Bowled Over by the World

Ray and I have logged a lot of television viewing time watching the 2010 Olympics from Vancouver, Canada and we've loved every minute. We root for everyone. Yes, Bode Miller and Lindsay Vonn are exciting US stars as well as Steve Holcomb and the Bobsled crew. (I love Italian slalom skiers, Swedish curlers, and Austrian whatever). But let's cheer the Canadian Hockey team - wow - overtime win just a teensy bit ago. The Canadian ice dancing team were fabulous. And the Canadian skater who's mother passed - damn, she took to the ice and skated like the champion she was.

(Plus note, Ray did his best to get me the way cool Olympic mittens with the maple leaf)

But, this weekend Ray and I had to get off our butts and do something active. Did you know the International Bowling Museum and Hall of Fame moved to Arlington from St.Louis, MO? Well, it did and it's got a beautiful facility in the shadow of Six Flags Arlington and Jerry World (i.e. Cowboy Stadium). What does this have to do with writing? - sorta nothing, but it was zany fun.


It was a gorgeous day with clear blue skies and we weren't shoveling snow like my poor father in PA. He'd better get rid of that stuff by Easter when I go visit.

The musuem had a small bowling interactive lane. Ray hit his stride and scored well. I threw gutter balls until a man said I could put up gutter guards. Well, yea!!!! Once I could bowl like any five year-old, I was throwing strikes, baby! Bowling has a lot of history - from Egypt thru Europe and on into the heyday of New York elite. I learned a few things - like support this nifty wacky museum.

Lots of history and throwback to corny. Where else can you wear bad shoes and drink beer??

From Olympics to bowling and beer to a book signing. This post has it all - told you we'd cover the world. Rebecca Balcarcel just published her book of poetry Palabras in Each Fist, a stunning new poetry collection by a talented voice. Rebecca (r), a daughter of a Guatemalan father and an Iowan mother straddles the English language with love.

I'm constantly in awe of the talent in this world. Ignore the "bad" news and support the joy of skill, whether it's sports or writing.

My last Texas birding weekend

My big brother (my only brother) Ricardo is here for the weekend so we can celebrate his 50th birthday. Pretty hard to believe that old turd is half a century old! Tomorrow, we're going to see his son Victor play in a band competition; he's only in 8th grade but he's in the high school drum corps! That musical talent runs in the family, you know.

Anyway, it's my last weekend here in Texas before I leave Tuesday for Pennsylvania, so sister Mary is coming down and we're going to bird some places in the San Antonio area, hoping to see what would be a really early-returning Golden-cheeked Warbler. I don't want to leave here without seeing one, but then again, I won't put off my trip to wait for one either. It's tough, but I'm ready to get back to Penna and see my gal AB again.

I'm hoping to go to a few different places, take advantage of the spring-like weather we've been having, and catch some early migrants. The local birds have been singing and winging their little hearts out, and it seems like spring is already coming to South Texas. Let's hope we see a few cool species.

As always, I'll bring along the camera and get snaps of whatever cool birds we see.

Film Fascination

I am the movie critic for The Little Paper of San Saba, a town with no theater. Nonetheless, a good friend, Cecil, decided I needed a press pass worthy of my title. So far, this has garnered no free movies, no free popcorn - just a few laughs. I don't care. I love the movies and the experience. The concept of NetFlix is cool - discs in the mail or streaming video whenever you want to watch a movie. We even have a big screen and comfy chairs with cupholders. But I am easily distracted and less involved at home.

I enjoy the movie theater experience and agree with a quote from director Werner Herzog (WSJ, 2/23/10). "I'm sitting there in awe and astonishment and I enjoy to be in a place where there are people around you and the curtain opens and the miracle begins."

Superb acting, dialogue, scenery, costumes - there's just nothing like movie magic.

This year the nominees for Best Original Screenplay are:
Mark Boat: The Hurt Locker
Quentin Tarantino: Inglourious Basterds
Alessandro Camon and Owen Moverman: The Messenger
Joel Cohen and Ethan Cohen: A Serious Man
Bob Peterson, Peter Doctor, and Tom McCarthy: Up

All worthy contenders. Writers rule!

