Three Cent Stamp
Amusing musings and streams of consciousness

There are familiar squeaking noises in the woods and I know they are headed towards my deck, towards the feeders, which house their favorite nuts and seeds. The squeaks grow louder and there they are, 7 little Pygmy Nuthatch. Pygmy Nuthatch are one of my favorite birds, so usually when they arrive within my sight I will I stop whatever I am doing so that I can watch them. They dart from the feeders to the deck railing, two of them drop down to the birdbath and gently dip their beaks into the fresh, cool water. They are quite charming.

There is one nuthatch that stands out from the rest for he moves a tad slower and upon closer look, I can see why: he is lugging a redwood cone around on his foot. It looks as if his foot is stuck in the middle. Unable to free himself, he adapts; he hops on a single leg at the feeder and when he flies off to nearby trees he lands on a horizontal branch that allows him to, once again, perch on a single leg.

For the past two weeks I have watched him at the feeders, never alone, always with his tiny flock of mates. Each time I see him, I wonder how he manages dragging the cone with him wherever he goes, especially while foraging for food and roosting at night. I worry that the cone will end up contributing to an early demise, either because the cone will catch on something, injuring him further, or the added weight slowing him down,  making him an attractive target for predators.

Finally, the day comes when I can’t stand it anymore and I am determined to do something to help him along.  I devise a plan:  I will catch him in a butterfly net and then remove the cone from his feet! Having been a volunteer bird bander for 2 consecutive summers at the Big Sur Ornithology lab, I am comfortable handling wild birds and I am confident that if I can catch him, and I can get the cone off his foot. We have a plan and everything we need. We are ready.

The first step is getting the birds used to seeing a net. I devise a ridiculous looking setup that places the net just below the base of the feeder (jammed in the opening at the top of a deck chair in which one is piled atop the other for the needed height). Once the birds are used to the net, I’ll put an extension on the handle and hold the net, when the injured nuthatch appears, I’ll quickly slide the net up from the base of the feeder trapping him in the net. Once he’s in the net, I can easily extract him from the net and Bill will help me hold him as I trim back the cone’s scales until I can open the cone enough to allow his leg and foot to slide out to freedom. The cone, by what I can tell,  is very dry so the scales should easily break and allow me to bend them accordingly. I begin to practice on cones that have already fallen to the ground.

Naturally, the birds are caught off guard and very skeptical of the net. However, by the end of the day they are hopping and dancing on it as if it had been a long standing fixture. It’s particularly amusing to watch one chickadee who is obsessed with the seeds that have fallen to the bottom of the net. He picks, picks, picks, hoping to retrieve a seed or two. He never succeeds. An equally amusing site is watching a pair of chickadees, one at each end of the net, base and handle, as the net handle drops to one side as  if it were a see-saw at a park playground.  But in spite of all the shenanigans ongoing at the deck and feeders, the Pygmy Nuthatch I am waiting for never shows. The nuthatch flock have been to the feeders, several times, but he is never with them, at least that I can see and in spite of my parking myself at the window for the entire day.

My luck is no better the second day. Each time the tiny flock arrives I look for the bird with the cone, only to be disappointed. Afternoon has now progressed to early evening and the light dusts the edges of the woods. It won’t me long until there is one last feeding frenzy before the light fades, the woods grow quiet and the gentle rocking of the feeders will settle into stillness.

For the time being, until the stillness comes, I shall sit and wait, patiently, at the window.

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While the set up looks riciculous, it serves a purpose. I hope it works.

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Even the chickadees are no longer alarmed by the net.

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A chickadee obsessed with snatching seed from the bottom of the net.

I’m embarrassed to admit just how often I’ve fallen in love at the Apple store!

It’s not uncommon for Bill to get an email or text message from me stating,  ”Guess where I am?” For which I will get a return response of,  “Oh no!”

Yes, dear … but don’t forget … I’m always saving you money!

