I’ve had a wonderful day.
There was forward motion; that’s all I ever hope for. Blue sky and lots of white cotton-ball clouds. Baby hawks, beautiful swims, shipping shipped.
Liam is extremely glad this day is over, because he had his wisdom teeth cut out this morning in St. Louis and of course he was dreading it a bit. General anaesthesia is scary, especially the first time. And the idea of having teeth forcibly removed from your head… well. Terrifying, if you think it through too thoroughly.
He sketched another view of Dali before he left, this one pen and ink, and sort of furtive and pop-eyed, like in the classic photo.
I’ve made great headway on the house; it’s quite interesting to finally be making the move into the small three-room space.
I’m separating the many things I’ve collected over the years into the most basic categories imaginable; yard things, things that belong to the house, things that belong to me… I really enjoy it. And I find it quite easy to make decisions. After all, I can keep whatever I fucking want to. There is absolutely no pressure to go any which way with a thing. So it’s not hard to evaluate things honestly.
I’m trying to separate myself from any sense of wasted motion; you know, the idea that I could have kept my life simpler by not sprawling out in the first place.
I can’t run around my life wishing I’d done things differently, because if I had, things would be different. And I surely don’t want that.
I’ve got a few days alone, and I am hoping that I’ll complete the shoot of all of the pieces here on the photo table. It’s absurd to think I could do it, but I don’t mind lofty goals. Setting the bar at 11 makes it easier to bang a 9 or a 10.
I’m flying in the face of my usual pattern of work work work and I’m taking the coming weekend off to enjoy a bit of Allison Shock (coming to Tucson for a birding festival) and then going to a lovely canyon lodge with friends to spend a few days out of time and off of the Internet.
I’m really looking forward to it.
I have to say, too, that I have thought the plastic “falcon” above rather silly, but today I had to note that it greatly resembles my beloved baby Coop.
He loves to stand in the birdbath for long stretches, and he’s even fallen asleep twice in there while I was quite nearby, standing on one big yellow leg with the other one tucked up, looking for all the world like the narcoleptic parakeet I had as a kid.
Also like that parakeet, he fluffs up his head feathers when I call him my handsome little chicken, and I just KNOW that he wants me to skritch his head.
I feel quite sure that this birdbath lurker is the same baby over and over, and not a random assortment of the four of them. I think he’s a bit on the eccentric side, hanging out with me as he does, and napping in the water. Mom came by this morning while he was snizzling in there and I was sitting in a nearby chair, and she sat in the palo verde and made a lot of cack-cak sounds at him that were unmistakably translatable as “get the hell out of that birdbath and up in this tree!”
He did. But he was back in it once she left. His hunting tactic is to half-sleep in his personal pool and sky-scry until the doves forget about him, or decide he’s cracked, and they come down to the feeder again, right in front of him. Then, SWOOP.
He may have an unusual approach, but it’s working. Foxy chicken-hawk.
He and Miss Fish engage in several stare-downs per day. I’m not sure if either of them feel threatened, or would attack the other, but they are not warming to each other in the slightest. She is also jealous of me, and can tell I’ve got a soft spot for this beautiful bird.
Here he is, doing his half-asleep thing.
Sleepy little chicken, fluffy little butt.
Orangelina, as you can imagine, is keeping her head down, spending large amounts of time lurking under the footbridge to the shower.