Feeding the Birds

Earlier this month, I was sitting in the lunch room trying to think of something to add to the usual lunch time banter. “Oh check this out! I had some yellow finches at my new feeder!” I excitedly showed the video from my phone of 4 birds happily enjoying the seeds out on my back deck. “So now you’re that person who takes movies of her bird feeder?” my friend jokingly asked. Wow, did I suddenly feel old. I don’t know why taking movies of my bird feeder classified me as the old guy in the room. I have always liked birds. My grandma was an avid bird watcher and had many feeders in her back yard, along with her “Pocket Guide to Birds” book and binoculars next to the window. I’m not that bad yet. But I have fond memories of my grandma telling me about birds and about how blue jays are the “bullies of the backyard feeder.” I always enjoyed watching her yell “Shoo!” at those pretty birds. For the last few years we’ve always had some sort of feeder in our yard. I half-heartedly filled them with whatever bird seed I found in the garage. It was usually the same stuff I threw in the chicken coop. However this year I developed an interest in getting more serious about my bird attracting. I ordered an oriole feeder and then read an article about how to attract them, (with oranges). And what not to feed them, (grape jelly-contrary to popular belief). I had already used a gift certificate to by a cute yellow finch feeder, to replace the thistle seed socks I hung around the yard last winter. I just love yellow finches. They are probably my favorite bird. That feeder is on my deck railing, hanging to the outside of the deck so that my cats won’t mistake it for a lunch buffet. This year I also decided I was going to make an effort to attract not only orioles and finches, but robins. Robins are so quintessential spring in Michigan, that I did some reading about what they like to eat. So our Saturday trip down to Traverse City resulted in a new eco-friendly feeder and some songbird mix, complete with raisins and dried mealworms. My new hobby seems to be paying off. Just tonight there were about 50 little birds that I have never seen before going crazy over my finch feeder. After a quick search on my computer, it turns out they are called common redpolls. I have never even heard of those, but they sure are pretty. So I guess what I am saying is that I’ve turned into my own grandma and if that makes me the old lady in the lunchroom, so be it. Just don’t be surprised if I whip out my phone and show you a video of the orioles when they finally make their way to my feeder.

Those Pesky Passwords

About a week ago, I found myself in a foul mood. Such a foul mood that I stopped at the gas station on my way home for a Little Debbie’s snack cake and some Pringles. When I got home I put my stuff down, played frisbee with my dog, fed the chickens and then went straight to the couch. I laid down under a double-folded weighted blanket, and watched JoJo make the world’s easiest meal, parmesan chicken alfredo, on an episode of Magnolia Table just so I could decompress. I have been doing a pretty good job these days of keeping my stress level in check. I pray, meditate, do yoga, and practice gratitude. So that day, the feeling of tight muscles, clenched teeth, and raw irritability, were something I hadn’t felt since the election. What had me rattled to the point of food soothing and weighted blankets? Passwords. Google Chrome has been on my last nerve lately with the constant updates and re-installing. And if you aren’t having that problem, please tell me how you have avoided the little red circle with the up-arrow, because I see it almost weekly, if not daily (it’s up there now, in fact). And just about every time I re-install it, my passwords go missing. When the whole password thing first started, I could use a password like 1234qwerty. Then I had to get a little more creative like, h4rL3y. And in those days, I could use them on multiple websites. Now that the internet is a virtual wasteland of people and bots trying to steal our information and identity, passwords have gone from easy to remember 6-8 letters and number combinations to 16+ letter, number, symbol combinations that in no possible way can ever be memorized. They look something like this: 7}%7FG^MuG'2u/3f. And forget trying to write them down in your little middle-aged password notebook, you will almost definitely write one character incorrectly and get the dreaded, “Oops! Incorrect username or password. Please try again.” But don’t try more than 3 times or they will lock you out of your account. With some of my accounts, I have stopped trying to figure out a way to remember these god-awful passwords (which shouldn’t even be called “words”). Now I just type in my username (if I can remember which one), and hit “forgot password?” because it is actually easier to go through the 3-step process to just make up a new one with my handy random password generator website and the copy & paste keys, than trying to find the sticky note I wrote the last one on. Where that doesn’t work is on apps like Pinterest where I am signed in on 4 different devices, so every time I change the password, I have to change it on multiple devices. You do not want to catch me on that day! Which was what happened on the day in question and brings me back to the couch, the pringles, and Magnolia Table. So if you happen to find me in a foul mood, it’s probably the passwords.

