The stupid bird that incessantly pecks at our window has been at the wild berries. I know this because he leaves his black berry stained poop all over the window ledge and also streaks of berry bird slobber all over the outside of the window. It's gross!
So Zo and I made a scary doll out of felt and set it on the window ledge. That worked and kept him away for a few hours until the groundhog took it. Can you believe that?
I'm thinking we might need to make a slightly bigger, scarier doll and tie-wrap it to the porch to hopefully scare away the bird and the groundhog. It's like the old woman who swallowed the fly. Maybe what I really need is a tiger.
The groundhog was standing on it's back legs looking in the window yesterday morning when I was making coffee and I spilled beans all over the floor.


I don't know, I think it's a groundhog. Whatever it is, I don't want it looking in the windows!

I'm tired of men who talk down to women because the other men won't listen to them any more.
Instead of backing yourself further into a corner you feel the need to protect, just admit you don't know what the fuck you're talking about.
This is for you, even though you won't get it...


I used to feel sorry for Don.
Windmills are... imposing, twirling their arms
almost in warning.
The sound as they slice through the air counts down
the number of breaths you’ve taken.
Beats of a heart, measures out time.
The time you stare at them in disbelief of their size.
What are they doing?

Only after you realize the wind manipulates them
as much as it does your hair
when you’re riding in the back of a pick-up truck
laughing because you’re young and damn them all,
you realize Don is a fool and a coward
saving himself from something he never tried to understand.

This way to your hippohank update.

If you haven't been visiting Hank, you should.

If I'm understanding my BIrds of MIchigan Field Guide correctly, this is a juvenile Broad-winged Hawk hanging out outside our dinning room window.

For years, every time I saw a pretty bird I called it some kind of finch. Sparrows were little brown finches, Crows were big ass black finches, Ravens were big ass black finches that sound like toads. Pigeons were pigeons, however, and mourning doves were well groomed pigeons, pigeons that clean up nice.
When we moved to Michigan and I discovered there were so many more birds than finches, pigeons, and crows, I still called them all finches because I didn't know any better.
Then mister advised I get a bird book because, says he, You'd be surprised by how many of those aren't finches.

There are quite a few different birds out there, and about 14 different kinds of finches.
Go figure.

Seaweed off the Irish coast is easily persuaded.
It waves to the shore as the tide comes in, only to turn
its back and bend out to sea as the tide recedes.
Hello, good bye,
Come here, never mind.

Hello, good bye,
come here, never mind, is the channelled wrack’s tale.
Two men will use it for different purchase;
One for dying cloth, the other because it’s edible.
Two sides to every good story, but
dulaman isn’t just a song about seaweed.

She was two parts Irish
One part of a family of fiddle makers, though she couldn’t play you a note.
One half a pair of fleeing brothers, to a new world
to save their horse thieving necks, neither has a rope grazed her throat.
An Irish girl, twice removed, went with the flow.
Hello, good bye,
Come here, never mind.

Would you believe hers came to be a story about seaweed, in a way?
After she ran away with a man who worked at a chemical plant by the beach
where they harvested seaweed, as a food additive.
No, Xanthan gum, by itself, isn’t very romantic,
but in the bottle it helps to keep your salad dressing and ketchup thick.

Kelp in the water that goes with the flow,
in and out, in and out with the pull of the moon,
becomes rigid on the shore, dried by the sun.
Girls taken from home too early tend to wander,
wonder what else can be done.
Hello, good bye,
come here, never mind.

How does the harvester, the one who knows seaweed
keep her close and content?
He keeps her in pints
and always makes sure she’s wet.

Some of our spring break plans need revision, damn it!

It's the wet slushy kind that no good can come from. But, at least I don't have to shovel the driveway!

Chippy is back, too!

Lots of activity at the bird feeders, saw a badger. Totally going to ignore the forecast of 3-6 inches of snow tonight. Not, didn't hear about that.

Hank can be awfully territorial!

These two look like they are ready to start some shit, no?



Do deer eat tulips? Because I can just see them thinking, Hey, are those tulips ready, yet?

Troublemakers!

I went to the pharmacy to pick up some prescriptions and I also picked up a travel size toothpaste with toothbrush.
Mister said, What is this for? Maybe he thought I was taking off.
But I told him not to worry, I bought that for hank.

I think he's worried.

hippohank!

My moleskine is almost full!
I've been making entries almost everyday. Nothing too elaborate. Nothing that takes too much time. But having it in my bag while I go about my daily stuff, feels rather liberating. It's like a small piece of a part of my mind, in a book, in my bag, the... whimsical part?
Here are a few more pages.



( I don't have a fire truck one, yet )

Either there is a very innocent explanation for this, or my daughter is slightly deranged.


Small snowman, wrapped in plastic bag, found in downstairs freezer.

Eventually,
dawn gives back its early light.
Pink and purple skies
a paint brush has yet to mix.
Respite calm between the snow.

Eventually,
temperatures rise again.
Up to fifty two!
Face up to receive warm rays,
ignore the whole world
turning to mush at my feet.

In the evening,
silhouetted balloons drift
backlit by sun’s set.
The skies take and the skies give.
I admit my amazement.