Month: April 2023

I like birds. Really.

I’m not a birdwatcher, someone who goes tromping around in the woods or a swamp in the wee hours of the morning with high-powered binoculars hanging from my neck hoping to catch a glimpse of a red-crested twit or some such feathered creature. I don’t like them that much.

But I like a them flitting around the trees outside my house. I like them pulling up worms from my yard. I even like them – although a little less – when they are warbling away at daybreak outside my bedroom window.

I even used to feed all my feathered friends, particularly in the winter when the ground is frozen over and covered in snow. I would still feed them except like everything else outside my house, such as the potted plants on my patio, other critters discovered the free food. My bird feeders have been ransacked, ripped apart, cracked, smashed, mangled, and dragged away into the woods. 

I even had the pretty sturdy pole supporting one feeder bent out of shape and pulled to the ground by what I can only hope was an overly enthusiastic raccoon or perhaps a squirrel on steroids. (The alternative doesn’t bear thinking about.)

But friendships can be strained, and I must say I am a bit on the outs with the birds.

A couple of days ago, I heard a persistent noise in the kitchen. A banging and a bashing. Against the glass door and window. It turns out that a robin was flying into the glass, obviously seeing a reflection of himself. After shooing him off, he returned. Repeatedly. As in all day, until it was driving me crazy.

A little research showed that this is a common problem in the spring as some male birds seek to defend their territories. When the male sees his reflection in a window, he thinks it’s a rival and so flies at him to make him leave. (Women everywhere are nodding their heads, going yep, males doing something incredibly stupid and then thinking we are going to be impressed.)

The solution: Put up something so that he can’t see his reflection. So we hung up towels inside the window and door. No luck. He still saw his reflection.

Next, we tried taping newspapers to the windows and door. Nope. So I taped the newspapers on the outside.

So what happened next? It started raining, of course. So outside I go to retrieve my damp newspapers. Ol’ rockin’ robin immediate starts bashing into the window. After an hour or so of this, I decide soggy newspaper is better than opening the bar in the early afternoon, so I tape them back up. 

This seems to work – mostly. I noticed the demented robin fly half-heartedly into the newsprint a couple of times, but perhaps it was just that a particularly interesting story caught his eye.  

So here I sit at the kitchen table, looking out the window at the front page from last week’s local rag flapping in the breeze that is now approaching gale force wind speed. And over there on the door is a full page car ad. It would be nice to look outside my window and see, you know, the  green of spring, but for right now a view of part of the sports page will have to do.

All because of some twittering bird-brained nitwit. 

At this point, I’m not sure if I’m referring to the bird or to myself.

This comes on the heels of another bird-related incident. A couple of weeks ago I was thrilled to look outside and see a bluebird perched on a railing right outside my front door. We rarely see bluebirds in our yard, so I hurriedly grabbed my phone to snap a photo and send it to the wife. Look! A sure sign or spring! It has to be a good omen, right! Things are looking up! Happy days ahead!

When I looked for the bluebird a bit later, I saw him perched on my car mirror. How cute! Let me snap another picture. Wait! What is he doing? Don’t peck at my mirror. Why are you smashing into my window? And, hey, don’t do that on my car! Dammit. Shoo. Get away from my car, you pesky little &*$%!

I don’t mean to be cynical, but I can’t help but see a message in all this: Spring may be the season of hope and rebirth, but sometimes even the Bluebird of Happiness can shit on you.

Here we go again. 

I don’t mean that I have started this blog back after a longer-than-expected … um … creative hiatus, shall we say. I mean another bathroom remodel.

Loyal readers will recall the previous remodeling, which eventually resulted in a fabulous new master bathroom that we had been dreaming about for years. Now, we have started in on the guest bathroom, even though we rarely have guests who stay long enough to have need of a bathroom (if you discount the toilet).

So we started with a simple rip-out-and-replace plan. Take all the crap out (pun intended) and simply replace with upgraded sinks, etc. 

Not so fast. First, replacing the plastic tub/shower combo (in a rare harvest gold not often seen these days) was … problematic. Or, to be more concise, impossible. Our local national hardware store chain said they could get one in about two months, which didn’t exactly fit our preferred time frame seeing as our contractor had his crowbar poised, so to speak.

I mean, what is it with these supply chain issues? Doesn’t anybody make anything anymore? Or deliver them? They say unemployment is extremely low, so what kind of job does everybody have? Surely they aren’t all investment bankers or hedge fund managers or other paper shufflers who make fabulous amounts of money while not actually, you know, doing anything constructive like making something or delivering it. Although I may have to get into the hedge fund business after seeing how much things like a plastic tub/shower combo that you can’t even get cost.

And speaking of highly paid yahoos who don’t do anything constructive, what are all our politicians doing about all this other than bad-mouthing each other or stashing national secrets in their closet? Don’t they get frustrated when they order something and are told it will be six months to get here. Talk about your slow boat from China.

But I digress. I think everyone at some point in their life should experience the joys of deconstruction and subsequent reconstruction in the sanctity of their own home. Ah, the whine of the tile saw. The banging of hammers. The dust falling like snow throughout the house. The gnawing apprehension of what actually might lie behind those walls they are tearing out. The dawning realization that, no, I don’t really care what kind of crown molding I want in a bathroom I will rarely use.

Anyway, much like my creative spark the past few months, we are in a holding pattern with our little bathroom project while we wait on the specialist sub-contractors to do their magic. So don’t plan on visiting us right now – you don’t know how long you might have to hold it in.