. (Those art therapist are a wild bunch.) An interesting start to a lifetime of ink addiction. Five
art therapists in a car, driving down a street. As we passed a tattoo parlor, I happened to mutter, "I've always wanted a tattoo." A quick U-turn by the driver and four art therapists in tow, I got that first tattoo. I have no idea what the names of the shop or the tattoo artist. All I know is that no alcohol was involved, that we were in Denver and that it was near a Moroccan restaurant. It was (I say "was" because this little guy got covered up in honor of my 50th birthday) a little cartoon dog with my nickname over the top of the dog--Ziggy's dog, to be exact. (Okay, raise your hand if you know who Ziggy is.) We're talking the size of a nickel, a cartoon outline with no color, on the left upper side of my chest. No reason. I didn't have a plan. I didn't have a pre-conceived notion of what I might actually tattoo on my bod.

Twenty years later, that poor thing was a little blob of a blur. You couldn't even tell the thing had letters in it. It had to go.

Parlor Visits Number Two and Three: What's a little more ink?  I enjoyed that little Ziggy Dog, so I thought I'd add Mickey Mouse on my right ankle (I do love all things Disney) and a little cartoon of my own creating on my left shoulder. At least Mickey, done by the owner at JG's, was big enough not to turn into a blob. That self-made cartoon turned into a mystery blob within five years. Some guy named "Blue Sky" did the little Addi cartoon. That shoulda been a clue. Do you really want somebody named "Blue Sky" making permanent marks on your body? No, no you do not.'

Once, a lady at Walmart professed her love for my rose tattoo on my shoulder. Um, I don't have a rose tattoo. See? I told you that shoulder Addi cartoon turned into an unrecognizable blob.

Four: When in Denver While on a trip out west to a rustic resort with O'Del and Y, we passed through Denver. I decided my new mantra should be, "When in Denver, get a tattoo." I got a little red heart with a flame on the top of my right wrist. Why the top and not the inside, I do not know. I actually had thought about this design for a few minutes.

It was little and my body rejected the red ink, so it got ugly fast. (Yes, ink is sometime rejected. I won't describe what the healing process looked like. It was disgusting.)

Saving me from myself. Parlor Trip #5 was back to JG's to have a cover up of the rejected heart with flames. I got a purple heart with wings to cover up the ugly red heart with flames. That didn't work as well as I had anticipated, so visit #6 was to cover up the cover up. (See? That's three tattoos but you can only see one. Counting Tattoos is a complicated sport.) Since the heart with wings was in an unusual spot and larger than I wished it were (for cover up purposes) and since you usually have to go "darker," I ended up agreeing to a dead-bird-batman-raven-crab tribal-ish design....from none other than....Blue Sky. No, I did not learn my lesson. Because that design was dark, I had to go back to finish it, which is technically visit #7.

This remains my ugliest tattoo. When I asked a tattoo artist about "fixing" it last year, he looked at it, looked at me and said, "Wear a watch."

If I had to pick one tattoo that I regret, it would be this one. That said, I can't regret it as it has various meanings and importance of an era in my life. It is what it is. Besides, it is a conversation piece. Thank god it's not barbed wire. The era was of tribal tattoos and barbed wire. I'll take a dead bird-batman-crab over that any day.

Two Mickey Mice are better than one. Parlor visit #8 was to get a new Mickey Mouse tattoo--this time in honor of my 35th birthday. I was back at JG's and had some young lady ink me proud. She was very talented and Mickey has stood the test of time. If only I knew her name....and, where she went. I guess she was a drama queen and they kicked her out. Too bad. She did some nice work. I'll take a drama queen as long as there is talent.

No. Names. Ever. I have a few non-negotiable rules about tattoos on my body--no names is probably biggest rule (well, that and no tattoos on the face). Still, I wanted to honor the wife with a tattoo...so, for visit nine I went to a place called Delicious Ink and had Tigger (playing the drums) and Piglet (tapping his/her foot) along with the beat. The owner wasn't there but some guy with long blonde hair was and he promised he wasn't a "scratcher." (Word to the wise: ask to see the artist's portfolio.) I love that tattoo (although it needs some refreshing). For the record, the wife is Piglet. Not that you didn't already know that.

It's nice that Tattoo Visit #9 was Piglet as that is the wife's favorite number. I wish I could say it was planned but it was not.

