Archive for March 2021
Chilling
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but you had beef jerky in your pocket
and I didn’t know that
six strange ways we wasted one chance
late that night
in the forested swamp
it wasn’t even cold
nothing like the bitter biting icy burn
we faced up north every January
where ice fractures when it freezes too hard
it was damp
creating a different chill
one that pulls out warmth
more than it pushes in cold
and ideas start to vanish
common sense vaporizes
as it certainly did
late that night
or we would have probably lived
to tell about it
and why this had anything to do
with the cupola on the roof of that barn
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Yard Pests
As the saying goes, “this is why we can’t have nice things.” Sure I’d like to have a smooth green carpet of inviting lawn grass to run my toes through as I frolic in the yard with our dog or play croquet and bocce ball, but no, I don’t want to exterminate a throng of burrowing pest to achieve it.
We pick our battles and this is one I don’t want to fight, so we live with the ongoing dirt mounds and raised tunnels of destruction scattered widely across all of our mowed areas.
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With so much real estate available for the critters to thrive, we willed the marauders to move on to open fields by stomping their tunnels and mounds in our yard last year, but as the snow receded and the topsoil begins to thaw, the evidence appears as if their numbers have tripled.
They aren’t getting the message.
The wind is blowing warm air our way today and bringing with it fire warnings because the ground is very dry this spring. Almost all of the snow has melted and we don’t have any muddy areas along our trails. The drainage ditches had water flowing in them only two times this year. It is surprisingly uncharacteristic compared to the previous 8 spring seasons we’ve lived here.
If we observe the yard at a distance, it looks just fine. There remains one dwindling pile of snow near the front door, but that’s about it. Today is officially the first day of spring.
Warm sunshine will beckon for us to romp in the yard and toss the old horse toys for Delilah to chase.
The season of mowing draws nigh, but we are going to need some rain or I’ll be able to trim the lawn with a pair of scissors.
Although, that might just be enough to drive the yard pests back toward the open fields. Either way, it seems we don’t get to have nice lawns.
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Depth Perception
Whether it’s a movie or a particular song, or sometimes a tragedy reported on the news, messages with impact can hit us in the gut. I watched a program last night that touched a personal nerve in its depiction of a powerful memory I have about my experience of depression. It involves the illogical behavior of pushing someone away when what you actually want is just the opposite.
I would shun connection when all I wanted was to be connected. It’s dysfunctional, to say the least.
The healthy alternative to that involves reaching an authenticity that brings behavior and desires into renewed alignment. Say what you mean, mean what you say, then act that way.
It is a function of becoming perceptive to the full depth of what we are truly feeling. Learning to be entirely honest with ourselves and observant enough to direct our thoughts toward a healthy interpretation of reality.
There is also a valuable component of becoming aware to avoid fabricating perceptions that lack any evidence of truth. Don’t make shit up.
I am happy to proclaim the incalculable reward of profound joy and blessed peace of mind available to a person who learns how to treat their depression and do away with dysfunctional thinking. I owe a debt of gratitude to the medical community that contributed to my recovery over two decades ago.
Yesterday, Cyndie discovered the depth of our chickens’ disdain for carrots after tossing them some mixed vegetable leftovers.
A little while later there wasn’t a single scrap of anything other than carrots remaining. I suppose the overnight scrounging critters will be happy to clean up after them.
We’ve noticed that the processed chicken feed we put out gets passed over by pretty much all the wild birds along with our chickens in favor of anything else we make available. The chickens LOVE the cracked corn and mealworm snacks, so there is never any of that left lying around, but leftover or spilled chicken feed even gets passed over by the overnight scavengers like raccoons, stray cats, possums, and a fox that have shown up on the trail cam.
I had no idea they would have such a discerning palate.
I should give them more credit for the depth of their perceptions.
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Speed Perception
Did the year 2020 feel like it took a long time to transpire? Does it seem surprising that we are past the middle of March already? We all know that time passes slowly or quickly depending on how we consider it, despite the fact it ticks off at the same rate no matter what. It’s our perception that changes.
On my commutes, I find myself surprised by how easy it is to spot a car ahead that is traveling significantly slower than the rest of the traffic. It comes in handy for making lane changes well in advance of needing so to do. Spotting vehicles in my mirrors that are traveling much faster than I am usually provides a lot less time to react.
It is common knowledge that water takes longer to boil if you watch and wait for it to happen.
How fast is the impact of rising greenhouse gases on the earth’s climate? It is occurring right in front of our eyes. We are living it. The thing is, I remember hearing about this threat decades ago from explorer Will Steger‘s first-hand eyewitness accounts of changes in both polar regions of our planet. We know the ice is melting. We know weather events keep getting more intense.
Will climate change take longer to happen because we are watching it? I wish.
Yesterday, I had a meal inside a restaurant for the first time in a year. That was a long time in coming. So long that it exceeded my ability to perceive whether it felt like a long time, or not. It just felt strange.