Yes, it’s that time of year again. I’ve headed to Maine for my annual trip to Maine Media Workshops in Rockport Maine. This week I’ll be forcing myself to shoot pictures of people and scenes with people in them. This means I’ll likely not have any fingernails left when I get home. I’ll definitely be outside of my comfort zone this week. But what the heck, isn’t there a saying about that which does not kill you makes you stronger? Let’s hope this is true for photographers too.

Cheers!

We stood there at the company bus stop, gazing back over the mountains and dense clouds of smoke. Another fire. This one centered around the Lockheed plant in Bonny Doon, CA., hence it was coined the “Lockheed Fire.” The fire had started Wednesday evening around 7:30 PM, but none of us really knew until Thursday morning when smoke angrily rose above the ridge, reminding us that it controlled us – at least for the time being.

There wasn’t much to do at that point but board the bus and jump on our laptops to get the latest news and updates about the fire. Going to work and concentrating on the tasks of the day were difficult, as our minds all wandered back to the gloom of the day. Some of my coworkers were at home, watering their roofs and yards, and on standby for evacuation. The last fire made its way and stopped only ½ mile in front of a colleague’s home. As the flames overcame acre by acre, he was feeling more and more anxious. Yet he refused to leave his home and who would dare blame him.  As my husband and I have been through this drill before, he began getting papers together and important things that we couldn’t possibly live without: The dog, the bird and the cat. Their kennel cabs lined the entry way to the garage and along with that were hard drives, laptops, and of course, my already packed (for an upcoming photo trip) camera gear.

Coming home that night, we stayed glued to the TV watching the fire coverage, which was heavily lacking in the kinds of details that we desperately needed (where was the fire now, what roads were closed and which areas were being evacuated?). Meanwhile, smoke glided over the mountain ridge ¼ mile from the back of our woods. Helicopters, one after another, made their way to and from the fire site carrying water and flame retardant. It sounded like a war zone. It felt like a war zone. A war we ultimately would win, but at what cost, we wondered.

Saturday was the worst day insofar as smoke and chopper traffic. Our nerves were on edge. We kept our windows and doors closed because the smoke stung both our eyes and throats. We were packed just in case, although it was highly unlikely that the fire wouldn’t be contained sufficiently, which would prevent us from any kind of evacuation. Still, we did not want to be taken by surprise, and if the winds were to change, so could everything else.

Our local paper created a live blog, which was a lifesaver to most of us. People closer to the fire, some of who had already evacuated, were sharing information about road closures and information they had learned the hard way, or had been given to them by CalFire and CHP officials. I was amazed that so many individuals were reaching out, sharing what they knew and what they had been through thus far. They were providing valuable support and comfort to the rest of us who were still waiting and wondering if we would be next. There were people on the live blog from as far away as France, searching for loved ones who no longer answered their phones. We gave them the name of the local Red Cross shelters, numbers they could call for updates and fire maps. My husband even jumped in to create an updated fire map, since nothing new had been released. We repeated info, as often as necessary, via the live blog and Twitter (although a user by the name of “Grumpy” was none too happy about the re-tweets on Twitter). But what they hey, too much info was certainly better than to little, and most of the news channels were insistent on showing the same clips of fire and smoke over and over with very little info about road closures and fire lines. I have to say that the blog and tweets were social networking at its best. I don’t know what we would have have done without the Santa Cruz Sentinel’s Live Blog.

Thank you Santa Cruz sentinel and all of you who did, and continue, to share new information.

On Sunday afternoon, I finally left the house. Fire engines and trucks looked like red ants, as they caravanned their way through the winding mountain roads over to the communities of Bonny Doon and Davenport. Many were defending houses and pre-established fire lines. I passed them, one after another, and had wished that I had a big sign that said, “THANK YOU!” as they headed in the opposite direction of where I was headed.

