Waiting for the Hawkwatcher

Somewhere south of Toledo
a truck, held together by politically liberal bumper stickers,
heads for Michigan
carrying to me this evening’s guest
a man I have never met
never seen
but I’ve heard his soft tenor voice
and he can tell the Cooper’s from the sharp-shinned
the merlin from the kestrel
and by the time he gets here
it will be February.

Warning of the Week

They look like cucumber slices.

They smell like cucumber slices.

Do they taste like cucumber slices?

Note to the Gentlemen

The kissing, it is the important.

The kissing, it is the gate to the garden of the delights of the earth. Do the kissing well and the gate, she will be the open to you. Make the mouth of the carp with the drool, and the carp, he will be looking at the garden from the fence behind.

La bella donna, she is not made of the nougat, and should not be chewed upon as if the Snickers bar. Also, if you have the growth of the whiskers, apply the moisturizer, please, even if you think it is the gay. La bella donna then will not feel like the face has been scoured with the brush of the wire of copper.

The kissing, it can be the delicate subject for the conversation. Be aware for the cues of the subtle. If la bella donna, she sighs and squeezes you, the kissing, it is the good. If la bella donna, she asks for the towel, you may be making the mouth of the carp.

What makes the kissing good? When the kissing is on the mouth, the lips should press against the lips that are hers; do not suction la bella donna’s face from the nose to the chin (this is the mouth of the carp). Go slowly; it really is not the game of the ball of the bases. The tongue, it should practice the give and the take. La bella donna, she has the soft hair and the skin and she would like for you to touch gently. Mostly, just relax.

And yes, it is okay to peek.

That is all.

Uncertainty

As P. so rightly says, “You never know what you’re going to wake up to in the morning.”

This morning, it was much less snow than was hyperactively predicted. I admit I was hoping for the five to seven inches of sleet and snow and a subsequent cancellation of my Satuday morning class. When I woke at 7:00 am and heard cars whooshing down the street, I knew the pavement was just wet and that the storm had not occurred.

There’s also a For-Sale sign in the front yard.

I knew in advance that the sign was going up. Still, it made my heart sink a little to see it there between the walk and the drive. The downstairs apartment has been empty for almost a month and the landlady has decided to try to sell the house. She has asked that any new owners give me 60 days notice of any changes to my lease agreement (or if they want to convert the house back into a single-family home), but I don’t know how much legal water that holds.

I really wasn’t planning on moving this year. I would be sad to have to leave this place, with its odd angles, tall windows, big bathtub, and garden out back. I would be really extra sad if I had to leave Chelsea. But nothing’s happened yet, and I can handle a move if I needed to go. I just hope I get to see the hundred bulbs P. and I planted in October bloom this spring.

Friday Cat Blogging

Sylvie didn't want to sit still for her close-up.





Purrfect!

Linkage

About a month and a half ago, I made a post on this blog with a certain gentleman in mind. Someone commented with a smiley, and when I asked aforementioned gent if it was him, he said not. In my naivete, I believed my only readers were the few friends I had given the link to (who else would be interested in my flickers and cucumbers?), and did not have a stats tracker on the blog. Since I was a little disappointed that the gent didn’t respond - and I don’t know who did - I installed a tracker for the New Year.

I got my Blogger account originally just so I could comment on a college friend’s blog. When I decided to start doing some writing (well, attempt to find time to do some writing), I put up a few posts. The blog allowed me to see my work outside of myself, so to speak, and to evaluate it a little more critically than I normally would have. Like I said, I gave out the link to a select few, and soon the blog became a way to entertain friends and keep them abreast of my various mundane activities and the weird and interesting things I come across on the ‘net.

The stats tracker has provided some surprises. In 18 days, I have had nearly 200 page views. Seems I have a few regular readers I don’t know. To those folks I say, “Welcome. And thanks for coming by.” Also, Chelsea city manager Mike Steklac has linked me on his blog The Chelsea Report. Thanks for the linkage!

The day before The Chelsea Report started showing up as a referrer to my blog, my friend A. asked if he could link me on his site. Interestingly enough, this new attention to Hawk in the Rain comes at a time when I am reassessing the blog: my reasons for having it, what goals (if any) I have for it, a possible redesign/reorganization, what kind of information I want to put out there in the ether.

I feel cautious about sharing myself and my opinions online. While I frequent many other blogs, I rarely comment. The blogosphere - with exceptions of relatively sane and thoughtful blogs, usually small personal blogs - always seems to be just a hair’s breadth away from a major flamewar. Trolls, comment moderation, accusations of fascism. But I guess that’s the side effect of becoming an A-lister, a Kos or an Atrios, and I hope I never get there. I’m content to remain an Insignificant Microbe in the Truth Laid Bear Ecosystem. After all, microbes really are quite significant in the real dirt and cytoplasm world.

