Those darn squirrels!

Without a doubt, squirrels are about the most enterprising comedians in the animal world, but... is there anyone with a bird feeder who has not despaired when greedy squirrels devour ALL the seed intended for hungry birds?

Many folks have tried to devise the ultimate squirrel-proof solution. A dozen different types of bird feeders, all advertised as impossible for squirrels to defeat, are available online and in the local nature emporiums. This year, I succumbed to one. Surely, I thought, a feeder endorsed by both the National Geographic Society and the British Trust for Ornithology would keep the critters out of the seed. Just for good measure, I invested in a bag of very expensive bird seed, treated with something squirrels would find abhorrent.

After setting up my ultimate squirrel solution feeder, I started peeking from my kitchen window to see what would happen. For several weeks, nothing. Oh, the squirrels found the feeder right away, but seemed unable to penetrate its defense system. Whenever I opened the back door, they started scolding me. So I chucked a few walnuts in their general direction. Now they expect nuts. There can't be anything good about rodents that look to you as a primary food source.

So there were squirrels, but... where were all the pretty little finches? One week went by, then another. And another. No birds at all. Perhaps they did not like the expensive treated seed any better than the squirrels. OK, a trip to my local grocery store for ordinary sunflower seed should fix that, I thought. I mixed both types of seed together and refilled the feeder. Finally, a few finches showed up and bellied right up for a meal. Then a few more came. And more, and still more. They liked all the seed. The squirrels could not get into the feeder and the finches were here. Yippee!

Of course, it was too good to last. Yesterday morning, I looked out and saw a squirrel, balanced upside down on the base of my new feeder. He couldn't get in, but had discovered how to rock the feeder enough to scatter some seeds for the benefit of his fellow furry scavengers, waiting below. In no time at all, they emptied my expensive, tamper-proof feeder.

Best not to complain. At a friend's home, the darn critters dangled from gutters to reach her feeder, then managed to knock down and shatter the entire squirrel-proof apparatus. Wouldn't it be great to be born with that much stubborn perseverance and inventive cleverness?

Meanwhile, I will just sigh quietly and keep refilling the feeder. But I haven't given up yet. Today, I added a suet holder suspended from the base of the feeder -- both as an added treat for the birds and a deterrent for, well, you know. Take that, squirrels!

Keeping Christmas

Today is December 22nd. Christmas is nearly here this year, 2008. Always, I have loved the season but, I think "lost" it for a few years. Life happens, you know. Children grow up, marry, and no longer think of this house as their home. They want to create their own traditions in their own homes. And this is as it should be.

For the past several years, my husband and I traveled to be with them and were touched to be wanted and included in their celebrations. For some reason, we stopped all holiday traditions here -- too much trouble, not enough time. We were leaving anyway. Why bother? Just put a candle in each window. Enough, right?

As it turns out, no. This year I am alone for the first time in over forty years. And so I've been rethinking how I prepare my heart for Christmas. Surprise! I've discovered that I've missed the angels, the nativity, all the treasured tree ornaments made with love for my family or collected for so many years, along with all the memories that go with them. And so out they all came, memories, a few tears and all.

My favorite is the dear little plaster and cardboard nativity set. I still remember going with my parents to Woolworths when I was five to buy the stable, holy family and wise men. The next year we added shepherds, sheep, camels, a pig and a cow. Poor cow, she has only one horn now, but still she keeps patient vigil by the Christ child. 

What is different this year is that, rather than holding Christmas at bay, I have welcomed it back into my home, and created a quiet sanctuary from the noise and seasonal craziness outside. This has made such a difference in my own attitude as the days race by. 

I'll be going off in the morning to spend a country Christmas with one of my sons and daughters-in-law, and am very much looking forward to the visit. Once I leave the heavy interstate highway traffic behind, there is time to enjoy the journey, too. They live along a rural lane and it's peaceful there -- no malls nearby, no blaring carols, no giant toy stores, no traffic jams. It's a quiet, lovely and gentle place to spend time with my loved ones, and to celebrate the birth of Christ. My heart is open. Welcome, Christmas. 

A December Anniversary

This month marks a special anniversary for me — it has been one year since I transferred to a new parish. Without doubt, moving to a new church home has been one of the best decisions I made in recent years. And it was one of the most difficult decisions, as well. The message here is that change can be exactly what God wants for us; the problem is that we have to be ready to listen and to act.