As of today, Monday August 17^th at 7:00 am, the fire still rages, 7,017 acres have been lost, and we are still at 65% containment. No doubt today’s morning fog will help. Some individuals, previously evacuated, are able to return to their homes, but there are still over 500 residents (and their pets & farmland animals) who remain displaced.

Today I am grateful for everything, big and small. However, I am especially grateful to the firefighters who have come here locally and from miles away to defend our homes and life. They’ve been at it for 5 days now and no doubt the lack of sleep, hot food and stress is taking its toll not only on them, but also their families who remain left behind like the rest of us, who wait and keep our spirits up.

Thank you!

These beautiful photos are taken by Phil Carer/Sentinel.

Photo below, courtesy of KSBW, Channel 8 news.

As if their Songsmith and housewife puking ads weren’t enough bad advertising, Microsoft has, once again, tried to be hip. And, once again, they’ve failed. I make no bones about the fact that I dislike 99.9% of Microsoft products, but I’d be willing to give them a high-five now and then for a good advertising campaign.

Two weeks or so ago, Microsoft announced they’d hold a Bing Jingle contest, the goal being to record a short music video theme song about their new search engine, called Bing. Below the winner sings, “Bing goes the Internet,” proving that Microsoft is about a unhip as it gets. Let’s face it, Bing will never be Google and the Zune will never be an iPod.

My favorite comment about all of this is from a guy on another blog (and I couldn’t agree more):

Um, no. That was not dancing. Call it a shorted robot doing aerobics. Synchronized pilates. A guy who got a lizard under his clothes. Just do NOT call it dancing.

This guy undid years of struggle for all the white people who fought so hard to prove they can dance. But no hate for the guy. Hey, he just got a big payday. Congrats. Really.

But WTF was Microsoft thinking? Seriously. I want Bing to succeed. Competition is a good thing. Their laptop ads were dry but effective. This is just garbage & not quirky enough to finish.

He grabs the very end of the toilet paper roll and runs through the house. TP now lines the length of the hallway and into the living room. It resembles a childhood prank (did you ever TP a neighbor’s house?). Bill and I stifle our laughter, long enough to tell him he’s a “bad boy”.  Moments later, in true Webster fashion, he does something utterly charming and he is rewarded with a cookie. I wish I could get out of the dog house as easily and as effortlessly as he does. I must make a note of this.

I’m contemplating showing up for work, everyday, dancing my way to my office, inspired by “JK’s Wedding Entrance Dance” shown below.

I love this video!

Squirrels drive me nuts! They are quite destructive in their attempts to get at my seed and hummingbird feeders and  I have spent no less than a fortune on “squirrel proof” bird feeders. On more than one occasion they have made their way off with an entire feeder, drained them and left them in the woods. Twice the feeders were never even found. They have chewed through hoses and wood railings and once one got in the house and the webster chased it all over the living room (seriously, I don’t know what it is about dogs and squirrels). I’m embarrassed to say that once, out of frustration, I took the hose to them (they don’t like water) and I used the jet spray until they were halfway up the trees (only to return 20 minutes later). 

Yesterday, a squirrel made his way upstairs, how I don’t really know because he can’t even stand up straight (hence his nickname, “Sideways”). It’s painful to watch him. He leans to the left whereby he runs in a circle as he tries to stand and grab seed. When I first saw him I thought maybe he had a concussion because his body seemed to be going into spasms. His leaning is so bad that he’s taken to leaning up against the house, a plant, the chair leg, whatever he can use to prop himself up to eat.  I felt so sorry for this pitiful little squirrel that I tossed seed out to him – or rather, I tried. When I opened the sliding glass door he scurried down the deck rail and jumped into the woods in a panic. I watched him, literally, roll down the hill. I winced in pain watching him. I felt worse when he fell over, laying there upside down, struggling to get back up, then once up, in exhaustion, he leaned against the trunk of a tree. Torturing him was not my intent.  