Pain is your friend. Parlor visit #10 was by far the most painful. The LLL and I went to a place in Lake Geneva and I secured a cartoon of Mickey, Goofy and Spongebob, in honor of my nieces, by some guy named "Chicago Bob." It was placed in the just below the center of my shoulder blades and it hurt. It hurt a lot. Three hours of this guy gorging my skin and it hurt. The other tattoos really didn't hurt. I couldn't see what was going on back there but I can tell you it hurt a lot.  I learned later that this guy basically tattooed my back bone. Heck, he might have tattooed the inside of my front rib cage. This tattoo unfortunately scarred. Today, the thing looks like a brand more than a tattoo. At least I know it's permanent.
http://addiwp.blogspot.com/2006/01/crusty-tattoos-and-more-dog-poop-new.html

The Best Birthday Presents are permanent.  MJagger gave me a gift certificate for a tattoo to a place called Sacred Art, so I felt it imperative to get this birthday present ASAP. I met some guy named Ivan. He was very quiet and super nice, but I don't think I was supposed to know that. His look suggested everyone should stay the f*ck away. I saw through that veneer. During my 11th trip, he did what I call my "coloring book outline" of cartoons relating to my mom, dad and sister. I liked it so much that I went back for visit #12 to get the remainder of my back "piece" (more like piecemeal) done--Ivan added a few more cartoons as part of the project.
http://addiwp.blogspot.com/2007/07/dont-mess-with-rules.html

I don't think people get it that the cartoons weren't colored in as my attempt to make it look like a coloring book not yet finished. I thought it genius. Still do. It makes sense to me:

My family always has my back and I'm always a work in progress. Bet you didn't think I had a plan, but I did and still do.

Thank you, Baby Jesus of the St. Louis arch. After the wife scared the bejesus out of all of us during the great hysterectomy scare of 2008, I got the word "Gratitude" tattooed under my Ziggy dog. The wife and I were in St. Louis for a vacation. The wife laid down to take a nap...and, I went out to get the tattoo--Lucky #13. I don't know the guy's name but I do remember he had been a psychology major and that he had a family and that he was super nice. That tattoo means the world to me. And, how many people can wake up and find out a tattoo was done in their honor as they took a nap?

Oooooommmmm. The LLL again inspired me to get a tattoo, so during parlor visit #14, I was joined by LLL sister Einsteina Vagina in Galena. I had the word "namaste" tattooed on the inside of my left wrist. This was supposed to remind me that when becoming dysregulated, the good in me could see the good in you. Great idea. Now, if I'd only remember to use the concept.
http://addiwp.blogspot.com/2010/11/grat.html
http://addiwp.blogspot.com/2009/10/report-from-love-loft-nifty-fifty.html


Visit #15: Happy 50th. To honor this most blessed event, I decided to use a nautical star to cover the Ziggy dog (there is an entire blog dedicated to this event), as done by some guy at European Tattoo in Rockford. He was very nice and at least half my age. I think he might have been high, as I doubt his eyes were red from crying with happiness. He did an excellent job and lined the star up perfectly with the word Gratitude, so he won big points, high or not.
http://addiwp.blogspot.com/2012/06/star-is-born.html

Visit #16: My absolute favorite tattoo--the tufted titmouse by Billy Raike at Roselle Tattoo. This is truly a work of art. If you look at nothing else, look at this link to see the tattoo. It's a testament to what can be done with a tattoo. It remains incredibly beautiful.
http://addiwp.blogspot.com/2013/01/tough-tufted-tat.html

Visit #17: I Love Lucy--a very meaningful tribute to Lucy, Bark of Poteidaia, completed by Hannah Steele.
http://addiwp.blogspot.com/2015/01/of-moldy-cheese-and-scabby-ink.html


Visit #18: Touch up of the Blue Bird and the addition of Tina Belcher, the cover up of the shoulder blob, by Hannah Steele. Hell, something had to cover that mess of a blob on my left shoulder--might as well be my spirit animal, Tina.

Tina Belcher, to be exact. 

If you don't know who Tina Belcher is, get on it. Google her, Pin her, Netflix "Bob's Burgers." Every time I look at that tattoo, I laugh. That says it all. I laugh! We all need a good laugh now and then. How awesome is it that I can laugh at myself?  Tina is my 7th grade twin. How could I say no to a tattoo of my twin?

And no, we won't share our sweet barrettes with you.

I figure I'll stop once I get to visit #20. That gives me time to get Tigger and Piglet spruced up and save one last tat for Freckles Warrior Princess or some other major life event.

I'm lying. I can't promise you anything. Tattoos are like potato chips. You can't have just one. I promised the wife I wouldn't get a tattoo sleeve and I've stayed true to that promise.....that's all I can promise.

If you're looking for us, Tina and I will be on the road with Counting Tattoos. We'll be promoting this week's mega-hit, "I Love Your Tattoos but I Sure Hate You," as well as the classics "Sugar Skull Shuffle" and "Scabby Ink Grrrrrl Blues."









