A track to go with the day

If you have had to go through all of this day without hearing a quote from a Ryan Reynolds character, let me be the one to remedy that for you...

"Now it's a great feeling when you find the right track to go with the day. And today, I have found the absolute... perfect song. The other... perfect song." [Cue: "Everyday People" by Sly and the Family Stone (whose records are filed under "S" for Sly and Stone at my parents' house... another story for another day)]

(In case you don't know what I'm talking about because you've never seen the movie, you should see the movie. But until then, this should get you caught up: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SWGlkmw2lyM&feature=related).

I relish the days when there is a perfect track to go with the day. And I really see no reason why this shouldn't be possible every day. It's just that some days, the perfect track packs more of a punch than others.

A couple of weeks ago I was sitting in the lobby of a hotel in downtown Halifax, NS, waiting for my mother to get herself (and her 90-lb duffle bag (which to be fair may have only weighed 75 lbs. at that point)) from the Halifax airport to the hotel (We weren't picking up the rental car until a couple of days later when we had planned to leave Halifax and explore the rest of the province. For the time being, we didn't need a vehicle to explore Halifax itself.)

Anyway, I sat and sat and sat. People came and people went. I just sat. Luckily, the hotel folks had hired a fellow to play his guitar and sing for the customers as they were busy coming and going. Only in my case, they were paying him to play his guitar and sing while I sat and waited.

Eventually, the troubadour played this song, and I smiled to myself because I knew this was it. This was my perfect track to go with the day today. He didn't sing it quite like Willie does, but he did it justice in his own way.

Now why this song was the perfect track for my day as I sat some 2,200 highway miles from New Orleans, is a complete and utter mystery to me. I wasn't in (the U.S. of) America, it wasn't morning, I wasn't on or all that near a train... But it never matters why. It just matters that the song hits you between the eyes (ears?) and makes your day better for having heard it.

For the record, today's song is:

Isn't it bouncy and beautiful?

Birds: Part II

Back to the business of posting some bird photos again. Today's theme is birds of various colors. I'm limiting these to friends we can see right here in North America. I'll leave their perhaps more obvious counterparts from the Tropics alone for the time being.

This is a Summer Tanager, a member of the Cardinalidae family and a specialist on capturing and eating bees and wasps. All red.

This fellow is a Blue Grosbeak, also of Cardinalidae. He's obviously wondering who that strikingly handsome bird in the water is and whether he poses any threat.

This is a Prothonotary Warbler. Named for clerks in the Catholic Church who wore bright golden robes. (Other birds named for Catholic officials: Northern Cardinal, Orange Bishop.)

Tundra swans in an (apparently) empty cornfield on NWR land in mid-winter. They've been out feeding all day and are about to go huddle together on or near a nearby lake to keep safe and warm on this winter night.

American Bittern. Hard to spot, huh? That's not an accident. He's hiding and doing a pretty good job of it.

There was a cat yowling outside of my window last night...

I took a blogging break. I went away for two weeks (one for work, the second for vacation). And then I had to take a third week just to catch up from being gone for two weeks. But now, I've put writing a post at the top of my list, and it's actually getting done (for the record, things at the bottom of my list often stand a better chance of being checked off than those at the top, not sure why, but sometimes I can use this knowledge to trick myself into doing something that needs to be done).

Anyway, here I am writing in spite of missing lots of sleep last night because of a waxing moon, a yowling cat and a beagle who noticed both. It's good to be back - mostly.

At the beginning of this first week back, this is what my brain looked like on the inside. Maybe it looked a little that way last night as I was trying to sleep too. But mostly, now that it's a Friday, and things have come back under some semblance of control, the stack of papers on my desk is completely gone, laundry is done, fridge is fuller than it used to be and some nasty statistics have been wrangled with to the point of needing to sit for a while and stew, and I got a haircut...

my brain can look a little more like this - relaxed.

I'm sure I'll get around to writing more about the trip I took sometime (maybe I should put that at the bottom of my list), but for now, these are a few haphazardly selected photos.

It rained a lot where I was, but at some point, the beach rocks got a chance to dry out and then big drips of water started falling from the sky again. This was the brief moment in between dry rocks and newly wet rocks.

This cormorant misses me, I can tell. Do you see the way he is looking out to sea for me to come back?

Well, this beagle missed me too. It's not captured by this shot, but I'm told he waited patiently for my return by staring down a dirt road watching for clouds of dust.

She's here (and you're not here)

For the past six years, I have been away from my family (geographically speaking), working on graduate school and my career. This summer, I had the opportunity to move back near my family to complete my final year of graduate school (fingers crossed).

I have done this to have the chance to be nearer to my sister and brother-in-law's growing family and to be nearer to family in general. I have done this because I believe that it is the best thing for me right now.

I have done this. All of my things are moved into a new house. More than once already, I have walked into that house and looked at my belongings put away in new places and thought, "What is all of my stuff doing here in Kansas?"

While I was away, there were occasions on which I wish I could have been here. Phone calls were the substitute.