I am what is known, more or less with a wink and a smile, as a "cradle" Episcopalian — born into an Episcopalian family, baptized as an infant, confirmed at age twelve and still very happy within the fold. Have I visited churches of other denominations? Sure. But the lovely Episcopal rituals, familiar prayers and services are as much a part of me as breathing. This is home, no matter where I may be.

For over thirty years, I was a member of another, much larger, parish. We became members when our first child was born. Our boys were baptized and received their first communion there, and were confirmed in the same church. Their father's ashes are interred in that church's memorial garden, tucked inside a pocket of beautiful flowering perennials. The members of the parish were my extended family; I loved them all. And leaving was the very last thing on my mind.

But things change. And not all change is good, especially when it is forced on an unsuspecting parish. The new rector at my former church turned it into a center for purpose-driven fundamentalism, told parish members that their thoughts and concerns were of no interest to him, and encouraged those who were troubled by the changes to leave. People tend to become disillusioned when they are told by their priest to "get on board" or find a new parish home! And so parish members began to disappear. At first, the drift out the door was slow; soon, it accelerated and became a rush for the exits. Worse, so many of those leaving were parish members who were devoted to service, ministry and leadership — and those who provided continuity, linking past, present and future. When you leave with your rector's foot pushing you out the door, it's impossible to depart without feeling angry, bitter and disillusioned. We did; we're still struggling with those feelings in many ways. In one sense, giving up our church was like experiencing the unexpected death of a loved one — you cannot return to the past, no matter how dear, and the grieving process sometimes seems as though it never will end.

My own epiphany came the day that I visited another parish, now my church home. The reason I decided to visit was based on a service held at a time I could attend during a difficult weekend. Everyone was warm and welcoming, loving and giving. I had almost forgotten what a happy and healing parish felt like. And so I returned the following week, and the week after that. I prayed and thought and understood that I had been led to this parish. As I said, first you have to be ready to listen. 

I like to believe that God was leading each of us who left our old parish to a renewed and deepening relationship with Him, and to parishes where our gifts were needed. I consider myself among the fortunate, as I found a new parish home almost in my own backyard. 

Not everyone has found a new parish; some may never return full time to any church. And it's easy to see why many are very cautious about becoming involved in a new church. Still, most of us from my old parish stay in touch. And here is the amazing part. Those of us who have found a new parish also found the right place to heal, to find peace and have discovered new ways to serve the parishes and people we have grown to love. We are happy and we are growing within our new parish families. 

My prayer is that each of us who left will find the same joy. But no one ever said that moving on was easy.

Becoming Blanche

Most of us have had a family member we adored. Mine was my Grandmother Blanche. She was funny and silly and made the world's best fried peach pies. When I was a little girl, she made matching dresses for me and my doll; while in my teens, she sent me bikini underwear (to my mother's horror). Yes, Blanchie definitely was a hoot — and the sweetest woman you can imagine.

Blanchie did have a few quirks. For instance, she refused to divulge her age, and lied about it convincingly and consistently. It helped that she was a beauty, and looked years younger than she was. Don't believe me? Look at this photo, taken when she was at least fifty. When she died, my mother and one of her brothers battled over Blanche's age, with my uncle insisting she was a good decade younger than Mother thought she was. Today, I know they both got it wrong. Blanchie was older than either believed, so she had the last laugh. Excellent!

Blanche's other main quirk was that she never discussed the past. Never. She never went back to her home town in middle Tennessee and never returned for a visit to any of the several places she lived before moving to Tampa, FL, in the mid-1920s. Blanche was always involved in today and planning for tomorrow. Yesterday? Piffle. (In many ways, this is an admirable trait, but it creates a serious handicap for a granddaughter who enjoys researching family history.)

Last summer, I received a gift in the form of a trip to Tennessee with my cousin, D., who grew up there. We explored towns and cities where she and Blanchie both lived (albeit in widely separated decades), and D. took me to visit family members I had never met. All of these dear relatives shared family stories and anecdotes, and I began to develop a deeper understanding of how Blanche became the woman I knew. One of the things I discovered was that there was far more sadness in her early life than I had known, and surely that was one of the reasons she never looked back. Well… that and not wanting someone to blurt out her age.