A 5 Star Year for Betsy

As we wrap up on 2020, I can honestly say that it has probably been the most uncertain, difficult year on record. Until this year, my life has been without a lot of crazy turmoil. So when I saw a coffee cup for sale that had 2020 with one out of 5 stars filled in, I thought, “That pretty well sums it up.” And unless you invested in the plastics industry and made a kazillion dollars this year, 2020 has probably been one of the more difficult years for you too. The other day I was looking at my dog, happily lounging in our living room. I was home because of yet, another covid shut-down, and thought “This really has been The Year of Betsy.” Betsy has been our “problem child.” She came to us as a post-Molly, empty nest solution. She has had behavior problems, allergy problems, and injury problems. She is nicknamed “Miss Barky-pants” and “Woofy Woofersons” because of her barking problems. She is no longer allowed in the front yard without being tied out because of her annoying habit of bolting into the road after neighbors who are simply trying to enjoy their daily dog-walking sessions. In spite of all that, 2020 has been a 5 star year for Betsy. It started out like any other year, with she and I taking morning walks and the rest of her days being spent in the garage while Tom and I went to work. But when Covid hit and the shut downs happened, not only did Tom join us at home and on our walks, but our son (her most favorite human in the world) came home from college to weather out the lockdown. Suddenly, Betsy had it made. She had two parents walking with her daily, and almost 8 consecutive months of company. She got to go on additional 4 mile walks in town several days a week with me and my friends. Sam took her out most evenings to either go play frisbee golf, go to the beach, or be the rock star at the park with her own frisbee. Betsy resumed agility classes and we also worked a little bit on AKC Rally skills in the back yard. If I were to guess, the highlight of her summer was probably the day she got to try out real sheep herding. She had so much supervision that were able to stay on top of her itchy foot licking and catch it before she turned her feet into raw hamburger. When I went back to work in September, Sam’s job allowed him to remain remote. Eventually, he moved out and Betsy returned to the garage for a short time, until we shut down again. This second round of shut downs gave me a little bit of crafting time to make her a new fleece tie blanket and matching snuffle mat. Betsy doesn’t care about Covid-19, the presidential election, or the economy. If she can have the ones she loves close by for the majority of the time, it’s 5 out of 5 stars for her. And if I take a moment to count my blessings, it is for me too.

Once Upon a Skunk

I have often said that I would rather run into a bear than a skunk. Actually, I have come in close contact with a (small) bear and after we both stood there in awe and wonder of each other, we simultaneously realized the danger and quickly went our separate ways. That’s not to say that it could be catastrophically worse the next time (and I hope there won’t be a next time). But for me, I have a strong aversion to skunks bordering on irrational fear. It seems to have gotten worse over the years. There’s actually a name for it. Mephitophobia. I didn’t realize the level of phobia I have regarding skunks, until recently. It started out like any other night. My dog, Betsy, was unusually wound up. I attribute it to the fact that she is getting a lot less exercise than she was when I was home over the spring and summer months. So I suggested that we head out in the backyard to play frisbee. It was dark out, so I flipped on the back light. Now, I usually scan the back yard quickly for any sign of a white stripe, but I was negligent. I didn’t even consider it. I swung open the door and Betsy immediately took a hard left and pounced. At first, I thought it was a cat, until she jumped back and I saw the telltale white tail in the air. It was at this point that I lost my mind. I started yelling and jumping up and down trying to get her to come back inside (mistake #1). But for some reason, she seemed to want to investigate this strange new friend further. By the time I got her into the garage, the damage had been done. We proceeded to hose her down immediately (mistake #2), and donned with rubber gloves, we used what we had, roughly half of a 32 oz. bottle of Dawn dish soap. But it didn’t seem to work at all. Our entire house reeked. I swore I could taste it. The stench seemed to coat my nostrils. The level of anxiety that this particular incident invoked rivaled that of a car accident or natural disaster. I was a wreck. Would I smell like skunk at work the next day? How long would our house stink? This whole incident was a practice in calming down and reminding myself that it could, in fact be worse. I could have gotten mauled by a bear, right? I definitely won’t be as lax the next time I swing open the back door after sunset. The funny thing was, that no one really batted an eyelash. “Oh, that happened to my dog last week,” my friend said casually. And after a few days it really wasn’t that big of a deal. My husband seemed somewhat amused when he said, “We just need to learn to get along with our skunk friends.” That’s fine. As long as they keep their distance.

Those Pesky Left Turns

 I love fall. The days are getting cooler. The leaves are changing. Decorations are adorable. But the real reason I love fall is that I once again can make left turns in my car. I understand that the summer residents and tourists breathe life into our area and I can appreciate that. I really can. I have friends who are business owners and I want nothing more for them than that they have successful summer seasons. But when the summer winds down and the streets begin to empty out, I am ready. 

During the summer months I drive miles out of my way to be able to do simple things that I take for granted in the winter. Like many locals, I know the ways to avoid Charlevoix bridge traffic (for the most part) and drive to the intersections where I will be let in. I also have learned to pre plan my errands so that I can avoid making left turns. I do make the occasional “Michigan Left” (turn right, turn left into a business parking lot, turn right into traffic), but that’s only if I didn’t plan ahead. For example, if I have several errands to make in Petoskey on a given day during the summer, I’ll put them in order so that the only left turns I have to make are at the lights. It has driven my family members crazy on more than one occasion. “Nope. Can’t go to JC Penny yet. We have to go to Dunham’s, Marshall’s, Walmart, Aldi, Hobby Lobby, and then JC Penny. In that order.” “Hungry for Wendy’s? You’ll have to wait until we are on our way home because there is no way in heck I’m turning left into that restaurant and then trying to merge into traffic again.” 

