Feel-good stuff

We've been doing plenty of reading here at our home. Summer is great for that, you know. Not to mention, since a lengthy to-do list for our newly purchased house cannot peaceably coexist with a cushy vacation budget, reading allows us little escapes via the back yard and our imagination...

So my son and I were reading together (taking turns, but mostly me) and one of the mystery stories we read featured a slightly silly story about a scientist mom and her inquisitive daughter, studying penguins during an oil spill. In the story, the daughter explained to a friend that the oil-soaked penguins try to preen their feathers, and even if they've been bathed, they still find and ingest enough oil to sicken and often kill them. In addition, the spilled oil, the baths and the extra preening strip away the necessary, binding oils on their skin and feathers—the very stuff that seals their coats and keeps the penguins warm in freezing water.

Oil-soaked, oil-poisoned, too-cold penguins. That's bad. And the solution? The scientist mom designed a pattern for penguin sweaters. The kids publicized the situation and the pattern. Knitters all over the world responded, and sent the tiny sweaters... and it worked! Penguins were saved!

Nice story, I thought. Whatever. Couldn't happen.

But it could! It did. My son kept reading and found sections in the back detailing true stories that inspired the fictionalized ones we'd read. You can see for yourself! penguins

And then, our searching on YouTube (which was carefully filtered by me, of course) brought forth another gem: swimming

You have to watch almost all the way through, to see the little creature be lifted out. Make certain you have your sound turned up, because its utterance is the best part.

Watch them both, and I dare you to not say "Awwwwwww" at least once while viewing.

From rats to bats

You may recall our unhappy little run-in with rats at the last house (note to self: do not feed the birds black oil sunflower ever again!) and how difficult it was for us to shake those critters.

Well, a couple of weeks ago, the kid and I were shocked to find a bat hanging on the living room curtain one morning. Yes, inside the living room. In our new home. I went to open the curtains, looked up to the top of them, and proceeded to shriek like a banshee. There, gazing back at me, was what appeared to be a bat. My son noticed I was behaving oddly and I asked him to confirm that, indeed, there was a bat atop the curtain... and yes, he agreed shakily, that was a bat.

We ducked lower than normal and ran to get out of PJs and into real clothing—because we wanted to be properly dressed when we hurriedly met some new neighbors (preferably someone with testosterone, thus all the better to assist us in removing said bats). After a couple of strikeouts (no one home), we lucked out three doors down the street with a poor fellow who was just preparing to enjoy his day off. He was less than enthusiastic about helping us evict the visitors, but tried to put on a brave face and marched back to our house with us.

To make a long story short, one bat had become two bats by the time we came back into the house, and in the process of trapping those bats behind a large fishing net against the curtain and carrying them outside, they morphed yet again into three bats... one of which appeared to be smaller. I'm not sure the small one could fly yet; apparently, it had been clinging to one of the other, larger bats.

We prodded the bats with broomsticks (as gently as possible, to get them off the curtain) and then watched them crawl across the grass and climb up the side of our house to a shady spot behind the gas meter. They can't walk, you see; they move by this strange, awkward but oddly quick gate on the "fingers" of their wings. It's both repulsive and fascinating. Then we began trying to discern the point of entry. (We think they sneaked in around a huge gap in our side storm door. That'll need replacing. Even if that isn't where they entered, it still needs some serious work.)

(And oh, by the way, my husband watched 12 of them exit the unprotected, unscreened attic vent the other night on their way out to feast on bugs. Which, granted, is a good thing. I know they do good work. I know. Still... not sharing the house permanently with them. Sorry.)

We've been doing a lot of research since then. Did you know that bats are protected here in western PA? That you can't hire anyone to eradicate them? That while you are encouraged to not let them live in your attic, since their guano is toxic, technically you're breaking the law if you kill them? And also, that since June and July are typically when the moms are nursing their "pups" (no kidding, that's what they're called) that you're not advised to kick them out because the babies can't fly yet and will be trapped inside your home to die... all while the frantic mommy bat flies crazily around, seeking any entry into your home to save her baby? (Did I mention that they can squeeze through holes about as big as a dime?)