There were lovely discoveries, too. The bungalow that my grandfather, a plasterer and builder, built as a surprise wedding gift for Blanchie, is still there, including the ornamental concrete posts he created that flank the front walk and driveway. She must have loved living there. And how could you not love a man who built a house as a surprise for you?

What I brought home is an understanding of the pure sunshine and sense of wonder that were such an integral part of my amazing grandmother. Every day was an adventure, everyone she met an instant friend. Was she like that always or did she create an aura of joy to ward off sadness? I do so wish I were more like her. So far, all I can claim is a shared delight in silliness. If "becoming Blanche" is a goal, I 'd better turn up the wattage on internal sunshine.

That sounds like a good way to start every day. Count me in.

All Fall Down

I suspect that most folks think of "autumn" and "fall" as interchangeable words. But not me. For me, there is one day every year that marks the time when autumn morphs into fall. This year, that would be today.

Here in the deciduous northeast, we mark the end of summer, as days grow shorter and nights are chilly. We watch with delight as trees begin their transformation from deep summer green to a few glorious weeks of red, gold and orange foliage. This, to me, is autumn... and there are few things more beautiful. Or fun. Suddenly we all are young again, dancing through drifting leaves and laughing with the sheer joy of life. We know it will end, of course we do, but that just makes the enjoyment more intense while it lasts.

And then, suddenly, fall whips in on a day of heavy rain. Within hours, leaves lose their now-tenuous hold on branches and carpet the ground. With little warning, branches are bare and trees brace for winter. But wait... a few have held their leaves. There is still a little time left. 

Fall is here, though. We've been warned. Winter will follow, and soon. 

I am so not a winter person.

DOG...gone

I've now learned the difference between "just looking" at dogs in the shelter vs. looking for a dog to take home and love. If you are in the latter frame of mind, you do not hesitate or go home to think over adopting a pet. I did, the sweet and friendly dog went to another home... and I returned to mine, alone. I thought I was relieved, then spent all afternoon on Pet Finder, looking and wondering. Guess I need to give up pretending that I don't want a pet!

My daughter-in-law tells me that, when you are ready for a dog, the right dog will find you. I can live with that idea. Then she threw a curve into my quiet life by telling me that she knows a breeder of Golden Retrievers who gives away to a good home any dogs that will not work in their breeding program. Hmmm....

There's nothing like an angel on your shoulder, giving you a gentle nudge!

Another blog? Oh dear.

Who, me… blog? The idea is intimidating. After all, there are so many interesting, informative and readable blogs out there already. So then, why start… and why now?

The answer is simple: I'm starting over. Again. And, oh boy, am I tired of starting over. So maybe — OK, definitely — it is also time to examine, possibly to reinvent, the way I live. And this time, starting over is different for other reasons. My children are grown, happily married and involved in careers they enjoy. I love them dearly, but they have their own lives in nearby states. And I am rapidly approaching the joyous day when I can retire. So this time it's about what makes me happy and not so much about caring for others or caring what they think about my choices. Hmmm… there are real possibilities here, right?

There is nothing new about breaking with the past, nor is my reason to begin again unusual. My husband, K., died earlier this year. He was a kind, intelligent and very dear man, but he had been sick for a long time and was in constant pain; his life has ended in the only way it could. My faith tells me he is at peace, and there is comfort in that knowledge. The process of grieving is not new to me, and I know the many levels of understanding and acceptance will continue to unfold as time passes. While I am often sad, I accept that changes need to take place. What other decision would make any sense?

Really, you know, there is only one way to honor the past and to move on with your own life. You put a smile on your face, open the door and go out to meet people and try new things. Along the way, you discover new activities and new friends to complement the parts of your life you still have and love. And, if you are lucky as well, joy will find you.

With all this in mind, my blog will be, I hope, a voyage of discovery and rediscovery.  It will be about experiences and travel and friendships. And it will be about the gentle surprises that unfold in front of us if we are watchful and aware.

Oh yes… I am thinking of getting a dog. (It can be very dangerous to drop off old towels at the animal shelter… and this is such a sweet dog…) Adding a dog to my quiet home would, heaven knows, fall squarely under the heading of "major change" overnight, especially as all the shelter dogs I see are listed as "Housebroken: Unknown." Stay tuned!