Spring at 7500 Feet

 

Daffodils, photo by Merry Bond

Daffodils, photo by Merry Bond

Happy Easter, Happy Spring! Happy woodpeckers and bluebirds pecking on our house!

Those are the signs of spring here at 7500 feet in southern Colorado. Seven does and three yearlings were grazing in the back yard off our patio yesterday morning. At dawn this morning my cat, Dickens, sat on the windowsill watching wild turkeys strutting about in our driveway. Just now I had to chase a bluebird away from pecking holes outside the loft bedroom window. Twice. The second time he (or she) flew as far as the nearby pine branch and chirped in frustration at me.

Last summer we paid a couple fellows to climb up on scaffolding to fill in all the holes the little critters had made from previous years. The woodpeckers like to stash acorns and such in there. The bluebirds make nests of them. I guess our house is warmer than trees. Or maybe they like our music?

Oh, and my daffodils are coming up. I think the deer ate all the crocuses.

 

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Two Cats Too Many?

Blue and Riley

Blue and Riley

Busy, busy, busy. And I thought retiring was supposed to leave me more time for doing what I enjoy. It does, but I enjoy so much! Do you have so many things you like to do, but can’t find the time to do them all?

I love writing, and writing one novel in particular, is my main project. Then there’s all I have learned about social media recently at the Tucson Festival of Books. I’m sure you know how it is. You learn something new, get all excited, and have to jump right in there and try it all. In this case, it makes sense for me to sit down and set my goals and write my biographies and sign up on social media sites and learn Hootsuite and redo my blog and, and, and . . . .

And last night I was blasted out of a sound sleep by the screeching of our three cats fighting. Yeah, three of them. I never thought we’d have three but, Dickens, my main man, struck out for parts unknown last summer and, when he didn’t come home for food for four days, we were sure he was gone forever. There’s raptors, coyotes and bears around here, and we try to keep the guy in at night, but he had his own idea about that.

So we went right to the shelter and brought back Riley and Blue, two all black males who got along great. Naturally, a week later Dickens showed up at the patio door, all filthy and skinny and howling to come in.

We tried everything to get them friendly, or at least to put up with each other. I bought a book on accommodating cats and followed all the rules and spent a fortune on cat toys. We kept them separated and tried special introductions with playtime and treats. Nothing doing. The two boys stay in the bedroom downstairs and Dickens stays upstairs, usually. But Blue absolutely, positively has to sneak upstairs on Dickens at every opportunity. Anyone who has cats knows how good they are at disappearing and appearing when you are least aware.

What, or what, are we going to do?

Still Doing It

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Child Dreaming in WindowAccording to Pulitzer Prize-winning author, Robert Olen Butler, the process of writing is not intellectual, but emotional, and it is necessary to enter our dreamspace in order to write honest, inspired fiction.

I am a writer. Mostly. I dream a lot, also dig animals, especially my tuxedo cat, Dickens.

I love to prepare food, all kinds, though soups are my favorite because I can get creative without messing the flavor up too much.

I have been a painter of pictures, and I still dabble in watercolor now and then, though writing takes up most of my time.

I love travel and adventure and meeting all sorts of people and experiencing diverse cultures, so those doings will show up here at one time or another in photos or what not.

I think about all sorts of things. Like what we are doing to our environment and why so many people love chocolate.

I like to know what other people are thinking. I hope you will let me know. You can disagree with me, of course, but please be nice about it.

The photo above? That’s me, eagerly looking out the window at the world. Many pounds and wrinkles later—still doing it.