Write Beyond

I'm still pushing my blizzard pictures, plus we have snowflakes today. So, the February snow theme continues this week. How come the snow in Whistler, BC, Canada looks way cooler? Well, for one thing, they manage to have sunshine combined with snow. Somehow, Texas can't muster both at the same time. Gray and dreary prevails. Thus I don't have decent sun glinting off snow pics. But the detail of snow on my garden curbing is awesome. I'm working up a poem, knee deep in finding a synonym for white.

Where's the eye focus? The fish silhouette? Or the empty space? As a wordsmith, I need to blur the field, change the focus, discover another view or pattern. That's the constant challenge, and just when I hit on something pure, it can melt away.

I Did Not Ride a Horse

Thursday was a glorious day to drive to Cleburne. I'd been snowed out twice and finally landed a gorgeous afternoon to check out Wings of Hope and a Therapeutic Horseback Riding Group. I volunteer for the Multiple Sclerosis Society, and as an Ambassador I was there to chat up the MS Walks in Addison and Ft.Worth on Saturday March 27th.

Talk about really cool people. I was there over an hour and welcomed generously. The folks with MS were eager to get on "their" horses - Freckles, Chief, Rodger, etc. Unfortunately, Big Red was in timeout after a rough morning and was not available to ride. Friends who know me and my husband, Ray, are laughing right now because that would have been my horse. I have chronicled some riding disasters and am always destined for trouble.

Nonetheless I got to see people who struggle with walking become free on their horse. Exercise, posture, and even some yoga were part of the program. I can't emphasize enough the kindness and care taken by the Wings of Hope staff. Super nice and attentive - these people are sharing and working hard to help and encourage others.

I learned a lot, enjoyed meeting, and chatting with everyone and came away enthused. There's a lot of hope in this world, and it can be achieved on a horse.


http://www.wingsofhopehorses.org

check out the website for pictures and information. (I did not take pictures due to privacy and respect issues)

DFL = Rejections

Canadian historian, Jonathan Crowe, started a blog called DFL for "Dead Freaking Last" and he highlighted stories of last place Olympic finishers. "Triumph is sexy, but participation is brave," he said. So far the countries with the most losing medals, i.e. bottom three finishes in events, are Czech Republic, Canada, and Poland. (Wall Street Journal, 2/17/10)

Indeed, DFL is worthy. At least, the person tried (and if you are in the Olympics, after all, you're still better than the majority of the world). It's like sending out material and getting rejected. You threw yourself out there and maybe next time will achieve the perfect landing.

I realize these pictures have no bearing on this post, but I can't let my blizzard pics languish. Winter theme prevails in February.

Olympic Optimism

Olympic spirit prevails in this household and so does a lot of Olympic television hours. I confess I'm not writing much. I'm too busy holding my breath as some youngster flips five ways to Sunday on a snowboard and lives to tell the tale. Vancouver looks like a fabulous city and the scenic views, courtesy of NBC, of Whistler and the mountains is breathtaking.

That very first step into snow as a child is magical. How does one translate that step into a passion and ultimately a gold medal? Hard work. Perseverance. Guts. I can't imagine standing at the top of a ski jump for the very first time.

"At the moment of commitment the entire universe conspires to assist you."

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

That and a loud scream.

Cheers to Olympians past, present , and future. Take that step and more.

A hike in Government Canyon

My big sister Raquel, her daughter Lilia (my junior birder), and I went to Government Canyon State Natural Area west of San Antonio. We didn't see too many birds, but we did see some interesting things:
a beautiful flower I'd never seen before, Phlox drummondii (identified thanks to this site)

a little daisy-like flower I couldn't find in the purple or white flower listings but which came in both purple and white varieties

a flower I couldn't find in the white flower listings but which looks like lantana

a poor little barrel cactus who chose a rough life by growing right on the hiking path

a Red Admiral

the bone-dry creek bed -- surprising, given all the rain we've had lately

dinosaur footprint, or dinosaur rude hand gesture? You decide.