This morning, I patiently waited for him to return and I tossed seed out several times so I wouldn’t scare him. Finally, at 1:00 he showed up, after all the other squirrels and birds had come and gone and pretty much picked all the seed up. There he was, going round and round the chair leg, unable to stand straight. I wondered  how many times he’d circle the chair before making himself dizzy.  He did manage to find a morsel or two as the chickadees and juncos ate and dropped seed from the feeder. Do I open the door or not, I debated. I let him be for awhile so at least he could get something to eat. An hour later he was still there, patiently picking up seeds wherever he could find them. I was relieved that the other squirrels left him alone. So many times I see squirrels chase and bite each other, running each other into the woods. Finally, when I could no longer take it, I ever so slowly opened the door and dropped small pieces of hemp bread on the deck and then, just as slowly, I backed away. Sure enough, he came out from behind a potted plant, picked up the bread and continued to go around in circles until he made his way to the side of the deck, propping himself up. Hopefully the bread will fill him up. I also left fresh water out for him.

Just call me sucker!

Meanwhile, back in high-tech land, I am amusing myself at lunch time, watching Macs kick some PC butt.

I wonder if they have iPod versus Zune transformers (Sorry “B” I’m still not over the Zune thing – still love ya’ though).

I awoke before the light this morning. I never sleep well the night before I head out on a trip, especially when leaving loved ones behind. Good mornings are said, my bags are tossed in the car where Webster is already waiting. The lump in my throat swells, as do the tears in my eyes that I cleverly try to hide. I swallow hard and take a deep breath, as I bid my parents farewell. One hug, then another and we hold on as long as we can, extending our embrace, neither my mom nor dad wanting to be the first to let go. “Promise not to cry” I whisper, and my mom shakes her head, but for a single, split second, I see her lower lip quiver. She musters up her courage and tells me that she’ll see me soon, but probably not until Christmas. My dad flashes me that “look” with a frown and he tells me to be sure to drive carefully. I slowly inch down the driveway, breaking every second or so to look back. My parents look so small as I make my way down the road. Thank goodness my sister and I exchanged our hugs and funny faces last night! Webster cries from their driveway to the stop sign at the main road, and his body twists backwards so that he can see them until they no longer can be seen from the rear window.

I drive in what feels like “auto pilot” down the familiar roads until I detour from my standard route to head toward the coast. The 6 ½ hour, winding coastal drive was extended to almost 8 hours due to road work, work traffic and oversized RVs towing cars behind them. I took turns calling my parents and Bill to let them know I was progressing fine and what town I was passing through. The drive gave me a lot of time to think, regardless of what playlist was currently blasting through my little red iPod. Finally, my turn onto Coast Highway 1, I pass a river or two, campgrounds and soon, I see the Pacific Ocean. Only an hour left to go. Still, my mind wanders. Did I tell them I loved them? Sure I did, but how many times? Enough times? I am sad.

I arrive in Fort Bragg, Ca., and call my parents to tell them I am almost at my destination. Ten minutes later, I am in Mendocino, safe and sound. I call Bill with an update. It’s a beautiful day here today, mild 70s, sunny, with a breeze. I check into the inn, lug my bags upstairs and drop on the couch. I indulge myself in eating 1 of the 2 pieces of chocolate that they have left for me. Webster wastes no time in making a beeline for the bed (spoiled little dog). Finally, I meander out to the deck, inhale the sweet, yet spicy air (from the gardens below) and warm myself in the sun. I reminisce about the week and the fun that I had spending time with my family, hundreds of pictures and emotions running through my head in only a matter of seconds. My heart is filled with gratitude that I was able to spend quality time with my family, yet there remains a dull ache, the ache of wanting just one more day. I console myself with thoughts of next time, telling myself there will be another visit with them soon. Soon. I close my eyes and remind myself to stay centered, and while I have enjoyed each and every moment with my family, moments that are now forever burned into memory, I must also enjoy where I am, here. Now.