2013--A YEAR IN REVIEW

Oops--it's January 12, 2014. I missed all twelve days of Christmas and even Epiphany for posting my Christmas letter. So I've decided to call this missive a  "year-in-review" letter.  Rather than attempt a summary of activities, I've tried to give you the flavor of my year season by season.

SPRING

Like most people, I live with paradox. I love watching birds. To entice them into my yard, I feed them. No paradox there. Enter Gabby. Or better--In slinks Gabby. Not only is Gabby a cat; she was feral for probably at least two of her approximately 4 years--which means she learned to hunt. To complicate matters, Gabby is a double polydactyl, giving her the equivalent of an opposable thumb on each foot. So... not only is Gabby a hunter, she's an expert. In the 18 months we've been in Arkansas, she's brought me lizards, mice (some dead, one alive), the occasional vole, chipmunks, squirrels, a bat (alive), and, of course, birds. You understand the paradox.

My love of birds and cats is not a new paradox for me. As my then eight-year-old daughter said to me twenty-some years ago, “Mom! You’re luring the birds to their death!” This spring, haunted by that long-ago exclamation, I decided to take the challenge: Who’s smarter than a cat? 

Stage 1: Suspend bird feeders from swing arms to keep the feeders three feet away from the deck. Unfortunately, birds are not highly intellectual beings. They extracted seeds from the feeders and brought them to the deck railing to eat. You can guess what Gabby did. 

Stage 2: Attach a six-inch garden fence to the inside of the deck railing. As before, the birds failed to grasp the situation and used the fence as a convenient feeding perch. Gabby simply proved she can jump higher than I thought she could.

Stage 3: Attach four feet of chicken wire to the garden fence. This worked for a few days--until Gabby found a good place to blend into the scenery behind a flower pot. Feeling safe, the birds crossed the wire and landed on the deck. They didn't stay long. The slower ones never left.

By this time I wasn't sure that I was smarter than a cat, particularly when you factor in the low intelligence of birds. Then my now-grown daughter said, "Mom, why don't you figure out a way to keep Gabby off the deck?"

Why not, indeed?

Stage 4: Attach chicken wire to both sides of the deck stairs all the way up. Attach a recycled screen door at the bottom in place of a gate. Take down stages 2 and 3. Enjoy an unobstructed view of happily feeding birds. For approximately two weeks. Then Gabby figured out how to climb through the openings underneath the deck stairs and prance on up.

Stage 5: Euthanize cat--just kidding. (Don't think I didn't consider it!) Enclose the deck stairs with chicken wire from the bottom. By now my deck looked like the demilitarized zone between North and South Korea, but peace descended.

It was early June, and all summer and fall I enjoyed my birds. Occasionally one would try to fly into the reflected trees on my window (this despite "bird safe" decals), but usually after a few stunned moments, the bird would fly drunkenly away. I relaxed, content in the knowledge that I am smarter than a cat.**

SUMMER

The Victorians (British 1837-1901) lived with a paradox as great as a cat coexisting with birds: they experienced the same emotions as everyone else, but social custom forbade talking openly about feelings. I have no idea what stages they might have gone through to arrive at a "language of flowers" to communicate emotions. A few examples follow: 

      Pimpernel = change
      Violet = love
      Lilac =  first love
      Yellow tulip =  sunshine in your smile
      Jasmine = grace
      Baby's breath = purity

So if a young girl received a nosegay of baby's breath and lilac from a young man, she would know he was telling her, "You are my first  love." However, a nosegay of pimpernel and yellow tulips delivered to a mature woman might suggest taking a friendship to the next level. Eventually the language of flowers became so complex it required a dictionary of 400 pages to decode messages.

This summer I contemplated a language of feathers. I've only just begun a lexicon:
  

Bluebird = hope
Blue Jay = ingenuity
Cardinal = elegance
Chickadee = curiosity
Goldfinch = friends
Hummingbird = travel
Raven = remembrance
Red-headed woodpecker = drama
Red-tailed hawk = patience
Robin = optimism
Wren = home
Yellow warbler = music

• For my daughter I offer a dream-catcher with feathers from a bluebird, a hummingbird, and a wren. 