Let’s hope we are racing at breakneck speed toward a post-pandemic world that includes less poverty, more equality, zero emissions, greater social justice, the end of food insecurities/homelessness/violence/hatred, and reaches record levels of love beaming throughout the world.
That’s something I’d really like to see coming up in my rearview mirror faster than I expected.
I wouldn’t need to get out of the way.
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Irish Maybe
Growing up, I had no clue about my family’s ethnic origins. I’m pretty sure my father responded with “American” when I brought up the question. Today, since it’s St. Patrick’s Day, everybody is a little bit Irish, aren’t they? I’ve never really identified with the occasion, but I probably should.
Even after my many sporadic plunges into my family ancestry, I’m still not convinced about the ultimate origin of the “Hays” name. When a second cousin enlisted the help of professionals, they pointed to a pretty focused area of the counties of southern Ireland, yet the result from my DNA hint at the surrounding region excluding Ireland.
At this point, I’m more inclined to cling to what I know and claim my obvious Canadian heritage.
Cyndie occasionally shares a wonderful recollection of her earliest query about her family ethnicity. The simplified version from so many kids where it gets described as half of one nationality and half of another led her to ask her father, by way of a written note slipped under the bathroom door, “What am I half of?”
She was shocked when the answer came back, “Half-wit.”
I am half my mom and half my dad; a quarter of each of my grandparents. Sometimes I feel a little like a half-wit.
On March 17th, I’m possibly a little Irish.
Don’t tell my DNA.
Happy St. Patrick’s Day!
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Snow Returns
It is March, after all. We expect it to snow after the weather has been warm and gorgeous for days. It is one of the foundations of the prevailing expectation that “the other shoe will drop” when things are beginning to go too good in the weather department around these parts. Mother Nature wouldn’t want to let us off too easily with a quick and painless slide directly into spring, don’t ya know.
I watched the weather radar most of the day from the workplace and it looked like Beldenville was getting just as much snow as the sloppy mess that was covering my car by the time I was ready to leave. As soon as I got underway in the limited visibility due to heavy falling snowflakes, I phoned Cyndie to find out what was waiting for me on the other end of my commute.
She shocked me with a report of zero precipitation falling and just grey skies all day long. Well, that is, except for first thing in the morning.
Cyndie had sent me that image earlier in the day. “Red sky in the morning, Sailor take warning…”
For all the radar signals I’d seen over our area most of the day, none of the precipitation was reaching the ground. I hardly believed her, especially given the intensity of the blizzard I was driving through at the time. Then I reached the halfway point of my commute and the falling snow abruptly stopped.
The road was dry. The rest of my drive was clear sailing. I drove right past our place to arrive on time at my dentist’s office for a regular 6-month appointment, stopping just as little white flakes started to fall there. The precipitation finally was reaching the ground.
By the time I made it home, the snow was just beginning to cover the ground, although, it was already drifting off the roof.
As darkness fell and Cyndie trudged out to close the chicken coop, she wondered if it would be necessary to clear them a path from the barn overhang to the coop.
Nope. They took it upon themselves to muster the gumption for a mad dash bee-line route through the white stuff for the shortest distance between two points.
So much for Rocky’s usual prissy refusal to walk on snow unless momma shovels a path for him. I knew he didn’t have some medical condition that prevented his feet from being able to touch snow, but I think he had convinced Cyndie with his act.
Once all the birds were accounted for in the safe confines of the coop and all the eggs had been collected, Cyndie reported a record of ‘most-eggs-in-a-day’ for this brood: Eleven eggs from thirteen hens.
They’re not going to let a return to a little cold and snow slow them down.
Just in time, our new extra-large ice cube trays arrived yesterday for Cyndie to use for freezing eggs, sans shells. Convenient storage for future use in baking or cooking egg dishes when we no longer get a dozen eggs a day.
What can be said, except, “Eggcellent!”
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Work Ethic
Our dog, Delilah, is a consummate shepherd with a profound protective instinct for her primary caregiver, Cyndie. She also demonstrates a boundless work ethic. Delilah is a Belgian Tervuren Shepherd we brought home as a 9-month-old pup from a breeder about an hour away from our new home almost eight years ago.
I was thinking it would be nice to have a canine companion to hang out with us on our 20-acre property. Turned out, Delilah isn’t really one to “hang out.”
Yesterday, we were all out on the deck enjoying the warm sunshine. There were squirrels, songbirds, and fresh spring aromas in the breeze. Plenty to entertain our senses. When Cyndie stepped inside to do some meal prep in the kitchen, she left Delilah out with me to allow more time in the great outdoors.
As I worked on shaping my latest wood sculpture, I waited for Delilah to figure out that Cyndie wasn’t coming right back outside. I was hoping she would sense that I wasn’t going anywhere and we could both settle down and enjoy the beautiful, warm, fresh air the day was providing.
Minutes passed. Fifteen more. I sanded and sanded. Adjusted my glasses. Sanded some more. Another fifteen minutes and Delilah had not wavered.
It may have been a combination of the ubiquitous canine food-motivation and Delilah’s passionate devotion to Cyndie that kept her at a constant vigil of staring into the house the entire time, but it was girded with a heroic work ethic intensity that underlies everything she does.
Whether it is alerting us to the presence (permanent presence, mind you) of squirrels in the yard, barking back to the neighboring dogs’ calls, or seeking to warn off the potential threat of distant gunshots or rumbling thunder, Delilah is ALWAYS on duty. She will jump up from a sound sleep to race to the door and bark at something that only her ears picked up.
It occurred to me that we should have taught her a command to give her permission to be “off-duty.” Something along the lines of “at-ease, soldier.”
“We need to tell her to ‘Golden Retriever’ every once in a while,” I said, imagining her gaining the skill of becoming easy-going upon request.
That’d be like telling water not to be so wet.
Come to think of it, it would also be like telling Cyndie not to work such long hours every day.
Hmmm. Maybe there’s a correlation here.
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Deepening Self-Awareness
At this very moment, take note of what muscle(s) you are unconsciously clenching in whatever position you find yourself. One aspect of deepening self-awareness involves moving our unconscious activity closer to our consciousness. This doesn’t mean we have to be thinking about every single breath or heartbeat, but you can become more “aware” while not being exclusively focused on each one.
Sometimes, awareness occurs within a split second, too. That’s all the time it takes to notice where your posture might be clenched. Then it’s on to the next attention-getter.
Maybe the rapid-fire jump of attention is the thing to notice. Slow a mind down and the body will happily follow.
The most valuable reward I have discovered with my growing self-awareness (a term I actually have an aversion to due to the unappealing aura associated with over-indulgence of said behavior) is an equal increase of awareness for those around me.
Coming from the perspective of the self-centered focus of depression to any increase in balance toward healthier attention for others has been a very positive boost for me in my journey toward optimal health.
In contrast, an unanticipated flare-up in nerve discomfort from the bulging of a degenerating disc in my lower back snaps my attention dramatically back to self over all others. Try as I might to avoid the onset of self-pity, the pull is stronger than gravity and almost as relentless.
Mind and body are engaged in a battle of wits at this point. Should I refrain from moving? Should I clench all the other back muscles to prevent my moving into a position where the mild discomfort becomes a jolt of stabbing pain? Will excruciating pain actually happen, or is that just an archived memory from when it did happen one other time years ago?
I’ve been treated with traction and therapeutic exercise over the years to ameliorate the impact of the worst symptoms. These days the impact is much more subdued. But the memories remain.
The daily planking exercises and yoga stretching I have been doing for the last few years have provided me with better core strength in my body than ever before, but that doesn’t stop degeneration. At this point, I credit the muscle-building effort with softening the blow of the failing discs and allowing me to continue to function, albeit a little stiffly, through occasional periods of decline.
I am slowed, not incapacitated.
There is another fella around these parts who is forging onward despite an uncomfortable affliction. The extent of frostbite our rooster Rocky suffered on his wattle and comb is clearly obvious.
It’s hard to tell if his growing orneriness is due to that or simply a function of his continuing maturation into the valiant protector of his brood of hens. For some reason, he has chosen to single out the Buff Orpington for ex-communication from the group. I’m guessing she was the previous dominant hen and he feels a need to go overboard in making the point he is now the one in charge.
Both Cyndie and I have needed to demonstrate our dominance over him lately to assure he understands the ultimate pecking order around here.
Rocky needs to improve his self-awareness to become a better leader who recognizes how everyone around him is feeling about his actions and behaviors.
Now check to see if those muscles you noticed being clenched a few minutes ago unconsciously tightened up again.
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Ten Tidbits
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• When publishing a list, always put a quantity in the title.
• If there is no story to tell, a list actually tells a story.
• Not every clementine in a bunch is as good as all the others.
• A degenerating disc doesn’t need an obvious activity to begin to bulge.
• When ordering day-old chicks online, you never know when you might end up with a rooster.
• If the industrialization of our planet creates exponential increases in carbon dioxide in the atmosphere, the weather will get weird.
• History is only as interesting as the interest one puts into it.
• It is really nice to be able to work outdoors when sanding wood sculptures.
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• The most amazing thing about video recordings of interesting events that have occurred is that someone thought to record it at the time.
• Unexpected audio suddenly blaring unexpectedly when the phone is set on silent is a very unwelcome jolt to the senses.
• It doesn’t really matter how many tidbits you include when putting a quantity in the title.
• The pandemic won’t end all at once with some specific point, but will gradually disappear over time.
• Lists of tidbits don’t share that same trait.
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Relative Something 