Sunday, May 10, 2015

Birds of a feather

We went to a bird festival yesterday.

That sentence alone allows plenty of jokes and puns to be had, don't you think?

The photo to the left suggests, "a bird in the hand...." or perhaps this man is giving me the bird. (I don't know what kind of bird this is. I think it's a warbler of some kind but don't quote me. I was too excited to remember which bird was which.) You can be bird-brained or bird legged. You can watch the birdie. You can put a birdie on it.

Anyway, this bird thing was about banding birds. Not a band of birds, but banding birds.

I did not think I would like banding of birds as I was afraid it would be terrifying. After all, birds are caught in trap nets, are untangled to be put in a bag, taken out of the bag only to have aluminum bands squished on to their leg and then sent on their way. That sounds might terrifying. I would think (1) the bird would be injured physically; (2) the bird would be scarred for eternity; (3) someone would get his/her eyes poked out by a raging killer bird; and, (4) bird shit would be everywhere.

It actually is incredible and not at all terrifying. Bird nerds are a sensitive lot. I shouldn't have worried.

Here's a photo of a little bird being banded. The beak and color suggest this is my little female grosbeak but I'm no ornithologist. I give it an 85% chance I'm correct. As you can see, she's just kinda hanging out, waiting for her banding to be completed. She's probably thinking, "I'm hungry. What's for breakfast?"

I made that up. I have no idea what she's thinking in that little bird brain of hers. Maybe she's thinking how she should poop all over this lady.

Catching and banding birds is an interesting thing but the variety of birds is what caught my attention. In the hour we were in the "classroom," I saw more "new" birds than old. I am excited to report that a female rose-breasted grosbeak was part of the flock. Oh, how I love a grosbeak. The female birds are often hard to see because they are brown or at least much more brown that not. They blend in. Damn male birds get all the fun.

While walking along one of the nets, we were treated to, withing twenty or yards of each other, a scarlet tanager, an indigo bunting and a downy woodpecker (along with a cat bird, who never gets top billing when one sees a blue colored and a bright red colored bird). Now, these birds were caught IN the net, so that was a bit disturbing, but once I watched the bird kid remove the birds from the net, I was much relieved. The birds come out no worse for the wear (well, at least the birds we saw) and they don't seem in need of therapy for PTND (post traumatic net disorder). To the left, please view the newly-freed youngster of a scarlet tanager. As you can see, it's a wee bit displeased about being held "captive," as evidenced by the peck to the hand. Hey, a nibble on the hand is a lot better than a poke to the eye.

Unbelievably to me, I was allowed to hold and free a bird that was newly banded. I've never held a bird (well, we had parakeets for a dot during childhood but that doesn't count, no offense to the parakeets). The bird person tells you what to do and then they pass the bird to you. What a photo opportunity! Of course, I do not have photos from this photo opportunity. Anyway, that little bird (I think it was a Carolina Wren or something of the sort), was so light that I literally didn't think he had any weight to him. All his was was soft. Super soft. Like ridiculously soft. I held him as told and then opened my hand. He took a second and then zipped off in flight.

One of my favorite parts of the day was..... watching an unnamed 10 year old in the front row. He identified the birds immediately as they were pulled out of the bags. He had a camera that was as big as he and his face told of a passion for birds like no other. (This is a photo of him taking a photo. Talk about getting up close and personal!)  I was stunned by his bird prowess and fully entertained when he saw a bird of which he had never seen (I think there was only one bird he hadn't seen--the kid's been around). Some of those birds looked a lot alike (no offense to the birds), so it was pretty impressive that this kid knew within seconds which bird was which. I would have liked to have spent the day with him, as I would have learned more about birds in a day than I've learned in my lifetime. I have a photo of him seeing that "never seen before" bird but I didn't think it appropriate to post him on the blog. After all, he might someday be a professional birder and sue me for a bazillion dollars.

Here's a woodpecker being freed from the net. It's hard to even see the net. As you can see, he has a beak that really could poke an eye out. I showed utmost respect when near him. I like my eyes in my head, thank you very much.

Next time, I hope we stay for four hours instead of 1.5 hours. (We had a busy Saturday. Only a dot of time for birding.) I will bring my camera AND a notebook--so I can remember what the hell I saw and what each bird is in the photos I take. I've got a lot of studying to do before I go back. Perhaps I could hire that 10 year old....or, find my ex-husband. He's a bird nerd of the highest caliber. He's the one that got me started on this whole bird thing.

Naw, I'll stick with birding with the cedar-wax-wing-loving-wife. She does love a good bird sighting. We're birds of a feather, so we'll flock together. And, we'll have a bird or two in the hand. Care to join our band?
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