I had to hear about it over the phone from far away when my niece was born, "She's here!" But what my brain thought (not to be confused with what was said) was, "She's here (but you're not there...)!"

When my grandmother passed away recently, I again had to hear over the phone from across the miles, "She's gone." But again, what my brain thought was, "She's gone (and you're not there)."

There were other times when there were phone calls that made me want to say, "I'll be right over; I'll be right there." It was my first and only impulse to say that very thing. But it wasn't something I could say and have it be true.

Now I can say it and have it be true. For that I am grateful.

I get to see this cheesy smile almost every day.

The wheat has waved me home.

Birds: Part I

Once upon a time when I was an undergraduate at Benedictine College, I did some research involving bird biodiversity on a mitigated Missouri River wetland site.

Then I switched to researching Prozac in fish (everyone always giggles when I say this, but it's the truth) for my Master's degree. Birds got left behind.

Then, being unfulfilled academically with the world of fish research, I opted to gear my life back in the avian direction when it was time for a new degree.

This time around, being scientist performing bird research instigated a new hobby. Birding. Not birdwatching, mind you. But birding. There's a difference. Ask any birder - he or she will tell you.

So in hopes of sharing some of the fruits of this hobby, my plan is to write a few posts with some photos of (what I think are) interesting birds. Some of these species are easy to find, others not so much. But in every case, I'm pretty sure that the photos don't actually do the birds justice.

It's hard enough to take photos of birds anyway - they can move in three dimensions you know. I am only accustomed to moving in two. And without a telephoto lens, I have to be sneaky to get as close as I do most times.

Anyway, the birdy posts shall commence with... shorebirds!

A breeding (or at least the male is hopeful that this is/will be so) pair of Least Terns. He is offering her a small fish in return for her affections. She is slighting him by aiming her tail feathers in the direction of his stinky fish. I'm not hungry right now, thank you. He followed her around, wagging this fish at her for a good while. He never tired of the exercise, and she never tired of showing him her backside. I, however, did tire of the escapade and moved on with my life without waiting to see how it turned out.

Here we have a Whimbrel (on left with down-curved bill) and a Black-bellied Plover (toward the right (with black belly)) and some Semipalmated Plovers mixed in. Shorebirds are fun/frustrating because you never really know what you might be able to pick out in a mixed flock of migrants. Almost anything could be lurking in there. Somebody's always leaving the flock, and someone else is always flying in, but it's the birder's job to keep track of them all while scanning the whole flock to make sure that there are no Purple Sandpipers where there aren't normally Purple Sandpipers. A spotting scope (though I hate to admit it) can help.

Here is one of the oddest-looking birds I can think of. Orange eyes, red bill and pink legs make this an American Oystercatcher. And yes, this one is wading amongst the oysters in this oyster bed, going about his work of... catching oysters. In true life he is probably just looking for little crabs and insects in there. But they do eat oysters too.

Here is one of a Dunlin in the spring, still working on his black belly patch for to impress the lady Dunlin in the summer. Though you can't really see it here, this species is characterized by a slightly drooping bill. I may, on my bravest of days, dare to refer to it as cute. It's as if someone took a normal shorebird bill and grabbed it by the end and bent it downward ever so slightly.

And this bird... oh this is one of my favorites. A Marbled Godwit. This guy has the opposite bill situation from the Dunlin above in that his long, skinny bill is slightly upcurved. And oh so delicate.

Now boys and girls, don't try this at home, but I walked through multiple oyster beds at low tide in flip-flops to take a picture of that bird. That is the extent to which my admiration for this species will take me (well, I'd probably do something crazier, but I didn't have a need to this time).

What was I doing in the salt marsh at low tide wearing flip-flops you might ask? Well, kayaking of course. The thing about turning into a birder is that in the beginning, you might forget that you're a birder (and that birders never stop birding) and then go do something like get in a kayak wearing flip-flops at low tide. But then being unable keep from birding, it becomes necessary to exit the vessel and pursue your quarry on (flip-flopped) foot.

The end result was the photo above and a left big toe with a large slice on the side. A slice that has left a scar. A scar that I think of in my head as my Godwit scar.

Beverages in mugs

Confession: I have become partial to consuming beverages exclusively from coffee mugs (whenever possible).

This habit may have begun when I began drinking coffee.

That habit began when I began my fourth year of graduate school (while living with a compulsive coffee drinker - A.R., you know I blame/thank you).

Caveat: Beverages consumed from coffee mugs are not limited to coffee and tea. They can be milk, lemonade, water or even bourbon and ginger ale for all I care.

(Attempt at) Explanation: There is just something about the way you can wrap your hand through the handle of a mug and grip it around its sides and raise it to your face to sip that makes its appeal superior to that of non-coffee-mug-beverage containers.

Confession (about someone else): Now I have another friend (C. R., this is you) who has gone a bit farther with a coffee mug fetish. This friend has been known to develop strong, nearly inexplicable feelings for specific, certain coffee mugs. They fill a hole in this person's heart. For this reason, these specific, certain coffee mugs must be obtained by any means possible and kept safe forever.

