Out of Season

It is fall, and most of the local plants are behaving accordingly, but not all.

Blueberries are a summer fruit, so I don’t expect to find them in October. On Thursday I found several blueberry bushes with fruit on them. It is unusual, but not terribly rare, I guess.
Evening primrose is one of the first wildflowers I ever identified. This plant is supposed to prefer dry, sunny locations and to bloom in the summer, but here it is blooming in a damp, shady area in late October. What a rebel! Evening primrose is a night-bloomer, so that particular flower must have been just opening rather than starting to close. My field guide says that the flowers are lemon-scented. I will have to give this flower a sniff the next time I see it.
We had a large bloom of partridgeberry in the side yard this year. There were enough of those tiny flowers to perfume the air, and they smelled amazing (my husband said that someone ought to make a soap with the scent). That was back in June, so this fall-blooming specimen is well out of step with its kin.

Is there any significance to there being so many plants blooming or fruiting at an odd time? I don’t know. I have often seen common plants, such as dandelions and violets, bloom late in the year. It is my understanding that sometimes plants bloom out of season because there is something wrong with them. It is also possible that the warming environment is stretching out their blooming and fruiting seasons. It seems reasonable that if warmer spring temperatures are affecting plants, then warmer fall temperatures could, too. But it may simply be that some individual plants march to the beat of their own drum. This is a subject of interest, and I hope to learn more about it in the future.

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Not Birds of a Feather

I took a walk in the woods yesterday. Up at the Scenic Overlook, there was a strange sound, raspy, like something being scraped over and over again. I wanted know what it was, so I crept closer, expecting to find human beings working on something, though I couldn’t imagine what. Suddenly several large birds burst out of the brush. One of them perched in a tree for a moment before joining its cronies in the sky. I managed to capture a picture of it.

Big Bird in a Tree

The bird in the photo looks like a vulture, but not a turkey vulture (its head isn’t red), so it must be a black vulture. Both types live in Rhode Island, as I’ve since learned. But, there were four birds total, and I’m pretty sure that one of them was a turkey vulture.

This one looks like a turkey vulture, because the white goes all the way down its wings.
Here are two of the birds flying in the same patch of sky. The one on the left is hard to see clearly, but it’s probably the turkey vulture. The one on the right, which has a patch of white near the end of its wing, is probably a black vulture.

Apparently the two types are often found together. Black vultures, which depend on sight for finding food, sometimes follow turkey vultures around, because turkey vultures can locate food from miles away, just by smell. Black vultures are moochers.

I was curious about what the vultures had been up to before I startled them. Presumably they had found themselves something deliciously dead to nosh on. But they were circling overhead, waiting for me to leave, their shadows slicing across mine. I wasn’t sure I had the stomach for viewing half-eaten dead things anyway, so I decided not to investigate. However, I found many other interesting things in the woods that day, including a new wildflower. More posts to come soon.

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How I Met My Book: Part III

In previous installments of How I Met My Book, I talked about hand-me-down books and unexpected loaners. For this installment I want to tell you about my copy of The Waste Land and Other Poems by T.S. Eliot. I’ve bought so many books lately that you might easily assume this slender volume was one of them, but no. This one I “borrowed” from my parents’ library a long, long time ago, and it has since taken up permanent residence on my bookshelf.

You might wonder why I’ve kept it all these years, especially since until recently I hadn’t read any part of it. The book is certainly no looker. It’s a dismal gray and worn around the edges, not to mention grubby.

I’m tempted to take a swipe at those stains on the cover. I think some of them might be removable, but I’m not going to touch the coffee ring. The ring is like an Official Seal of Authenticity certifying the book’s age and previous usage. The book survived college life in the 1960s, and it sure looks it. I like that about it.

I’m being self-contradictory, I know. Usually I prefer clean books, as most people tend to do. But I also love a book that has something to say about its own history. This book has been in the family for a long time, so its “germs” are family germs. Its grubbiness is familiar and endearing.

Back in April of this year I finally tried to read the book. Afterward I wrote, “Eliot’s work represents both the best and the worst of what poetry has to offer. Some of it is so perfect that it will stop you in your tracks. And some of it, if you’ll pardon my French, is obfuscatory bullshit.” Had it not been for the book’s provenance, I probably wouldn’t have kept it, but I did and probably will forever. Maybe I’ll even try again to read it during some future April, but a less “cruel” one, I hope.