Probably the coolest thing that happened all day was when I suggested to Lil that maybe we should pish to attract some birds. She began pishing softly, and wouldn't you know, a little House Wren, an Orange-crowned Warbler, and a Ruby-crowned Kinglet all showed up? I was so proud of her budding abilities as a birder!

49 out of 50

Forty-nine out of fifty states had traces of snow to many feet of snow on the ground Friday, February 12, 2010. Here in Bedford, Texas - nine inches, a record since 1889, the dawn of recordkeeping. Only Hawaii was the place to be with palm trees swaying and surfers hanging ten.

Snow laden branch

bends -

ice skater's bow

Hard to believe it will be 103 degrees in five months or so.

Power outage for twenty hours. The house is so still. No hums, no nothing. It's tricky to write while wearing gloves.

Powerless house -

silent vigilance

snow globe world

Pioneer tactics.

Quite a memorable snow event.

Cupid's LIning Up His Arrow

I'm a sucker for M&M candies. Pick the seasonal color and I've got the holiday bowl to hold 'em. Pink and white - yep, it must be February and Valentine's week. Well, I've been munching on them for a few weeks now. No, they don't fit into the diet plan set on New Year's Day, but I have avoided Girl Scout cookies. M&M's truly don't melt in the hand, so they are perfect as a treat while reading or writing.

Enjoyed a Wall Street Journal article (2/9/10 p. D1) on Happy Couples Kiss and Tell. How do former President Jimmy Carter and Rosalyn maintain their perfect union? "Separate projects, and, well, don't ever write a book with your husband," she said. Point taken - sorry Ray.

In general, the advice for making a marriage last comes down to common sense: 1. Find the middle ground - compromises. 2. Be funny - humor and laughs together. 3. Keep (some) secrets. One woman said she has her own bank account. 4. Never, ever give up. Oh there's some days ... when ... but you've got to keep talking and work it out. 5. Stay alive. They asked a couple who'd been married 70 years what's the secret. The wife said, "Eh, neither of us died."

Introspective retrospective

Today during my lunchbreak at work, I was showing my RGV pics to a coworker; she lost interest pretty quickly (bless her, I'm sure it was like watching your Aunt Mabel's summer vacation slide show circa 1971) and I started digging waaaaay back into my archives.

I flipped through old pictures from the Marsh House: my garden, the marsh itself, the mountains on the edge of Penns Valley, birds at my feeder. I began to get really sad; I started to feel like maybe it was dumb to go back to those days, or even want to go back to those days. They were hard days sometimes! And I just wanted to leave there!

But then I began to think about it in a different way: those pictures from back then had a certain magic for me.Everywhere, there was magic.

The marsh had magic (along with a lot of purple loosestrife).There's no place like that anywhere here in Texas; even the beach (my favorite place in Texas) isn't as magical to me as that beautiful countryside out there in Central Pennsylvania. Remember when I discovered my "secret" place, the Coburn Rail Trail?Magical spot.

Remember Kline Road?Magical.

Even my garden.Magical spot.*sigh*

Upon further reflection, though, I began to feel it was a good thing that I was going back into those old photos, old posts. It reminded me of how beautiful it is in Pennsylvania and how much I loved being outside in that magical crystal-clear air. By the end of my time in PA, I had pretty much soured on the place; I was so ready to move to California. After everything that had happened with my relationship and my life, my crappy mood led me to feel like I just needed to be elsewhere, like I didn't belong there because I'd only gone there because of Kat.

But now, looking back after everything else that's happened, after I've gotten way way way more changes of scenery than I'd ever wanted in my whole life ever!, I feel like I can look at Central PA with fresh eyes. California was incredible. But I'm not in California, and I doubt I'll be able to go back there. Texas has its pretty places and its amazing birds, but nothing I've seen here has the magic of discovery and beauty that I found in PA.

Maybe it's the lack of pines to keep the place green.

Maybe it's how everything here is so spiny and prickly and poisonous and shrivelled and thirsty-looking.


Maybe it's the lack of snow to turn a country road into a study in blues.

I've found no cool shady green spot under a canopy of dancing maple leaveswith the ground soft and moist and covered in springy green moss soft as a pillow.