So, yes, we have some house guests for a few more days... just to ensure that the babies are flying and we won't wreck any families. And then, somehow, when those babes are definitely airborne, we'll get them out. There are humane ways (one-way exits shaped like giant net stockings, basically) and we'll try that, I suppose. The clean-up? We might have to call a professional. All the scary discussions online about the poison poo, the respiratory infections it causes, and the inevitable bat mites that linger after the eviction have frankly got me rather spooked.

I never thought that I'd have to permit and share space with these squatters who lived in our home before we did. Nor did I ever expect that my rights would fall secondarily to theirs... or at least it feels that way.

Hot, hot, hot

Have you noticed that the weather is unseemly, unseasonably, un-Godly hot? Especially for this early in the summer? What the h***???

On another note, we are now official residents of the South Hills of Pittsburgh.

It's different but good. The traffic is worse, but we knew that going in. The new street and neighborhood have been swell so far, with friendly folks and plenty of peace and quiet.

There have been, and will continue to be, some home repairs, yard fixes, adjustments and such. We knew that, too, although I don't know if we envisioned quite this many. Alas, the place is our little money pit now, so we'll grin, bear it, and prioritize long, long lists of projects.

We have no regrets. (The only things I've missed are a more flat backyard and the central A/C we left behind...) I do believe that this is the place God had in mind for us. And if it's possible for a house to feel, then this little house is content— happy to contain a permanent family again after years of solitude.

Stay cool and check back soon. I hope someday to resume painting, to actually complete unpacking and organizing tasks, and to write a meaningful entry about the trials of the sale/purchase/move/baseball playoffs/last days of school all within about a 48-hour period of time. (Although, I've noticed that already, my mind has begun to block the unpleasantness of the entire experience...)

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Please say a prayer for blessings on all our troops who daily defend the freedoms that many Americans take for granted. We celebrate Independence Day for more reasons than cook-outs and fireworks.

Guilty pleasures

Every now and then, something slightly off-kilter or mildly inappropriate makes me giggle. I am genuinely not amused by crude humor or jokes that aim to offend, but the funnies that reach out a toe to wiggle it over the line? Sometimes, I can't help myself.

There are a couple of websites that are often riotously, hilariously funny. One is Cake Wrecks and it details poorly illustrated or verbally expressed cake toppings. Another site that never fails to bring laughter is Awkward Family Photos, because it is exactly what it says: photos from personal collections that are just uproariously ridiculous for a variety of reasons.

Seeing as it's card season here, what with grads, dads, and the end of baseball approaching, I found myself in the card section at Target. And there, lo and behold, they have a section of greeting cards created by the folks at Awkward Family Photo.

People, I chortled aloud, by myself, in Target. Maybe I'm just a weirdo, but something about these cards cracked me up.

So, yes. I confess. I laughed out loud at real people on cards at the department store. And it felt kinda good.

P.S. If I drop off the face of the earth for a few days, it's because we're packing, playing playoff baseball games, finishing the school year, closing on two houses in one day, and then physically relocating to our new home. Did I mention that it all goes down this week, to be completed by mid-day on Saturday? Yep. Prayers are appreciated. Thanks.

Falling out of love

I come from a history of "stuff" people. I'm not saying that any of my ancestors were hoarders or anything; I'm just saying that a lot of my relatives really liked (and still like) to surround themselves with their favorite objects—all one billion of them.

Perhaps your lineage is similar to mine (rampant with collectors); or, it's possible that you just happen to be in love with stuff, like most of the folks in our country. If I'm talking about you, and you'd like to change, I have a wonderful solution. Read on.

First, get big piles of your belongings—not the stuff you use every day, mind you, but the stuff that you like and that isn't sentimentally loaded with meaning. For example, the bowl set you got on sale (but not Aunt Mary's measuring cup). The funky little lamp that was on clearance but doesn't really match anything in your home, the kitchen "convenience" that has been responsible for more dust bunnies than culinary wonders. Or you men: the third tool set, perhaps, or the great gift, years old now, that has never left its box.

Now, put all those items in containers and hide them completely out of sight—in the attic, a shed, the darkest corner of your basement.

Then, wait at least six weeks. Don't peek in the boxes.

And then, peek. Ponder how little you've missed the items. Think deeply about how their absence made not one iota of difference in your day-to-day life.

Take it a step further: picture in your mind all those same items, along with all your other truly necessary possessions, being hoisted, lifted, and cursed quietly by your friends who have to pick them up and move them to another dwelling.