There are other reasons I like the slower pace of the fall and winter months. Horn-honking is rare from September to April. I can flake out at the traffic light and nobody honks at me to get out of the way. I rarely get passed on US-31 and I don’t feel the rush to pass anyone either. From September to April I almost never get caught behind a giant RV towing a 4 door Jeep. I also just like when things slow down in town. Getting a table in a restaurant is much easier, and to my husband’s pleasure, all you can eat fish frys resume after Labor Day. 

As always, I wish the summer residents and tourists adieu for another busy season and bid them well as they return to wherever it is they hibernate for the winter. As it is in every tourist town, when the snow melts, we will welcome back the seasonal residents. Once again, the familiar signs of summer will be that first honking horn, getting caught at the bridge, and the inability to make a left turn.

Camping Girl

 Camping. A summer pastime that I absolutely love. I don’t camp nearly as often as I used to, or would like to. Growing up, camping was our weekend getaway. We had our family camper on a little campground at a place called Shady Rest in Jones, Michigan. I have many fond memories from spending time there. So to me, camping is in my blood.

Our friends recently invited us along on a camping trip up in the U.P. Since they all have campers, they have been suggesting that we get one and questioned why we don’t. We used to have a camper, but when the maintenance became more frequent than the camping itself, we had to let it go. It was around that time that we did some tent camping and found out we liked the ease of it. We found that don’t need to pull a camper behind our truck in order to enjoy the outdoors. We insisted that tent camping is way easier than hauling a trailer. The only problem can be rain. Nobody likes to sit out the rain in a wet tent. However, when it came time to pack for our trip, the list of things we needed to bring quickly got overwhelming. I was starting to think that this wasn’t going to be as simple as I remembered. The top items on the list were the biggies. Tent, air mattress, bedding. And I couldn’t forget the flashlights for those late night trips to the restroom.

And then there was the cooking. We needed to take cooking pans, plates, silverware, napkins, and something to wash dishes in. I also needed to have a place to store food. Since we don’t have a refrigerator, we needed to plan for a cooler and lots of ice refills. I reminded Tom that all of that needed to be secured because of bears.

The list continued to include activities like kayaks, bikes, and motorcycles. Should we bring yard games? Card games? Fishing equipment?

And then were the clothes. The northern UP was calling for weather in the 60’s which isn’t exactly shorts and t-shirt weather. So in addition to those, we packed jeans, sweatshirts, long sleeve t-shirts, and extra pairs of dry socks and shoes. As I thought of more things we needed to bring, my list went from one page to two pages.

I know it seems like most of this stuff would already be in a camper so that we’d only have to grab some clothes and hook on. But no problem. We got this! It turns out that we were right. We don’t need a camper. We can simply fit everything we need for tent camping neatly our haul-behind cargo trailer. And hope it doesn’t rain.

Mystery Solved

I spent 3 days trying to figure out why my forearms, elbows, and right bicep hurt so bad, until it came to me: the cartwheel. It all started when my son posted a picture on Instagram of his wife doing a handstand on one of the piers in Marquette. My husband decided that he wanted to recreate the picture when we traveled there this past weekend, only he’d be the one doing the handstand on the pier. “I don’t even know if I can do a handstand,” he wondered. “This could get real bad, real fast, “ I thought in response. When we got to the pier and discovered how narrow it was, we began to have serious second thoughts. “Do you realize that if you make one wrong move, you’ll end up falling 15 feet into those rocks down there?” Tom said to me. I really didn’t want to see either one of us over-throw our legs while trying to kick up into a handstand on a 3 foot wide pier. I mean, how in the world would the ambulance get out there? Let’s be smart here, people.  “Maybe I can do a cartwheel and you can just take a picture of that,” I suggested.

There are a couple things I need to admit here. I am 52 years old. I haven’t done a cartwheel since 1993. I have never done a cartwheel on a 3 foot wide cement pier.

But that shouldn’t matter should it? I mean, c’mon. It’s a cartwheel. Historically, cartwheels are one of those things that seem to come naturally to girls. Just like riding a bike…isn’t it? What could possibly go wrong? So I took a look at the pier, stretched my arms in the air, and froze. Momentarily. Then I just went for it. My body did nothing that it was supposed to. Apparently my muscle memory had expired. All of those thousands and thousands of cartwheels, one-handed cartwheels, and ariel cartwheels? Gone. Remember watching the boys in middle school gym class attempt cartwheels? That’s what it felt like and according to the 17 pictures Tom took as this ridiculous demonstration took place, is exactly what it looked like. After I deleted all of those pictures, I decided that either I should never attempt a cartwheel again, or I really need to work on my cartwheel executions. Which brings me back to the arm pain 3 days later. Apparently, these arms can no longer hold up my body, even briefly. And remember how I said that it was Tom’s idea to recreate the handstand picture to begin with? Those of you who know him, know he’s not a handstand kind of guy. But thanks to modern camera-phone technology I am happy to report that we successfully staged Tom doing what looked something like a handstand, snapped a picture, and sent it off to the kids. Nobody fell off the pier. And only one of us has the arm pain to show for it.