SITY: Mystery Poop

One day we noticed that there were little brown things next to the welcome mat in front of our house. The brown things looked decidedly like turds.

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Is that poop next to our welcome mat?

“Ew!” we said. “Where on earth could this poop be coming from?” So we looked up. And it seemed that the poop was coming from the door surround, which was also covered in poop.

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More Poop

But it didn’t seem likely that anything had perched there. So we looked even higher.

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Is that poop dripping down the shutter?

Yes, it was poop dripping down the shutter, and behind the shutter was this little fellow.

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Bat in the Shutter

Obviously this bat could not stay here and continue to poop all over and around our house, but we weren’t about to send the guy packing without providing him with a decent alternative housing option. So my husband started looking up designs for bat houses. He figured he could have a nice one ready for the critter within a couple of weeks.

But perhaps all the picture-taking scared the bat away, because he wasn’t there the next day or for several days afterward. Then we spotted him hanging behind the shutter on the other side of the window. And then he was gone again.

Where he is now we do not know. I worry about the little guy. But I’m also glad that he’s no longer pooping all over my house!

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Returning Again to Darkover

The Heirs of Hammerfell by Marion Zimmer Bradley
Grade: B+

Advertised as “the first new Darkover novel in five years,” one could expect a lot from this book. Or one could have back in 1989, when it was published. But I reread this book with the expectation that I would not want to keep it. That was actually the plan: read it, review it and explain why it’s not worth keeping, then dump it.

I was surprised by how much I enjoyed it, even though it didn’t compare well with the best Darkover novels. I gave it a B+ because that is the grade that I give books that I enjoy but don’t want to read again.

Here’s what it’s about:

Born into a feuding family, separated early in life, the twins Alastair and Conn each grew up thinking that he was the sole heir to the duchy of Hammerfell. But Hammerfell is no more. Its people and army are scattered, its castle burned to the ground, its former Duke (their father) dead at the hands of their greatest enemy. The twins, now grown, each seek to revive Hammerfell. Together, and apart, they work toward that goal, but they risk being drawn back into the deadly feud that led to Hammerfell’s destruction.

This book had a lot of problems. The psionic powers of Darkover were reduced to something more like magic. The moments of disaster were surprisingly dull. The happy ending was too tidy, and at the very end, it said (slight spoiler ahead):

And everyone in the hills has heard the ballad of the twin Dukes of Hammerfell, and of the old dog who died to save her master in the last battle–but like all true ballads, it has changed a good deal between that day in and this.

But there was no copy of the ballad, at least not that I noticed. It’s possible that the ballad does exist and that it was published in a different book, but shouldn’t it it have been included here?

So I gave the book away, but not without some small twinge of regret. It always pains me to part with a Darkover novel. It’s a necessary pain, though. If I were to keep every book of every series I had ever enjoyed, I would be sleeping outside to make room for all the books!

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Inadvertent Austen Kick

I recently went on an inadvertent Austen kick. There are so many movies about Jane Austen and her novels these days. Just looking through the small selection of movies at the library, I stumbled upon several of them. They seemed to fit my mood. It was in great contrast to my previous movie kick, which was superhero films, specifically the latest entries in the Thor, Wolverine, and X-Men lines. Incidentally, you wouldn’t think that Austen and the X-Men would had anything in common, but they do, thanks to James McAvoy, who may now be my favorite actor.

Now, the particulars.

  • First was Austenland. That marked the start of the Austen kick, and it ought to have been the end, too, because it was not a good movie. Keri Russell plays a pathetically obsessed Austen fan who spends her life savings to visit a theme park called Austenland. It sounds like a great idea, immersing oneself in Austen, and I see the appeal that place like Austenland could have. But, most of the characters were unbelievable and unlikeable. The film was redeemed somewhat by the ending, when the hero professes his feelings so earnestly that even I would have been tempted to say yes to him and run away to England to be his bride. It’s almost worth seeing just for that ending. Perhaps the book, upon which the movie was based, is better.
  • Bridget Jones next made an appearance, as she does from time to time. She’s always fun to watch, as is Mark Darcy. This is the only film of the four that I had seen before, and the only one that I own.
  • Then there was Becoming Jane, which theorizes about the love affair Austen may have had while young and which some say could have been the inspiration for Pride and Prejudice. It was not quite as witty as I would have liked, but it had some beautiful settings, and the leads, Anne Hathaway and James McAvoy, can both be mesmerizing to watch. It made me cry repeatedly, but in a good way.
  • Last, but not least, was Lost in Austen. The main character is Amanda, who goes through a magic door into the world of Pride and Prejudice, where she lives with the Bennetts as a supposed friend of Elizabeth’s, while Elizabeth enjoys herself in modern-day London. It is mostly about Amanda’s relationships with Elizabeth’s suitors, though Elizabeth does show up late in the movie. The plot does not follow the original, a bold choice that yields mixed results. I thought the actors and actresses did a decent job, but the script was not fantastic, and the happy ending, for which I was grateful (because I like happy endings), failed to take into consideration all of the problems that had been introduced earlier in the film. So it wasn’t super believable, and not something I’d want to watch again, but I enjoyed it while it was playing. It was treated as a single movie on this DVD edition, but I have seen it elsewhere presented as a 4-episode television series.
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A Spring Walk

