Sunday, June 18, 2017
Reflections on the Thirteenth Week of Spring – Hot Air
Sunday, June 11, 2017
Reflections on the Twelfth Week of Spring – My Fellas Figured Right
“Wake up, Janet.” Spence
tugged my foot and a handful of covers.
Emerging from the murky
depths of a sound sleep, I struggled to comprehend the tugging from
one of my two fellas, my husband Spence. “Huh?” Had I slept
through the alarm? Wait. I hadn’t set the alarm.
“There’s a porcupine on
the deck railing.” Spence said. He left.
Porcupine. Deck. Camera? I
sat up and yawned.
“It’s gone,” Spence
called from the great room. “No, it’s not. It’s right outside
your window.”
I threw off the covers.
Without wasting time to grab my glasses or camera, I knelt on the bed
by the window and pulled back the curtain.
A fuzzy hair-blob crawled
down the gate post at the end of the ramp. When it reached the
ground, the blob unfurled giving me a rear end view of the critter.
Quills flat and hair fluffed, it looked like a groundhog on a bad
hair day but with longer legs. The porcupine waddled across the front
yard, crossed the road, and disappeared into the woods.
Wide awake, I jumped off the
bed, dashed to the great room, and peppered Spence with questions to
get the beginning of the porcupine tale.
He chuckled and told me.
Earlier, while he’d worked
on his tablet, he heard “a commotion” on deck.
George, our
no-longer-fat-cat, crouched low to the great room floor, crept to the
sliding glass door, and peered up.
Spence followed George’s
gaze to a porcupine.
The porcupine crept along the
deck rail behind the orange black-eyed Susans then stopped to nibble
wisteria.
“I figured you’d be
disappointed if I told you about the porcupine later,” he said.
He got that right. I was glad
he woke me at 5:45 a.m. that Tuesday.
My other fella, son Charlie,
didn’t need to wake me.
Thursday afternoon, after
rinsing out my swim gear, I stepped onto the porch carrying a pants
hanger with a black pool shoe dangling from each clamp and the handle
of my swim bag slung over the hook. Mid reach to the metal frame
holding the coconut husk straw of the hanging basket, Charlie tugged
my arm.
“Don’t hang it there.
You’re going want to take pictures.”
He moved the cow bell from
the hook beside the front door, took my loaded hanger, and placed it
on the freed hook.
I looked from him to the thin
spider plant. “Why would I want a picture of that plant?”
“Two birds are taking straw
from the basket to build a nest.”
“Taking straw?”
“I was reading on the love
seat and heard a noise behind me. I turned and saw two birds taking
straw from the hanging basket. They seemed oblivious to me,” he
said.
My mouth must have dropped
because he pointed and said, “You can see the mess they made at the
bottom where they pulled.”
Indeed.
I fetched my camera, attached
the zoom lens, and stood inside the house, four feet from the front
door. Within a minute, a phoebe perched on the rim of the hanging
basket and pecked at the nesting material.
I clicked one picture.
The phoebe turned its head
toward me then flew to the tree nursery. Though I checked frequently
during the afternoon, the birds didn’t return.
I didn’t have another
winged critter to focus on until Saturday morning when I prepared the
bag for George’s subcutaneous fluid treatment.
Charlie tugged my arm and,
without a word, led me to the sliding screen door.
A silver-spotted skipper
butterfly sucked nectar from an orange black-eyed Susan. No need to
ask questions.
I tiptoed to fetch my camera
then slowly slid the screen door open. Before I stepped outside, the
butterfly flitted away.
I left the camera on and lens
cap off. After I gave George his water treatment, I frequently
glanced to the deck. Whenever a silver-spotted skipper returned, I
grabbed the camera, stepped out the front door, and crept around the
porch to the deck. Again and again the skippers flitted away.
Finally, one skipper succumbed to purple pansy nectar.
It sipped.
I clicked.
Usually I prefer to surprise
my fellas with quirky behaviors like lying on my stomach in the
middle of West Creek Road to get the right angle for a photo. But
this week, experiencing a porcupine waddle across the front yard, a
phoebe collecting straw from the hanging basket, and a silver-spotted
skipper sucking nectar, I was glad my fellas figured right.
Sunday, June 4, 2017
Reflections – The Elf Queen
Jelani learns she's half-human, half-elf. To top that her mom’s spirit is caught inside a tree. Astan learns his father didn’t die but was put in suspended animation. Voila. Daven, Astan’s Dad, is back. Mutual shock brings Astan and Jelani together. Jelani’s scrawny human friends fit right in. Lane, the computer geek, threatens to write a novel about the adventure. Crispy, traumatized by abuse as a youngster, overcomes his issues to protect Jelani. Iris, Jelani’s best friend, fancies the dashing Daven.
The further I read, the more I didn’t want the novel to end. The climax and resolution were satisfying.
A Book Store Review
Didn’t Want the Novel to End
Suspend your disbelief. Jelani had to. One day she’s facing traffic tickets and a poor choice in men. The next she’s confronted with a glass slipper and elves. Lyndi Alexander weaves a fantastic adventure packed with vibrant characters, danger, humor, magic, and a touch of romance. I didn’t want The Elf Queen to end, but the climax made the swift read a treasure.