Now, take all the items you've suddenly realized you can easily live without, and cull any truly valuable pieces for secondhand sales attempts on craigslist. The rest of that stuff? Place it all in the back of your car. Drive to a nearby charity. Leave it there, and drive away.

(Regarding the re-sale attempts, establish a firm, short sales window and stick with your deadline; if the items don't sell, get rid of them the same way you got rid of the rest.)

Finally, breathe deeply. Life is all about perspective. You just had to gain a new perspective about a significant chunk of your household trappings. All that was required was a mental image of people you know and like, sweating and struggling, working to transfer all those unused space stealers.

It's so easy to fall out of love. Isn't it?

Random things I am loving

We proceed with caution through the approaching move/home sale/home purchase/chaos. While this all unfolds, we are trying to remember to praise God for every blessing—and there have been many.

I am also praising some other stuff of late. Allow me to share.

Yoplait Greek Yogurt in Coconut flavor

People, if a yogurt could be custom-created for me, it would be this one. Thick, not too sour, with tiny flecks of coconut wonderfulness hiding in its creamy, protein-rich glory. Imagine Homer Simpson making his donut-induced salivation sound right now; yes, that's the sound I make when I indulge in this spectacular, palate-pleasing treat.

Birds, especially baby birds, their parents, and mockingbirds

I kept hearing an insistent chirrup in the back yard. Further investigation revealed a baby robin, tufty and under-developed in tail feathers. He hopped around, occasionally fluttering his fuzzy wings and taking short, unstable flights. His mom or dad was hovering nearby, staying a bit ahead of him, trying to encourage the little one but not making it too easy for him. Now, two days after the initial discovery, the baby has managed to avoid becoming feral cat food, and he's improved sufficiently to fly away from me when I approach. It's a good thing Todd snapped a few photos when the "kid" was still unable to flee; I couldn't get near him earlier this morning.

Mockingbirds have the most amazing vocal talents. I don't know how they manage to imitate so many different birds and their very distinct songs; I just checked on the incredibly non-factual Wikipedia; that ever-evolving virtual tome of fantasy claims that mockingbirds can make over 400 different sounds, songs, and calls. That seems like a lot... Regardless, mockingbirds are large but not scary, attractive, relatively friendly birds who sing up a storm. Like Harper Lee said, they don't do one thing but make music for us to enjoy. I hope you encounter one soon if you haven't already. Delightful.

Being an old hag of a mother

Being an older mom of a 7-year-old has its advantages. Just as being older in general frees me from excessive concern about what others might think of me, being a "mature" mom of a primary-grade son helps me to shuck off any of the silly parenting trends that sweep our confused, under-disciplined nation on a daily basis. Perhaps having a background as a teacher helps, too; nothing but experience with kids could possibly prepare you for the attitudes and trickery employed by that young population. Either way, I can see where extra years bring extra value to parenting.

Even more important, though, is the fact that my surplus birthdays give me an appreciation for the sheer miracle of life: conception, pregnancy, birth, babies, toddlers, first words and steps... if I'd been a fresh-faced, rubber-hipped child myself when I had my boy, I would have missed the wonder of the whole thing. I feel some pity for those slim, energetic moms and dads. Yes, they bounce back into shape, do without amazing amounts of sleep, and can keep up with the newly mobile; yes, they can juggle three at a time in the grocery store (with the help of fancy race-car carts). But do they really grasp just how amazing and awe-inspiring the whole thing is? Even in my late 20s, I don't think I could truly grok this fleeting, fabulous gift we call life. How could I carefully mark those special moments of my child's life if I hadn't even begun to really take note of them in my own existence yet?

I'd better wrap up. There's much to do, and only my hands to do it. What are you loving today? There are little blessings all around us when we remember to adjust our gaze.

Piney*

A rare, quiet, calm Saturday morning—a chance to ponder one of God's amazing gifts:

Heavy, pink, with sweet perfume
Must be the wondrous peony bloom,
My very favorite petal bearer.

Its heady, old-world scent steals out
To every ant that lurks about
And lures them to that flower fair.

They try to peek in, as do I—
When will its brilliance greet the sky?
We watch, wait on appointed time,

And then, a pale magenta shade!
The very sight for which I'd prayed:
I lean in close, inhale—it's fine.

*My mom tells me this was the preferred pronunciation of my grandmother. She loved them, too.