So surfers, there might be some changes coming along. I’m not sure where this hawk is going - it’s up in the air.

Flickers at my Window Make Me Happy

He's a little out of focus - I'm still having trouble getting the camera to focus and click fast enough to capture birds - but here he is, eating brunch at around 11:00 am today.





The flickers have also been feeding off the suet feeder, where they look ridiculously large hanging from the small wire cage. I believe the blue jays alerted them to the menu at Cafe Chez Kim.

Bad Call, Good Cat

"You’re knitting!" K. yelled at me once, while we watched an oHIo State football game. OSU was losing. K. paced the living room waving his arms and shouting imprecations while I calmly worked on a hat for my grandmother and ignored him.

The best way to spend a Sunday is to watch football, cat at side, needles clicking away. While I watch football and like football, I rarely get upset or bent out of shape over football. I don’t usually yell like K. or have to go down to the basement to hit the punching bag, like my dad and uncle used to do back in the day.

So even though the Black and Gold’s dominant lead slowly leached away during the fourth quarter, I kept turning the heel of a sock.

Then, with a little over five minutes left in the quarter, Peyton Manning threw a long pass. Steelers safety Troy Polamalu had staked out the Colts’ passing lanes all day. This time, the ball hit Polamalu right on the numbers.

He got both his hands on it - interception!
He fell, rolled over twice, started to rise, and the ball squirted free - fumble!
He fell on it - recovered!
"Woo!" I hooted and rubbed Sylvie’s head. Sylvie purred.

The Colts challenged the ruling on the field, claiming Polamalu didn’t have possession of the ball. Replay showed he clearly did, then lost the ball after he was down. I thought so. The sportscasters thought so. I’m sure Troy Polamalu thought so. For something so clear-cut, the review took a long time. Tension mounted.

The officials didn’t think so. They reversed the ruling and called it an incomplete pass.

The RCA Dome in Indianapolis erupted and so did millions of Steeler fans across the nation. "Bullshit!" I yelled, throwing the sock on the floor. The recliner bumped against the wall as I ejected from it. "That’s a bad call! Bad call!"

Sylvie jumped off the chair, flattened herself against the floor, and slunk off towards the bedroom. As I looked at her I realized "Bad call" sounds a lot like "Bad cat." "Bad" alone is enough to stop her in her tracks. Or get down from the table. Or get out of the bathroom sink.

"It’s okay, kitty, I don’t mean you," I said. She turned and searched me with luminous green eyes. "Bad cat? What’d I do?" "C’mon, you’re a good kitty." I patted my leg for her to come, and she did, and we went to the kitchen and I gave her a little snack and a back rub, telling her all the while she’s a good kitty.

I returned to the living room and fumed as the Colts drove down field and scored a touchdown. I picked up the sock and resumed knitting. My mood brightened considerably a few minutes later, when the Colts turned it over on downs deep in their own territory. Pittsburgh was still winning. Time was running short. They had a chance to score and put the game away. Sylvie twined around my ankles and I picked her up as the Steelers’ offense lined up. She leaned into my shoulder and purred as Jerome "The Bus" Bettis spun towards a touchdown.

"Noooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!" I wailed, the pitch of my howl arcing with the ball as it shot out of Bettis’s grasp, propelled by a defensive player’s helmet. I slumped to my knees in disbelief. Sylvie dug her claws into my arm as she made her escape from the clutches of the crazy person who had invaded her caretaker’s body.

The Colts’ kicker trotted out for the field goal attempt. "Miss it, miss it, miss it, miss it," I chanted, pounding on the floor. Sylvie watched me, wide-eyed, from the doorway.

He missed it.

All is quiet now. Sylvie naps next to me on the chair. I am apparently forgiven my transgressions. The yarn is in its basket and the cat treats are on the shelf, waiting for next week’s conference play-off game against the Denver Broncos.

Can a Blogthing Quiz Predict Your Life?

Or is this some sort of feedback loop?

You Should Get a PhD in Liberal Arts (like political science, literature, or philosophy)

You're a great thinker and a true philosopher. You'd make a talented professor or writer.

What Advanced Degree Should You Get?

Is Caption Obvious a Copy Editor?

Headline of the day: One-Eyed Cat Had Medical Condition.

Gee, ya think? Having only half your sight organs might be considered a medical condition?

Something bothers me about that picture, though. Kittens are born with their eyes closed. And when they do open their eyes in about a week or so, their eyes are always blue. So why does "Cy" have a very open, very chocolately brown eye?

Part of the deformity? Or Photoshop chop?

Update 8:48 pm: I e-mailed my query to the Explainer at Slate. Hopefully a lot of other people did too and they'll post an answer.