Before the caterpillar invasion, I went on a couple of springtime walks. I have often avoided spring walks in the past due to my concern over ticks, but this year I had permethrin-treated clothing. That made me feel a little bit safer. The snow had finally melted and it was a joy to be outside. Here’s what I saw on my first spring walk.

I’ve shown this scene of the quarry top in the winter. Now you can see it in spring. It was mid-April and there were no leaves on the trees yet.

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Top of the Quarry

As I walked around this area, several things grabbed my attention. First, there was a ton of poop on the ground. It was everywhere. I really had to watch my step. Why was there so much here? My guess is that it sat on top of and between layers of snow, and when the snow finally melted, it was left like this. Some of it might have been washed down from above, too.

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Poop!

Second, I saw a pair of butterflies. They were fluttering around me and one of them paused on a rock below me, so I took its picture.

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First Butterfly of the Spring

I researched the markings on the butterfly and have identified it as a mourning cloak. The mourning cloak is a long-lived butterfly. It lives nearly a year (compare that to the luna moth, which lives only about a week!). The mourning cloak overwinters where it lives, rather than migrating somewhere warmer, so it is often the first butterfly seen in the spring.

Third, there is a broken piece of metal sticking out of the rock. I’ve always wondered what it might have been for. Maybe it was a hook. Now it does nothing but cast a fine shadow. Perhaps it should be turned into a sundial.

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Almost a Sundial

I took the long route so that I could visit the pine forest. That area is always boggier, and along the way I saw many flooded spots.

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Flooding Around an Old Rock Wall

I recently read an interesting story about the rock walls of New England. It said that a guy smuggled some merino sheep (prized for their fine wool) out of Europe in the early 1800s and brought them to Vermont, which kick-started a wool boom in the Northeast. Small sheep farms, all with rock wall boundaries, sprung up everywhere.

The story implied that this was how most of New England’s rock walls arose. But when I researched it on-line, other sourced claimed that tilling the land exposed the rocks. The rocks had to be put somewhere, naturally, so the farmers lugged them to the boundaries of their lands and turned them into fences. That sounds reasonable. But this particular area is just a big rock hill, not a great place for farming, so I think the sheep story is more fitting. Plus it’s just more fun.

The flooding was at times a problem during my walk, because parts of the path had become small ponds. The flooding was not a problem for certain plants, though. The peculiar flowers in the picture below were certainly thriving.

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I wasn’t sure what they were at first. It took me a while to find one that was close enough to dry land that I could get a good photograph. This is what they look like closer up.

skunkflowerSeeing it like this you can guess its identity. Notice the spike of leaves coming up? In the early springtime and in a New England swamp, a spike like this would almost have to be skunk cabbage, and so it is. Strangely, the flowers bloom before the leaves come up. Also interesting about this flower is that it supposedly produces its own heat, which is why it can bloom so early. Bizarre. It amazes me the things you find out if you investigate!

Now I will leave you with a cheerful picture of some old beech leaves. Oh, I know I have posted pictures of beech leaves before, at least one, two, three times. I can’t seem to help myself. They’re pretty, often the prettiest things in the woods at the gloomiest times of year. I took this picture because the leaves, in this formation, and with the light shining on them just so, reminded me of strings of Chinese lanterns.

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SITY: First Violet of 2015

In my yard, the violet season of 2015 began on April 22nd, when the first bud opened.

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First Violet of 2015

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SITY: Luna Moth

Have you ever seen a luna moth? We found one on our tree on July 3, just before we headed out to see the holiday fireworks. It was only the second luna moth I had ever seen, and it was a beauty.

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Luna Moth

But though luna moths are beautiful, the really impressive thing about them is their size. Livia kindly put her hand next to the moth to provide some scale.

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That’s One Big Moth!

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Coming Soon

If you’ve been reading my blog, you know that I enjoy walking outside and taking pictures of Nature. This has been a bad year for that, though. First we had a harsh winter with too much snow, which made walking outside a chore. Then came a depressing spring. The violets put on a lackluster display. The bees did not show up to pollinate them.

What did show up were the winter moth caterpillars. They arrived in astonishing numbers and they decimated the trees. Just as the trees were trying to recover by putting out a second flush of leaves, dry conditions and an unexpected infestation of gypsy moth caterpillars hit them. This is the worst gypsy moth infestation since the ’80s. That’s not just my opinion. I looked up gypsy moth numbers in Rhode Island, and yeah, they’re very high, and my town was apparently one of the hardest hit.

All of this has been hard to witness. There is nothing I can do to change it. If I go outside, I see struggling trees and gypsy moths everywhere I look. It makes me sad. And I recently read that the Asian longhorn beetle and the emerald ash borer are slowly making their way toward us. Great. That’s just what we need–more invasive, tree-killing species.

But dwelling on the negative is not good for me. I’ve taken a lot of pictures of what I’ve seen (both good and bad) over the last few months. I haven’t found the spirit to write about them yet, but I am going to push myself to get that done. Maybe by writing about the bad things I can stop thinking about them. And maybe I can find some bright side, too.

Expect to see those posts soon.

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How Peeps Came Home

Did you ever wonder what became of Peeps, poor cat who was lost in the woods? I did. I knew she had come home, but I did not know how she managed to escape the clutches of Old King Fisher. I had asked Peeps many times to finish the tale, but she was not ready to tell the most harrowing part of her adventure, until now. Note: If you start at the link above, and then follow the link at the bottom of each installment, you can read the whole story.

“Your Majesty, please allow me to introduce to you this lovely cat, Peeps, from one of the lower marsh houses.”

Old Fisher sized the cat up. She was smaller than he, but not too much smaller. He said, “Hmm. What kind of name is Peeps? It sounds mischievous. You’re not a troublemaker, are you?”

Before Peeps could answer, the toad broke in, saying, “Oh, no, Majesty. Peeps is a very respectable cat. But she is lost, Majesty, and you are her best hope for finding her home. No one knows these woods and marshes better than you do, O Magnificent One.”

“Lost, eh? Well, Toad, I’m sure this cat can speak for herself.” He turned to Peeps. “Is what he says true?”

Peeps only nodded her head, feeling suddenly shy, because she did not know how to address a king. The King said, “Very good. I will help you tomorrow. Now, you must be tired, so let us set you up for the night. You may stay in the Den.”

The Toad looked anxiously at the king and cleared his throat, hoping the invitation would be extended to him, as well. “You, too, Toad, as thanks for introducing me to your friend.”

The king suddenly snarled, which made Peeps jump, but it was just his way of summoning his squirrel servants. The squirrels hurried over. The king instructed them to prepare sleeping areas for Peeps and the Toad.

The Toad could barely contain himself. “We’re going to the Den, Peeps! What an honor! The other toads will be so jealous. They’ll come to see what a worthy member of the community I am, and I’ll be able to wear the finest party scarves!”

As the squirrels led Peeps and the Toad away, the party began again. The animals of the court gossiped among themselves. But Old Fisher silently celebrated by himself as he settled back into his throne, smiling over his own rotten thoughts. He pretended to watch and enjoy the dance that had resumed, but in reality he was carefully laying his plans and readying any excuses he might need later.

He would have to silence the Toad, of course. He grinned at the thought. He did not like the toads or their arrogant, scarf-wearing ways. Squashing that particular one would give him great pleasure, even if it were no good for eating.

Peeps awoke at first light, refreshed and ready to start her journey home. Servants brought her some kind of gamy meat for her breakfast. She ate it without complaint. She was so happy to be going home. She said good-bye to the toad and thanked him for his help. Then the king arrived and led her into the woods.

She was still feeling tongue-tied around the King, and she was relieved when he didn’t seem to expect her to talk. He moved slowly, and she struggled to keep her pace slow enough for him. She not only felt that time was dragging, but soon she got the strange feeling of something about to go wrong.

If there was one thing she had learned from living with two other cats, it was the sense of being about to be jumped. She had it now. She knew instinctively that at any second she would feel the weight of another animal on her back and the sharp press of teeth into her neck. She was afraid. And at the very moment that her conscious mind registered that fact, she also realized that the king was no longer next to her. She did not see him, but she could hear him and smell him, and she knew that he was the source of the danger, even though she did not understand why. She tensed, waiting.

That Old King Fisher expected no challenge from a simple house cat. He was tough and quick, so he thought he had the advantage as he prepared to attack. But Peeps, as you may recall, was a champion mouser, and she could whack a mouse down before it had time to blink. When Old King Fisher launched himself at her, she was ready. Her swipe caught him in the face and knocked him flat on his back.

For a moment he was too shocked and dazed to react to her counterattack, and that’s what saved the smaller Peeps from becoming that mean old king’s coat, because she ran and ran for all that she was worth. By the time the king picked himself up, she was long gone. With blood dripping into his eye, he’d lost the desire to chase her, at least for now. But he would get her later, he vowed to himself as he slunk back to the Den.

Peeps wandered in the woods all day. Soon she found herself in the same situation as the evening before, because night was falling and she was still lost. As she sat there being eaten by mosquitoes, feeling sorry for herself, and about to start yowling her misery, the chorus of peepers began. Once again their song seemed to form itself into words.

“The cat has many senses
But she does not see, see, see.
Eyes and ears and nose
Among them be, be, be.
By look and listen and smell,
That is the way to tell, tell, tell.”

Peeps listened and wondered again if the peepers were talking about her. Could it be that they were telling her to use her senses? Why, that made sense!

As the peepers’ song dissolved into random chirps, she tuned her ears in to the other sounds of the night. Far away, past the crickets and the mosquitoes, but closer than the hum of street traffic, she heard a voice calling a name. She couldn’t tell whose name it was, but she headed toward the sound, and as she walked, she lifted her head to sniff the night air. She smelled flowers from the garden and oil from the truck and sawdust from the father’s workroom in the garage. She followed the path of these scents for a long time and then suddenly, just when she thought they had led her nowhere, the outdoor lights turned on and she could see that her senses had brought her home.

Then she heard people calling her name. It was her family who, unknown to Peeps, had been calling for her at the top of each hour since she had gotten lost. The mother was leaning out the front door, and Peeps ran to her and jumped inside, away from the toads and tree frogs and fisher cats, away from the hunger and the fear and the lonesome night. She was safe! The family all gathered around happily to welcome her home.

The white cat slunk over and whispered, “Go away! Again!” The black smiled slyly at her, as if to say, “They’re happy to see you now, but I’m still the favorite!” Then he turned his back on her and sauntered over to inspect his food dish, just in case anyone had left him some wet food. Peeps followed him and nosed around at her own empty dish, and before she could wish for it to be filled, it was. She was home, and it was good to be home, even if she had to share it with the two most annoying cats on earth.

As for what happened to Old King Fisher, he got older and meaner and he never forgot about the house cat with the pretty coat of fur. He haunted the area around her house, waiting for her to come back outside. But she never did (and never will again, we hope!).

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Kindergarten

Dear Marshall,

Here is a story from your year of kindergarten.

Marshall’s kindergarten teacher decided that her class should put on an end-of-year show. Marshall was so excited about the upcoming show that the night before told his Dad exactly how he was going to get ready in the morning. He said, “I’m going to get up, get dressed, go downstairs, eat my breakfast, brush my teeth, etc.”

He meant it, too! He was already up and dressed when I got up, which is amazing, because usually he has to be pushed through every part of the morning routine. He ate only one bowl of cereal and then disappeared. I found out later that he had gone upstairs to brush his teeth. He was ready at least 10 minutes early. Before he got on the bus, he reminded us repeatedly to go to his school for the show (as if we could possibly forget!).

The show took place in the cafeteria, which was nicely decorated with the kids’ artwork. Marshall’s class had prepared several songs and plays. For example, they acted out “Where the Wild Things Are,” which was great.

They also performed an “add-on” story that they had written themselves. It started with one line, then that line was repeated and a second one added, then those two lines were repeated and a third one added, etc. Here’s the progression.

This is the chocolate syrup,
That was poured on by the father,
That married the mother,
That shoveled the dirt,
That grew into grass,
That fed the cow,
That made the milk,
That went into the sundae that Slimey ate.

This is Slimey. He ate the sundae!

Each child had been given one line, and they each wore a sign on which they had drawn an illustration of their part of the story. Marshall had been given the last line, and his picture was of Slimey. Slimey was a green snake.

In preparing Marshall for his role, I had stressed to him that he should pay attention for the whole story. I told him to listen for the word “sundae,” because it would let him know that his line was coming up. I was worried that he’d get distracted and forget to say his line.

And that is, of course, exactly what happened. When it came time for him to say his line, his mind was elsewhere, and his teacher had to cue him. But the slight pause had created a sense of anticipation, so the line seemed especially cute when he said it. Everyone laughed (in a nice way) and it was clear that they had enjoyed the show immensely.

This show was a great way to end what had been, in some ways, a difficult year for Marshall. He had gotten used to preschool’s short days and lots of play. Kindergarten’s longer day and focus on academics had been unpleasant surprises for him. He got through the year splendidly, though, and he had some wonderful experiences along the way, as did we!

Love,

Mom

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Evening in Boston

On Tuesday my hubby and I went to Boston to see Rush at the Garden. Our trip started well. After leaving the kids at their Vovos’ house, we hopped a commuter train into the city. We had dinner in Chinatown and bubble tea for dessert. We were informed by a helpful soul that the city was under a tornado warning until midnight, but the weather stayed nice for us as we headed to the nearest T station. We enjoyed looking through the presidential dollar coins that we got as change from the subway ticket machine, because we never see those coins outside of the city. A train arrived promptly and whisked us away to the Garden with time to spare.

But then the concert tickets that I knew weren’t great turned out to be truly awful. We were at the very back of the balcony, against the wall. I didn’t mind the distance or the height. It was cool, actually, to be so high up and looking down at such a huge crowd. But the sound quality was atrocious. It wasn’t just that it was too loud (which it was). It was that the sound was distorted. We were pretty much in a nook, so the sound was just bouncing around like crazy. It was so bad that we decided to leave early and try to catch the earlier train home. Before we left, Rush obligingly played “Tom Sawyer,” which I admit is my favorite Rush song, and a few other songs from that era. I would have been sad to leave if they hadn’t played those songs yet. As we were leaving, we paused at the balcony exit and marveled over how much better the sound was there. We would have enjoyed the concert more if we had stood there all evening!

We had forty minutes to get to Back Bay Station and catch our train. You’d think that that would be enough time given that the Garden is just a few stops away on the same line. But we had forgotten what it is like to take public transportation. Subway trains don’t always come when you need them. We waited and waited for an Orange Line train. Meanwhile, Green Line trains came by regularly. We initially dismissed the idea of taking a green train, because it would have required switching lines and going to a different train station (from which our commuter train was leaving at an earlier time). It seemed too risky, and shortly, it wasn’t even an option.

Meanwhile, there was not an orange train in sight. It wasn’t until we got totally desperate that my old and slightly fuzzy knowledge of Boston’s layout surfaced and it occurred to me that there was a Green Line stop near Back Bay Station. At least I thought so, and my hubby, who had also gone to school in Boston, agreed. So we hopped the next green train and got off at Copley and hustled down a few blocks and hurried into Back Bay Station, which was just where I had thought it would be. Hooray!

Only we were seven minutes too late. Ugh! We had to wait another hour and a quarter for the next train. While we waited, we wandered around Copley Square and Newbury Street. It was still a lovely night, not a tornado in sight, only a hazy crescent moon hanging in the sky. It was wonderful to see the public library building in all its glory (most of the exterior of the building had been blocked off for restoration during the years I went to school in Boston). So, though we were kicking ourselves for having missed our train, we enjoyed our stroll and the sweet combination of nostalgia and novelty. We left ourselves plenty of time to get back to the station, so we didn’t miss the train this time, which is fortunate, because it was the last train for the night.

We got home just after 1:00 a.m. The ground was wet, so we knew that it had rained while we were gone. The next day we found out that a tornado had struck just a few miles down the road. And my old hometown was hit with microbursts, which brought down trees and tree limbs all over town, including on top of my parents’ house (but don’t worry, they’re fine). I’m thankful to have had such a nice evening in Boston, away from all the crazy weather!

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