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Shopping Expedition

My husband and I took the kids shoe-shopping yesterday. The guy manning the register almost certainly had a cold. He was sniffing and coughing, and his mask was hanging under his nose. I was not pleased, but what could I do about it? Nothing. So, I didn’t say anything and tried not to get too upset about the situation, especially since Livia (the only one of us not vaccinated) was wearing a KN95 mask. We all used hand sanitizer, just to be safe. Yes, even me, and OMG does that stuff sting on paper cuts and miscellaneous cracks in the skin. Ouch!

This is what it’s like to live in the Age of Covid. It’s full of dangers, and strange, painful rituals are required to ward off evil. If you want decent shoes, you just have to learn to deal.

We did want decent shoes, and we accomplished our goal. I got some sneakers for myself, too. Now I can retire my old pair, which was so shabby and full of holes that I was embarrassed to wear it, and I’m not easily embarrassed by the state of my shoes.

There was a new playground at the outlet mall, and we let the kids play there for a while. Just before we left, some teenagers arrived and made nuisances of themselves. I thought to myself, “Wow. They’re assholes. I used to be one of those assholes, and now I’m the grown-up thinking that they’re assholes.” It was interesting to be on the other side of the scene. Soon it will be time to grow into a crotchety old person and show the youngsters how it’s really done.

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Reading Report: Mid-October 2021

I recently finished The Books of Beginning series by John Stephens. The series centers on three children who are prophesied to find and master three books of powerful magic, and each book of the series is named after one of the magic books. They are The Emerald Atlas, The Fire Chronicle, and The Black Reckoning. I always struggle to describe the plots of books without giving away too much information, and today I do not feel like trying. Suffice it to say that the children meet with many dangers and magical wonders on their quest to find the books. The last book has a bittersweet ending, but the overall message of it is lovely. Recommended.

Currently I am reading The Science of Storytelling: Why Stories Make Us Human and How to Tell Them Better by Will Storr. It’s a relatively short book (213 pages, plus a 20-page appendix that I’ll probably read). I’m about 27 pages in, and it’s good so far. I’ve also set aside two children’s books to read next. They are The Farthest-Away Mountain by Lynne Reid Banks and The Assassination of Brangwain Spurge by M.T. Anderson and Eugene Yelchin. The former is super slim, and the latter is thick but half artwork, so both will be quick reads. If I finish all three books, they will bring my reading total for the year up to 35.

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Random Things Today

  • Livia’s ordinary cold was enough to kick my ass. Good thing it wasn’t Covid.
  • Yesterday was a screen-free day, so I read my book instead of watching TV. On the bright side, I finished the book and I really enjoyed it. On the less bright side, I stayed up way too late, and now I am paying the price.
  • My MIL ended up in the hospital last week. It was a relatively minor thing, and she’s back home again. But, she has mentioned to me a couple of times recently that she wants the kids to come over for a baking lesson because she “won’t be around forever.” I wish she wouldn’t talk like that. I would like her to be around forever. I know she can’t be, though, and I’m hoping that next week we’ll all be feeling fine (no coughs and sneezes) so that we can go over for a visit.
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The Weekend Past

It wasn’t the best weekend. I pulled my back on Saturday and spent most of the weekend in bed from that plus the cold that I caught from Livia. I had to cancel my Saturday plans because of the cold. Being sick and semi-incapacitated, not to mention having the kids at home on Monday due to the holiday, also put the kibosh on any major celebration of my and my husband’s wedding anniversary. We might do something to celebrate later this week, though.

Livia’s Covid test results came back negative. We have now had three colds and three Covid tests since returning to a semi-normal life. Two colds we think came from the school and one from the dentist’s office. It’s frustrating and inconvenient dealing with the tests and temporary isolation and all that. And it’s upsetting, because it means that Covid mitigation measures are a failure. They are not stopping the spread of germs. If it weren’t for the vaccine, we’d all have had Covid by now.

Sorry for all the complaining. I’m just venting a little. Overall things are good.