• For my adopted sister I offer a decorative fan made with feathers from a blue jay, a goldfinch, and a red-tailed hawk.

• In memory of my mother I will weave a traditional royal Hawaiian cloak from every feather in my collection and line it with raven feathers.

AUTUMN     

Fall was a time of exploring for me. Days were sunny and cool, and the colors were the most brilliant people had seen in twenty years. One of the things I love about Hot Springs Village is the many trails. They range in length from 8 to 0.3 miles and vary in difficulty. 

One thing I've learned to count on is finding a bench every three or four hundred yards. One of my favorite benches looks out across Lake Balboa. The inscription reads, "In memory of Amanda, my daughter, 2008." It's always decorated, and whenever I rest there, I remember how blessed I am to have my daughter Jorie.

  

Some of the trails follow a lake shoreline while others wind through the woods. Whenever I went walking, I was bound to meet someone else on the trail. My hiking poles often elicited the comment, "Where's the snow?" I'm still wracking my brains for a good response, but no matter what I muttered, the exchange usually started a friendly conversation. I've decided "Where's the snow?" means something like "How are you?": it's a question with no answer expected.

This fall I walked five of the dozen or so trails, eventually extending my range to about a mile round-trip--in sixty minutes flat (with occasional bench stops). Not what I used to do, but I enjoy being able to walk in natural areas again. "Momentum" is the MS motto: keep moving.
    



 WINTER      

Winter in this part of the country brings ice more often than snow. While at first that seems a milder symptom, ice is every bit as effective as snow at shutting things down. So winter here is often a time of waiting: we wait for the electricity to come back on, for the black ice that covers the roads and sidewalks to melt, for activities to be rescheduled--for life to start again. This winter I've been waiting for a response to my writing. Winning the Genesis contest was exciting, but it didn't guarantee publication for my novel or even representation by an agent. So I send a proposal to an agent and wait.

Still--along with waiting, ice brings surprises. Ever heard of "frost flowers"? It turns out that there's a "frost flower weed" (actual name) that grows in swampy places around here. Evidently these weeds are filled with fluid, and when the temperatures go down far enough, they simply burst into "flowers."  This phenomenon only happens once to each plant, so you have to watch for the first or second hard freeze of the season. (When it warms up, the "flowers" melt.) The time to search is early in the morning in swamps where the weeds grow. When I heard about frost flowers, I was fascinated, so the night before the weatherman promised the first hard freeze (28 degrees), I set my alarm for 7:00 (sunrise this time of year) and went in search of frost flowers. I found them right where I'd been told to look!

          

 

CHRISTMAS

Last year Jorie and Joe came to Arkansas, so this year it was my turn to go to Phoenix. No frost flowers--just balmy sunny days for sitting on the deck and reading. One evening we went to see the Phoenix Ballet perform The Nutcracker. I have no idea how many times I've seen that ballet, but the story never gets old. This performance was outstanding because of the sets and the costumes. We also found a candlelight Christmas Eve service--another story that never gets old. 

After Christmas I spent a couple of days in Prescott with Vaughn (from Writing Project days) and her husband Ron as well as a day in Fountain Hills with Mary and Jeff (my Guam family). As I look back, I see that friends have been a consistent blessing in my life. While I've usually had a few friends at any given time, over the years, I've collected an amazing crowd of friends. I love the saying "Friends are the family you choose." So to all of my family, I wish you a new year of paradoxes, exploring, surprises, and love.  

**P.S.

While I was in Phoenix, I received a text from my house sitter: “Gabby showed up on the deck this morning with a mouthful of feathers.” I came home determined to find the hole in the chicken wire. Nothing--every bit of it was intact. So this morning after I let Gabby out the front door, I stood by the window that overlooks the deck and watched. After a few minutes she sauntered around the side of the house and stopped by the deck stairs. From a standing pose, she leapt 5 feet over the fortifications. This afternoon I installed stage 6: