This has got to be the most ridiculous thing I saw all day… wool-lined UGG boots. At the beach. On Memorial Day Weekend. Ugh!
blackpoll warblers in the neighborhood, cupcakes, singing along with the car radio, Neruda’s poems of love and the sea, a little boy entranced by the wind, walking barefoot in the grass again, just ripe avocados, a new tin of Carmex, memories, Friday lunches with Deb, sleeping with the windows open, this song, moonlit trees, black raspberry ice-cream from that little place on the way home from the beach, saying hi, peonies about to bloom, penny stamps, talking on a friend’s porch, dandelions, bookstores, bunnies and the smell of hay, people on the street who make eye contact and smile, horses at the gate as I pass by, the lines on his face, being on time for a change, the shy laughter of new friends, that first cup of coffee, friendly pondfish, seashells in the bottom of my purse, unexpected magic, long holiday weekends with an extra day off, being trusted for advice, a birthday trip to look forward to, old people who tell racy jokes, the smell of a marsh at low-tide, having just enough of everything and knowing it…
Inspired… I paid attention to the little things… somedays there are a 1,000 things that are good, other days it might help to remember days like today.
What was good for you?
Blame it on Mary, but I’m here with no clue what to write tonight and she wondered if we knew any majorettes and, well… I thought of this pic from a million years ago of my mom on a rooftop in Jersey City. She’s holding a baton, but in the funny way that my mind and eyes play tricks on me, I see a little falcon on her fist if I look too quickly. Do you see that?
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Anyway… my mom was a twirler and my dad played the trumpet. Both of my brothers tried to play the trumpet growing up. Brian was pretty good, I think, but then I remember a story about Kevin smashing his trumpet on the dresser at some point in frustration at the klunkers. German temper, you know.
Me, being the only girl and having the responsibility to take after my mom… I tried to be a twirler. I was little and uncoordinated. The farthest that went was the Halloween costume my mom sewed for me one year – rust colored velvety stuff with the golden braids across the chest and the little skirt – just like in this pic – only my legs weren’t nearly as nice then. And there was no hat or cool boots. I remember practices in the school gym – trying to twirl, dropping the darn thing over and over, banging myself in the head with it – you get the idea. Not good! There was also a stint in marching band in high school that found me as uncoordinated with a clarinet as I was with a baton.
Clearly, I missed out on the coordinated and musical genes.
😉
Have I mentioned lately how much I love shorebird decoys?
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I’ve more or less run out of room for any more of them, which is probably a good thing! There’s avocets running across the tops of bookshelves, peeps peering around the corner of the tv stand, even a great egret skulking in the living room… never mind the various duck decoys that have found a place here.
This newish one is a favorite, though. Can you recognize it?
I only wish I could convince the relatives to shop for me at decoy shows rather than wherever it is they find all that kitschy bird stuff. Anybody feel like sharing pics of bad bird stuff they been gifted? I’d bet most of us have lots of things buried and hidden in closets! Maybe we could arrange a bad-bird-kitsch swap!
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So on Saturday I finally found those trilliums I’ve been searching the woods for…
only they were $40.00 each at the local garden shop. I had trouble deciding if I wanted one dozen of each or two.
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Honestly, I’m glad to see them selling native plants, but $40 for something Luka would probably lift his leg on? Pfft! I’d rather keep searching for them in the woods.
I got to perch like a bird at street light height today to photograph Red Bank’s centennial parade. Red Bank’s not my hometown, but I spend enough time there and feel like I know just about everyone, so it feels like home to me.
There were politicians and dozens of firetrucks with their sirens wailing, girl scouts and church groups. And clowns. I liked the clowns best. This was the closest thing to a marching band – don’t high school bands do parades anymore?
Besides the clowns, there were people in funny hats waving and smiling in great old-fashioned cars like celebrities. Small town life… fun!
The firemen were very happy cause their trucks were shiny and they got to play with the lights and sirens without having to rush off to save anyone.
Firemen smile much more easily than policemen do. Ever notice that? He’s my friend and I still couldn’t get a smile out of him! Jeez… definitley not in a parade state of mind.
Part of the fun of a parade and a camera is the opportunity to take random pictures of friendly strangers with funny t-shirts.
Marching through town with an audience on the sidewalk seems to bring out the charisma in some people… this trowel-waving garden club lady was hilarious! She and her cohorts take care of the summer plantings in the downtown area.
The kids in the parade had a ball.. though I wondered how some of the little ones managed to last the whole distance of the parade… it was at least an hour long and snaked from the river on the east side of town to a picnic at a park on the west side.
Tomorrow the fun continues with a boat parade on the river, but I have to miss that for a surprise party.
😉
A flower that, like me, likes to close its eyes at mid-day for a nap; most commonly known as Star of Bethlehem. 
It’s summer, you never saw such a blue sky,
and here they are, those white birds with quick wings,
sweeping over the waves,
chattering and plunging,
their thin beaks snapping, their hard eyes
happy as little nails.
The years to come — this is a promise —
will grant you ample time
to try the difficult steps in the empire of thought
where you seek for the shining proofs you think you must have.
But nothing you ever understand will be sweeter, or more binding,
than this deepest affinity between your eyes and the world.
The flock thickens
over the rolling, salt brightness. Listen,
maybe such devotion, in which one holds the world
in the clasp of attention, isn’t the perfect prayer,
but it must be done, for the sorrow, whose name is doubt,
is thus subdued, and not through the weaponry of reason,
but of pure submission. Tell me, what else
could beauty be for? And now the tide
is at its very crown,
the white birds sprinkle down,
gathering up the loose silver, rising
as if weightless. It isn’t instruction, or a parable.
It isn’t for any vanity or ambition
except for the one allowed, to stay alive.
It’s only a nimble frolic
over the waves. And you find, for hours,
you cannot even remember the questions
that weigh so in your mind.”
Watching them is something of a seduction; my sense of time is lost to the lullaby of the rising tide… there in the glare of the bay is a promise and I sit and watch it becoming. My eye falls on the pilings and wonders at their history… are there treasures hidden below or ruins? The sky is almost too big and the sun too bright to take in all at once, so I follow this one bird dipping in and out of glare and shadow, in and out of water and air, suspended, finally, somewhere between hope and reality.
“Terns” by Mary Oliver
Luka’s turning one next month… it’s hard now to remember that he was ever this small and cute!
Just when I start believing that he’s very smart and well-trained… he’s learned to retrieve his own collar and leash from the table when we let him out of his crate to go pee… he does something incredibly pupply-like and stupid. The other morning I stepped out of the shower to find him sprawled on the couch eating a bar of Neutrogena soap, wrapper and all! You know the nice soap, from a hotel, that was sitting in a bag on the top of my desk? Right. He retrieved it.
He eats rocks… why should I be surprised that he’ll eat soap, too!
Today was World Series day here in NJ: when we crazy birders attempt to see as many species as possible to raise money for conservation. We had a great day, but I was at it from 5:30 this morning until 9 tonight and I’m just too pooped to think straight. That’ll have to wait until tomorrow.
It’s also a year today since Cricket passed away and I thought I’d share again this favorite pic of she and Boomer. Last year this time was sad for me; it’s nice now to see Boomer happy and laying about with a new bunny friend the way he used to with Cricket.
Anyway… the pillow calls…