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Grateful

Last weekend felt very long, but not in a good way, because we were waiting on the results from some medical tests. One was a Covid test for my husband, who had caught a cold. The other was a series of lab tests for Marshall, who had an alarming rash on his leg. All the tests came back on Monday with good results. No deadly diseases. Whew! I am grateful.

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Reading Report: Late September

  • The Broken Hours: A Novel of H.P. Lovecraft by Jacqueline Baker, B+: Arthor Crandle is down-on-his-luck, homeless, and looking for work. He manages to find a job as an assistant to a mysterious and reclusive author in Providence, Rhode Island. It’s not the most appealing job, but it beats starving on the streets. The author is, as the book’s subtitle suggests, H.P. Lovecraft, and naturally Lovecraft’s home and circumstances are suitably weird, complete with a ghost or two. It wasn’t the Lovecraft angle that drew me to this novel (I have never read any of his work), but rather the creepy cover and the historic Providence setting. I enjoyed the writing, the atmosphere, and the dialogue enough to nearly give the novel an A-level grade. But, I didn’t enjoy the characters or the ending so much, and there was little in the way of action. Though I didn’t give it the highest overall grade, I think it’s a memorable book, and I am interested to read more of Jacqueline Baker’s work in the future.
  • The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes by Suzanne Collins, B-: This is a Hunger Games prequel. Specifically, it’s the origin story of Panem’s president, Coriolanus Snow. Had I realized that before reading, I wouldn’t have bothered. But, once invested, I took the effort to finish the novel. Unfortunately, for a story to work well, you have to care about the main character, but Snow is an evil bastard. Nothing ever happens that he doesn’t consider from the standpoint of his own well-being. He does a few good things, but the moment you start to care about him, he does something atrocious so that you can’t forget that he’s a sociopath. As for how this story relates to the other Hunger Games novels, the action takes place during the run-up to and fallout from the 10th Annual Hunger Games. Coriolanus and his classmates are the first mentors, and Snow is the one who comes up with the ideas of betting on the Games and sponsorships for the tributes. His tribute is Lucy Gray from District 12. She’s a Covey (basically, a Gypsy). She sings. A lot. And we’re supposed to draw a connection between her and Katniss Everdeen, I guess. She and Coriolanus develop a strong bond, which is problematic for him, given the whole Hunger Games situation. Along the way, the author attempts to answer the question of how and why the Hunger Games are effective in controlling the districts, but I still don’t believe that it would work. That was always a weakness of the series, and putting a spotlight on it was a bad judgment call. The writing is so-so, and Collins keeps a cool distance between the characters, as well as between us and the story. I don’t think this novel would work at all as a standalone. In the context of the series, it isn’t horrible, but it’s not very good either. Recommended for die-hard (ha-ha) Hunger Games fans only.
  • I also finished The Fire Chronicle by John Stephens, which is the second book in a 3-book series. I will write about it when I finish the third book.
  • Currently I am reading The Star-Spun Web by Sinead O’Hart. It’s not bad, but it’s reminding me a lot of The Golden Compass by Philip Pullman, and that comparison may not ultimately work out in its favor.
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Gone Too Soon

“Life it seems to fade way, drifting further every day…” Those are the first two lines of Metallica’s Fade to Black. I heard it on the car radio the other day, and it made me think of my old friend Phil. He’s been on my mind a lot lately, because I found out recently that he died from cancer earlier this month.

I’m struggling to process the news. I hadn’t seen him in a long time, but we were good friends as teenagers. Phil had a rare charisma. He’s the only person I’ve ever known who was Trouble but worth it. My mother even liked him. He was also the only person who ever called me Kare-Bear, and the only one who could use that nickname for me without it sounding ridiculous. He taught me how to play the drums. Our birthdays were close together, so I know that he just had one, too. His last.

Facebook might be shit most of the time, but this is one case where I’m glad that it exists. It’s only because of Facebook that I know anything about Phil’s life after I left town. He was a special effects make-up artist, which was an excellent career choice for him, and he was successful at it. And though I’m sad to know that he’s gone, I thank Facebook for that knowledge, too. I just wish I’d known that he was dying. I can’t say whether or not I would have reached out, but I would have liked to have known that I was running out of time for it. But I guess that is the lesson we’re supposed to take from death–we’re always running out of time.

RIP, Phil. Gone too soon. Never forgotten.

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