BBQ, sitting in the sunshine in the back yard remembering all the father's days before this one. The times spent with family and looking forward to all the father's days to come.Happy
Father's Day
Dad
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Friday, June 5, 2009
White House Interview
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/30932789
MSNBC did a wonderful job interviewing President Obama. Being encouraged to check out the web site, I was disappointed that there was no visual of Lincoln's room. I had to find it elsewhere. http://www.whitehousemuseum.org/floor2/lincoln-bedroom.htm 
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
It must have been in Mid September when I first noticed him. I did my loop in the lower parking lot before climbing the hill to exit the parking lot on my way home. A little black crow with a broken wing hopped across the path of my Honda. I slowed to let him pass, the wipers deflected the rain drops as fast as they landed and they landed in a rush. My heart sickened at the sight of him and I wished I hadn’t seen him. ‘He won’t make it through the night’ I thought to myself. His plight for life touched me so much that I mentioned it to my husband and as I did, the pain was released from my heart.
I was surprised a week or so later when I looked up from my key board to the field adjacent to my office and could see the crow with the broken wing. As he hopped, his broken wing with it’s separate feathers flared dramatically and it appeared to me like he was dancing with each hop. I watched him for days scrounge for food and water.
At about day three, I made some calls to find out if I could get him help. In the back of my mind I wondered who on earth would want to help a single black crow. I would. Luckily I found a place that would take him, all I had to do was catch him. I was so excited I called my husband who promised if the crow was still around by the weekend, that he would help me.
On the weekend, Mr. Crow was no where to be found and I wondered if he sensed it. When Monday came, he was back in the field. Little devil I thought. The business center is three stories tall and a wooden stair case, scales the side of the building to the top floor. It is an emergency exit for the top floor. I watched in wonderment as Mr. Crow hopped up each step to the top and stood on the balcony looking out at the tree tops and I imagined that he wished he could fly. I ran out and put food on the lower steps for him. But his flying friends came and ate it. I felt defeted and disappointed that I couldn’t take care of him.
I watched after a rain storm how a group of crows gathered by the large puddle in the parking lot and drank. Mr. Crow hopped over to be part of the group and catch up on the gossip, but as he approached the water cooler, the flock attached him and chased him off. My stomach sickened at their rebuke.
Crows are part of the Raven family. They are family oriented and mate for life, just as the Raven’s do. Crows work together as a family to gather, protect and defend their families. When I witnessed the disownment, it made sense that Mr. Crow could no longer contribute to the family unit and had become a liability, thus he was cast out. Bullies, I thought and held contempt for the offenders.
November brought more rain storms and each day I was comforted that my crow had made it through another night. He looked healthy, except his wing. Each night as I left for work, I worried for his safety, but he hid well. I would look for him in the bushes, leaving him tid bits of food, yet I never had the comfort of knowing that he ate it. I would crumble up protein bars that I had brought in my lunch, thinking he needed the added nutrition.
I watched protectively from my 2nd floor window. If a day went by when I didn’t see him, I would worry. The next day I would see him and breathe easier.
Someone dropped off an old sofa and two chairs in the field next door. I guess it was cheaper to do that then drive to the dump. One day I watched as Mr. Crow explored the new furnishings. I wish I’d brought my camera. He hopped up down and around the chair, then the next chair and landed on the sofa. I smiled. I love watching him play.
December brought me concerns as the weather started to get cold. Could he make it through a Winter?
When I would see him, I would run out with my protein bar, I’d inch up as close as I could, crumble the bar and back away. He won’t eat if I am watching. Then a 6 pack of crows would swoop down and eat up the crumbles and I wondered, does he know that I care about him and that he gives me pleasure to see his strength and his innocence to survive?
My heart strings sing with joy when I see him dancing across the parking lot, and it is a sad tune when a day goes without a glimpse of him in my view.
Mr. Crow canvasses the parking lot for substance. Meanwhile all of my family and friends heard the daily dealings of Mr. Crow. He filled our dinner table with life and triumph and tales of survival.
One day the owner of the building stopped by right at the time I entered the building with a crumbled protein bar wrapper. I told him about my crow. "A Crow?" he said in disbelief as the story started and when the story was over he commented. "I have never thought about crows that way." When he left the building that day, I saw him took towards the field at my crow and I thought I saw him smile.
My crow isn’t just any crow, he is a survivor and an inspiration.
It was mid December. I was sitting at my desk enthralled with work and pending deadlines, when I heard the shriek and clamor of crows. Knowing crows like I do, I know what one of their own is in danger. I immediately stand up and look out the window and my eyes fix upon a large brown creature perched on the parking lot bumper. I blinked and squinted, my contacts prohibited my eyes from adjusting, but I screamed because the large brown bird, most likely a hawk, had something in its claws.
I ran from my desk and the shriek of ‘oh no’ trailed behind me as I ran up stairs to the upper level and through the door on to the balcony, the same balcony my Mr. Crow likes to stand on. The hawk was gone and the birds remained clamoring. I blinked and my nose stung and tears escaped my lids. I couldn’t see my Mr. Crow, I couldn’t see the hawk.
When I telephoned my husband with the news his efforts to calm me suggested that the hawk got a kitten. With all the feral cats and the fresh litter of youth, it could be the hawk got one of them. This offered some comfort and I was taken aback by the trade a wounded crow for a baby kitten, but I was fine with the trade.
I didn’t see my crow the rest of that day. I looked for him everywhere. I didn’t see him the next day either and I haven’t seen him since.