Sympathizing: While I understand this (and really, I do; I am not mocking), it has not yet gone that far for me. Not with coffee mugs at least. Though I did once have special flat(ish) fork that appealed to me in an perplexing way (and is now lost forever, sigh).

Cheers!

Sleeping Beagle: Part II

This is a photo from this very morning of the Beagle sleeping comfortably while I work. He has this habit of sleeping in the most comfortable spot and position he can think of. This post is dedicated to that most comfortable position he employs.

I swear he sleeps like this of his own volition. I do not wait until he is deep into his sleep and then roll him onto his back (though that would create the same result).

It can be quite humorous to come home and find him sleeping like this. The photo above represents one of the times when I walked into the house and he was too lazy to even get up from his sleeping nook/cranny to greet me as I entered. How many dogs do not even get up when their owners walk into the house?

Only one that I know of.

Days like this, I know with utmost certainty that I have walked him adequately.

He was evidently walked adequately on this day too. This was directly after several hours of hiking on a mountain trail in the Appalachians. There were a couple of pauses to swim and wade in mountain pools and streams, but there was much walking in between the pauses. The dogs all lounged around while their humans played frisbee barefoot in the grass. It was a very good day.

The dogs got an extra scoop of food after that hike and a chilly night in the tents.

And just to show you that Maximilian does not always sleep in so undignified a manner, here is a photo of what is perhaps his second favorite sleeping position: cuddled and covered up in a blanket with only his eyes peeping out. He usually does need a little help getting set up like this, though I have found him wrapped in a blanket without any external help before.

He sometimes gets a chilly nose.

Fodder for a Corolla commercial

I rented a car for my recent trip to North Dakota to capture and sample sparrows for my research.



View Larger Map

North Dakota has a few major interstate highways running through it. But in the area in which I was working, the roads were mostly gravel at best. The area is also known for its plentiful wet meadows and prairie potholes. These are the reasons I go there. Rather, these are the reasons the birds I study go there, and so I go there because the birds go there.

Anyway, I rented a car for the trip.

I was granted a shiny, white, new(-ish) Corolla.

This is not what it looked like when I received it.

After a continuous day of rain and various trips back and forth on muddy gravel (or dirt) roads, the Corolla lost its shininess and whiteness. But the plucky little car that could soldiered on.

I felt like I was stuck inside of a Subaru commercial except that I was driving a Toyota.

The little car did not let me get stuck in the mud and did just as well as I could have expected any Subaru to do. I have half a mind to make my own commercial, set it to some snazzy music and submit it to Toyota's marketing department. I think they're letting Subaru get away with hogging too much of the outdoorsy demographic.

Timelessness of Bubbles

The boy was over at the house visiting recently. He waltzed in wearing his LeBron James jersey (upon questioning, he revealed that he was a bit testy about the recent Heat loss in the national championship series; the loss still stung). We tended to some farm animals and looked at some tadpoles. We tried to find a radio station with "dancing music," argued about whether the boy would ever have the need to learn the two-step and were restless about what to do next.

I mentioned that we had some bubbles - he whooped with joy (this is the boy who just turned 10 and is too cool for many things now, but bubbles have apparently not yet made that cut).


This is the boy probably 7 years ago blowing bubbles. I shared this photo in his birthday post, but I thought it was worth sharing again for comparison to the new photos below.


Bubbles apparently elicit the same expression today as they did for the boy as a toddler.


The challenge he set forth for himself with the bubbles was different, however (the boy is always coming up with various challenges to make everyday activities more interesting; being a boy, he cannot just blow bubbles - he has to turn it into a hunting or gathering exercise).

Previously, he had been thrilled with toddling around trying to pop all of the bubbles. This time, he was trying to use one dip of the wand for as long as possible, conserving bubble fluid. This made it imperative that he chase down and recapture the biggest bubbles that came out of the wand and then blow new bubbles from the recaptured one and so on and so forth until the original aliquot of bubble fluid was spent.


He was especially pleased when he was able to catch the bubbles back onto both sides of the wand.

The Beagle watched quietly, oblivious to the invented challenge, his nearness to King James and the bubbles


Then we ate supper. Dessert (or maybe the main course) consisted of gummy worms which the boy ate quite politely with a fork.

Fireflies and Stars

When I take the Beagle out for his nighttime walk these days, I have been seeing two sets of lights in the sky. Down the hill from the house, between the yard and the corn field, is the gravel road. This road is the corridor within which the fireflies tend to congregate at this time of night. There are dozens of them, flitting about, showing off their bioluminescent capabilities.

When look up the slope of the corn field toward the night sky and blink quickly, I cannot tell which lights belong to the fireflies and which belong to the stars. In those snapshots of sight, the stars hurtle closer to the earth, and the fireflies zoom into outer space. And I stand still. And the Beagle sniffs around for signs of opossums.