Wonder Wednesday: Outsider Art

I noticed a fallen branch in my backyard. 

Heading outside, I realized it was a pine branch. Strange, given that no yard neighboring mine has pine trees.

Getting closer, I found this gorgeous sculpture.

So caught up in its beauty, it took me a minute to realize that I was looking at a squirrel's work.

The squirrel had brought this branch to my yard, found a quiet spot, and set to freeing pine nuts.

Valuable calories for the rodent.  Art for me.

These photos can't do the reality justice--stripped like this, the Fibonacci number pattern is clear, a shimmery silver on each edge.

I'll cherish this natural wonder for a while, then give it to an artisan I know. Perhaps she'll work it into one of her pieces, or simply enjoy it on its own merits.

Where have you been amazed lately? Any sweet surprises from critters?

I could use a thousand spiders right now...

Wettest May on record...and June had its moments, too.

The mosquitos are carrying away newborns and making us all anemic.

Maybe not. But the bug bites may start a new fashion trend, or at least make us 3D connect-the-dots.

Put away your Sharpie, please.

Half The Year Gone

It is the solstice.
It's too hot in Houston for me to truly celebrate this turning and yet it is an occasion to mark, and to take note of where we are and what we've done.

A personal progress check feels a bit brutal right now. That feeling of nothing being accomplished. My reading list has barely budged, my professional goals more aspirational than achieved.

Goals get made in calm moments of life, not considering upheavals of illness and chaos. The year, thus far, has been a bit heavy on the heaves.

So I gave the weekend over to having a little fun and giving myself a break. Sometimes survival is 'progress' enough.

Chumbawamba Sunflower

 A couple of months ago my son brought home a sad little sunflower seedling in a busted bucket. He cleared space in the front garden and planted the sucker.

I was dubious. Sunflowers are not generally transplanted, but he made it happen with daily watering and care. The plant is at least six feet tall.

We've just had the wettest May on record, including several punishing storms. The night we got eight inches of rain also featured winds and hail--the spindly plant was bent and barely hanging on.

A week later it's mostly upright again and has put forth more blossoms. 

May we all be so resilient.

Before Summer Begins In Earnest

Today I had to be a grown-up.

Phone calls to make appointments
So many arrangements.

I needed to be steadfast.
Calm but firm.

Important things to be done
or delegated.

And yet it was my day off...
so I did what I could from the patio.
Wearing shorts and a tank top, 
no shoes.

I give thanks for a dry day,
not too hot yet.

Soon enough we'll lock ourselves indoors
sunrise to sunset.

This is the song that never ends...

It's raining again. We'll probably get another two to three inches tonight, putting us around a foot for the week*. The backyard is a lake, but not currently threatening to annex the living room. Our street is not flooded, and we're hoping it stays that way.

Perhaps I can see it as a bonus that we're getting a test of our new windows even before hurricane season. Looks like the installers will need to come back soon to fix this one, and hopefully it doesn't short out the contacts for the alarm system.

Grand scheme of things, in a week where at least two dozen Texans have died in the floods and thousands have lost cars or houses, this a tiny issue.

*Average annual rainfall for Houston is just under 50 inches. We've gotten about half that since March 1. And hypothetically June is our wettest month...

A Dry(ish) Night

The floodwaters at my house receded by morning. Parts of metro Houston are still underwater, and a number of people died in the storms. So it's very much on my mind again tonight.

They say that 162 BILLION GALLONS of rain fell on my county last night.
That's over a trillion pounds of water.

Tonight, if we have any rain, it will be a quick sprinkle.
At least, that's what we're hoping.

Rain, rain, go away.
Go to Cali-for-nye-ay.

Obligatory Mother's Day Post

How many gigabytes have gone to blogs and articles on Mother's Day this week? 

So much emotion and memory tied up in mother, the ones who gave birth to us and those who nurtured us, and then the full array of pregnancy-or-not/parenting-or-not experience of every woman... if you believe there's a Mommy War, well, Mother's Day is an annual battle. Brunch optional.

Ostensibly, every single one of these things should come up for Father's Day. For every mommy issue, there's a daddy issue. And the issues do come up, but with nowhere near the same volume. 

The biological (and social and economic) opportunity costs are more visceral and obvious for women. And somehow motherhood is expected to be a primary identity, while fatherhood is somewhere on a list. 

Or maybe the guys just don't feel the need to write about it as much. 

A New Hope (or perhaps just a different angle)

My computer battery is complaining, so just the briefest of updates tonight-

Our mourning doves surprised us today--just when we'd decided the baby birds were gone--a fledgling appeared!

Truthfully, he is too big now to fit in that nest with mama, but neither of them seems to be complaining.

Mourning

Just weeks ago a mourning dove made a nest in this spindly tree. 

We tsked at that birdbrain, choosing such a precarious place.

But we stopped throughout the day to look at the nest.

And then the eggs.

And then glimpses of wee baby birds under that dove. 

Once or twice we spotted the chicks, mama gone on a short trip.

Between Sunday and this morning, though, the nest was emptied.

This morning, when there were only a pair of adult doves in the tree.

They seemed to be searching, hopping from branch to branch.

Wondering where those fuzzy chicks might have gone.

I wondered and searched with them--not even a speck of fluff on the ground.

These things happen.

Branches can be spindly.