I've seen no tufts of fog clinging to the mountainsides, catching the rising sun's rays and and looking like pink and orange cotton candy.

YES, I remember the snow shoveling. I remember being so cold that I just didn't want to move. I remember walking in the dirty slush on the sidewalks, my jeans getting all wet and heavy. I remember the lack of Mexican food!

Besides, without snow, would this picture be as cool?

But I also remember the cool spring and summer nights, filled with the ringing cries of peepers, the low twangs of bullfrogs, and the persistent oh-ka-lees of the Red-winged Blackbirds.I remember driving up a mountain road to gaze out onto a rolling hilly valley, green with young cornstalks and soybean plants. I remember hillsides strewn with the multi-colored confetti of autumn's changing leaves.

Yup, I think my little emotional trip down Memory Lane was a good idea. It made getting back to work a little difficult, as it was hard to focus on debit cards and duplicate charges and customer documents and such. But I think it was a good idea to remember how much fun I've had keeping this blog.

And maybe the next time I live in Pennsylvania, which might be sooner rather than later, I will remember that even if it's cold and hard and shovely, it's also magical and green and birdy.Maybe next time, I won't over-romanticize or under-romanticize it; I'll just look at it with more realistic eyes. I'll take the good with the bad. Certain people won't be there anymore, people like Matty (CA) or my bff Gretchen (DE), but then again, certain people will be there--like AB.So look out, Keystone State. Don't be surprised if a newly appreciative expatriot Texan wanders back your way someday soon.

Note: all these pictures originally appeared on this blog in previous posts.

Blizzard Blog

It began on Friday and snowed on through Saturday. Here are blizzard pictures in Delaware, courtesy of my sister. (Thanks, Lori)

Not going to get far without being plowed. Drifts up to 20+ inches. Wet, heavy, chunky snow. I'm sure the Eskimos have a special word for it.

Here's a poem I wrote:

Blizzard

swirls and drifts

covers mall lots

halting shoppers slide

into debt

Sunday - sunny blue skies, an aching back, and the promise of no school/work (for teachers) tomorrow.

Stiff by Joanne Faries

Frankenstein boot crunch

breaks silent

snow day
winter's lacy wisps

tickle lashes

eyes squint as

icicles drip in

winter sun

evergreen leans

branches creak

one step

No snow day in Texas. Throw a snowball for me in PA and DE!

Final thoughts on the Rio Grande Valley trip

Santa Ana National Wildlife Refuge. Photo by Mary Starboard

Who would've thought you could go, fifteen years later, to the very place you grew up and see an entirely different place? I finally got to see the Rio Grande Valley last weekend not as a kid bored out of her mind and thinking she lived on an earthly Tattoine, but as a birder, grown up and in love with nature. I loved the outdoors as a kid, but I was somehow harder then; I never thought of nature as something we could or would destroy. Cities were where everything happened, or so I thought, and all I wanted to do was get out of the Valley and see the world. My childhood playing with frogs and toads, getting bitten by a lizard, being chased and scared by an owl--I figured when I grew up I would live in a big city and go shopping and work and just buy stuff like grownups did. It never entered my mind that I could grow old and learn to appreciate nature in a completely different way, not as just a place to play but as a classroom, a sanctuary, a church.

Being back in the Valley was fascinating; much had changed, but much remained the same. People still had shack-like houses along the highway with "yards" full of junk, there was still too much emphasis on development and "progress," and there were not nearly enough young people out there enjoying the natural world. I guess they were all in the malls and outlet shops. We didn't see one child in any of those birding areas, not one. There was a group of late teens taking a guided walk at SANWR, and a couple of giggly teen girls at Estero Llano, but they were barely engaged in the beauty around them. Like a typical oldster, I wanted to grab them by the shoulders and say, "Appreciate this! Believe me, you'll want to remember it for the rest of your life!" But they continued on their way and so did we.

Right after that, we saw and heard that Swainson's Hawk. What a moment it was, standing there listening to the Birdjam, both of us smiling from ear to ear when we heard that call, and we knew.