Largely in part, because I live by "if you can’t change something, change the way you think about it" I am thankful that my Mr. Crow fed the food chain (the hawk) and didn’t die in a bush somewhere. He went out with honor and the clamor of his clan, because even though he couldn’t produce he still had their respect and he knew it by the sound of their voices when he was flown from this world.
I believe in heaven he can fly with wounded wing repaired.
I don’t look at crows the same, when I see them pecking on the ground. I freeze and wait for them to fly, to see if maybe, just maybe, their right wing is broke and flared and just maybe it is my Mr. Crow after all. I think they call that hope.
I was surprised a week or so later when I looked up from my key board to the field adjacent to my office and could see the crow with the broken wing. As he hopped, his broken wing with it’s separate feathers flared dramatically and it appeared to me like he was dancing with each hop. I watched him for days scrounge for food and water.
At about day three, I made some calls to find out if I could get him help. In the back of my mind I wondered who on earth would want to help a single black crow. I would. Luckily I found a place that would take him, all I had to do was catch him. I was so excited I called my husband who promised if the crow was still around by the weekend, that he would help me.
On the weekend, Mr. Crow was no where to be found and I wondered if he sensed it. When Monday came, he was back in the field. Little devil I thought. The business center is three stories tall and a wooden stair case, scales the side of the building to the top floor. It is an emergency exit for the top floor. I watched in wonderment as Mr. Crow hopped up each step to the top and stood on the balcony looking out at the tree tops and I imagined that he wished he could fly. I ran out and put food on the lower steps for him. But his flying friends came and ate it. I felt defeted and disappointed that I couldn’t take care of him.
I watched after a rain storm how a group of crows gathered by the large puddle in the parking lot and drank. Mr. Crow hopped over to be part of the group and catch up on the gossip, but as he approached the water cooler, the flock attached him and chased him off. My stomach sickened at their rebuke.
Crows are part of the Raven family. They are family oriented and mate for life, just as the Raven’s do. Crows work together as a family to gather, protect and defend their families. When I witnessed the disownment, it made sense that Mr. Crow could no longer contribute to the family unit and had become a liability, thus he was cast out. Bullies, I thought and held contempt for the offenders.
November brought more rain storms and each day I was comforted that my crow had made it through another night. He looked healthy, except his wing. Each night as I left for work, I worried for his safety, but he hid well. I would look for him in the bushes, leaving him tid bits of food, yet I never had the comfort of knowing that he ate it. I would crumble up protein bars that I had brought in my lunch, thinking he needed the added nutrition.
I watched protectively from my 2nd floor window. If a day went by when I didn’t see him, I would worry. The next day I would see him and breathe easier.
Someone dropped off an old sofa and two chairs in the field next door. I guess it was cheaper to do that then drive to the dump. One day I watched as Mr. Crow explored the new furnishings. I wish I’d brought my camera. He hopped up down and around the chair, then the next chair and landed on the sofa. I smiled. I love watching him play.
December brought me concerns as the weather started to get cold. Could he make it through a Winter?
When I would see him, I would run out with my protein bar, I’d inch up as close as I could, crumble the bar and back away. He won’t eat if I am watching. Then a 6 pack of crows would swoop down and eat up the crumbles and I wondered, does he know that I care about him and that he gives me pleasure to see his strength and his innocence to survive?
My heart strings sing with joy when I see him dancing across the parking lot, and it is a sad tune when a day goes without a glimpse of him in my view.
Mr. Crow canvasses the parking lot for substance. Meanwhile all of my family and friends heard the daily dealings of Mr. Crow. He filled our dinner table with life and triumph and tales of survival.
One day the owner of the building stopped by right at the time I entered the building with a crumbled protein bar wrapper. I told him about my crow. "A Crow?" he said in disbelief as the story started and when the story was over he commented. "I have never thought about crows that way." When he left the building that day, I saw him took towards the field at my crow and I thought I saw him smile.
My crow isn’t just any crow, he is a survivor and an inspiration.
It was mid December. I was sitting at my desk enthralled with work and pending deadlines, when I heard the shriek and clamor of crows. Knowing crows like I do, I know what one of their own is in danger. I immediately stand up and look out the window and my eyes fix upon a large brown creature perched on the parking lot bumper. I blinked and squinted, my contacts prohibited my eyes from adjusting, but I screamed because the large brown bird, most likely a hawk, had something in its claws.
I ran from my desk and the shriek of ‘oh no’ trailed behind me as I ran up stairs to the upper level and through the door on to the balcony, the same balcony my Mr. Crow likes to stand on. The hawk was gone and the birds remained clamoring. I blinked and my nose stung and tears escaped my lids. I couldn’t see my Mr. Crow, I couldn’t see the hawk.
When I telephoned my husband with the news his efforts to calm me suggested that the hawk got a kitten. With all the feral cats and the fresh litter of youth, it could be the hawk got one of them. This offered some comfort and I was taken aback by the trade a wounded crow for a baby kitten, but I was fine with the trade.
I didn’t see my crow the rest of that day. I looked for him everywhere. I didn’t see him the next day either and I haven’t seen him since.
Largely in part, because I live by "if you can’t change something, change the way you think about it" I am thankful that my Mr. Crow fed the food chain (the hawk) and didn’t die in a bush somewhere. He went out with honor and the clamor of his clan, because even though he couldn’t produce he still had their respect and he knew it by the sound of their voices when he was flown from this world.
I believe in heaven he can fly with wounded wing repaired.
I don’t look at crows the same, when I see them pecking on the ground. I freeze and wait for them to fly, to see if maybe, just maybe, their right wing is broke and flared and just maybe it is my Mr. Crow after all. I think they call that hope.
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