Sometimes the wind can really blow.

And we are left mourning.

Out Of The Hermitage

The whole tonsils/ear/throat thing means that I hadn't really left the house for a few days. 

I dragged myself to work today, ears not so achy, but voice at about quarter strength.

The morning went well enough (mostly due to sweet volunteers) that I had a bit of leftover energy to notice flowers and even a butterfly as I headed back to my car.

(And yes, there was more spicy soup, then a mighty nap.)

The Only Way Out...

It's not every day that a bird taps at my window, but this fledgling showed up this evening. He seemed quite lost, dashing along the length of the window and screen and then he lost himself in the boxwood as if uncertain which way was out.

Not long after, I saw him thrashing against the fence.

Instinct only gets a bird so far. There's an awkward time of flapping about, gaining both coordination and sense. 

Hopefully this little guy will make it safely through the next few weeks, and he'll take to the skies gloriously. 

First Bloom

Behold, the first gardenia bloom of the season. Not the most lush or symmetrical, but given the weekend's storms, this seems miracle enough.

The weather has been warm enough for flowers for weeks--I've seen gardenias in flower in my neighbors yards. I've been checking this bush every day. So many buds, so tightly closed... until now.  

There are ways to force a gardenia to bloom, I'm told--most involve narrow temperature ranges and restricting access to light. Difficult to bring about in an outdoor plant, and quite honestly, it sounds like plant torture.

Alternately, I could give up, turn my back in frustration. The plant would not care, and I might miss out on something remarkable. 

Patience is rarely my strong suit, but nature has plentiful reminders that these things cannot be rushed or even planned for. Just keep your eyes open to joy when it comes, and breathe in the sweet fragrance when it is available to you. 

And then keep hope--that more blooms will follow in the weeks to come, and with a certain nurturing of the plant, again next year.

Church Weekends

'Tis the season of concerts and youth services, auctions and plays atop the usual rich tapestry of meetings. And so very much of it takes place on the weekend.

Here's my starter list to myself--ways to maintain some sense of life:
1) Share responsibilities whenever possible
2) Date on Thursdays (or whenever you don't have a meeting)
3) Figure out what you can say no to
4) Bubble bath or what creature comforts you can fit in
5) Keep in touch with the people you live with. You need them for #1 and because you like them
6) Vegetables, water, sunlight. Not just melted cheese, coffee/beer, dank cave.
7) Sleeeeeep

Maybe Next Year

My partner sent me an email today. "Hey! Passover starts today."

I sent back a quick, "Yeah, I'm not going to get around to that this year. Good thing you bought yourself (half-sour) pickles."

Seriously. Store-bought pickles are the closest I'm getting to doing a Seder this year.

Easter's only happening because my mother's in town and we already had a turkey in the freezer. But there will be no dyeing of eggs, no carefully arranged baskets, and no way will I attend sunrise service, even though it's half a mile from my house.

I'm a Sunday School director, so there will be some amount of Happy Bunny Land at work.

Getting back to 'normal' is hard work. Getting to full holiday observances? Another mountain entirely.

On Wisconsin!

To the Elegant Eight!
(Or whatever it's called...)

What A Grown Up Would Do

We lose an hour tonight. POOF. Evaporated.  

An hour of sleep! That's important!

A rational soul realizes that by going to bed earlier, sleep loss is not inevitable.

In practice, however...

Blogs need writing.
Chris Hemsworth is on Saturday Night Live.
People are amusing on the internet.

Do I have clean socks to wear tomorrow?

People notice when the Sunday School director shows up late.

Risk

This anole thinks he is hiding from us.

See, he would love to be out on that dark wood trim, basking in the afternoon sun.

But I am far bigger than him, and he's unsure of my intentions. Perhaps I want to eat him or rip off his tail... or maybe he's just camera shy.

He will be a bit cold as he hunkers down with the weather tonight, but he lives to see another day. 

Choosing when to stick one's neck out can be a complicated decision.

Surprises in Flight

As I left work this evening, something zipped through the edge of my vision.

Look! A butterfly!

Yes, Houston is a mild clime, and this is the warmest day of the week. Still, this took me by surprise.

I put my lunchbox and books and purse on the ground, grabbing my phone to try to catch a picture.

Only time for two clicks before it fluttered away--somehow both showed the wings outstretched- together it looked like a rust twig.

I am not a skilled photographer. I just take a lot of shots, and try to keep an eye on the light. Sometimes I get lucky.

There and Back

 I spent the weekend at a conference in the Hill Country outside Kerrville, Texas. (Which is outside of San Antonio...)

It is quite remote--cell signal was extremely limited, and there's no such thing as a quick trip to the store.

Thankfully the conference organizers had figured out groceries and such, and a couple of days away from the internet don't really need to kill me. Heck--it even gave me a reason to learn how to schedule posts so I could set them up before I left town in the first place.


So I shared meals and hopes and challenges with colleagues, learned from guest speakers and long-known local wise people.

And we had egregiously wonderful weather Saturday, so I took a few nice long walks up actual hills* and looked at actual rocks* and did my best to admire cactus from a distance.

I stood under trees and windmills, tested the cistern/pool with my fingertips, and took silly pictures with the stuffed animal my son sent along on this trip.

And I got some really good sleep.


*Houston is low-lying and near the Gulf coast. We have very few hills or native rocks.