What Doth This Parrot Portend?

A UFO landed on my swimming pool yesterday morning. Okay. So it was some kind of parrot; but since I have yet to identify the genus, I'm sticking with the classification  "Unidentified Flying Object."

I was sitting on the patio doing my morning reading and meditation. I glanced up for a moment to glimpse a bright green parrot swoop down and perch on the railing into the pool. I wouldn't even be certain I really witnessed it, but I whispered to my hubby, "Look!" Hubby will verify that it was indeed there. A parrot. Of the most glorious, vibrant yellow-green. And then, as quickly as our guest had landed, she spread her wings and flew off.

"I wonder what it means?" I mused.

"It means someone lost their pet parrot," replied my literal thinking hubby.

I, on the other hand, am quite sure the visit by my chartreuse friend is a sign of some import, something that screams "Sit up straight and pay attention!" I don't like the word "omen."  It sounds so...well...ominous. But the appearance of our bright green bird was so unexpected, so incongruous on my desert patio against the marine blue background, I can't quite get it out of my mind. It has to mean something, doesn't it?  I did a Google search for "omens and parrots" but found nothing. Likewise a search of bird classification revealed little. The best I can figure, the bird might belong to the Amazon Green family. (Why is it you never have a camera at hand when you need one?)

I emailed my friend Sarah, a veterinary student and bird aficionado, for her expertise. "Do you suppose someone lost their pet parrot?" she replied.  Thanks Sarah.  That hadn't occurred to me.

The rest of the day my thoughts kept returning to the appearance of our fleeting stranger. It made the day rather magical and wondrous.  I spent a bit more time in the "now," aware of any new sound or sight that sparked my senses. I'll admit it.  I've been obsessing about that bright green bird now for 24 hours. And waiting...and waiting... (Insert heavy sight here.)

I have another friend who is a bona fide psychic. Perhaps I'll drop her an email and see what she thinks it all means. Then again, I'm afraid she'll probably say, "It means that someone lost their pet parrot." And that would be a disappointment I simply could not handle.

Facing That Fork in the Road

Some of you who are "worthy" of being counted on my very limited list of Facebook friends (wink wink) might remember the silly picture I posted several months ago of a table fork by the curb of the sidewalk we travel everyday. At the time I thought my discovery was the perfect whimsical sight joke, like a Concentration picture puzzle. Remember that game show?

Oh the irony!  I should have recognized the fork for what it really was--an omen. The memory of that fork dogged me these last few months. The first time I realized the significance of my discovery I had been inundated with life-altering choices. New job opportunities, relocation possibilities, heavy-duty King Solomon decisions to be made. The next time I walked the same route, I searched for the fork. There it rested, obscured with months of windy summertime debris.

Prophetic, huh?  The following weeks I sorted through what I truly wanted...my heart's desire. I began to visualize what my life would look like if things changed. Scary-- perhaps...exciting--definitely! 

And suddenly everything became clear. It defies explanation how easily things fall into place when you realize what you believe in. The Universe seemed to move mountains--mountains I hadn't even known existed three weeks before. New job? Snap!  New city? Snap! New home?  Well, God and I are still working on that, but I'm certain my perfect home will materialize in divine time. 

The fork in the road? The last time I walked, my nagging little utensil had vanished, most likely carried downstream with our recent gully-washers.  No matter. I don't need it anymore.  I know where I'm going. I don't need a fork in the road to point the way.

Haiku Voodoo: Eyes

I feel them staring.

They follow me down the street.

The Neighborhood Watch at work.

The Kitchen Garden Novice Scraps Happy

So I read my horoscope today. (Yes I am a Scorpio, and no I have not eaten any of my children.) Check it out:

This is less a premonition than an observation as I've already had a project in progress. I have known for the past month that my boss has a birthday coming up on Friday. She and I have shared many challenges as of late. It seemed an appropriate time to do something special for her. 

I wrote a poem a couple years ago and placed it on this blog: The Kitchen Garden Novice Reflects.. The verse I'd penned looked to be just right for the occasion;  I scrapped a tag book for her.

So was it merely coincidence that my horoscope today spoke of handmade art?  I think not.  Sometimes the Universe just knows when you need a kick in the seat of the pants to finish what you've started.

The Kitchen Garden Novice: Haiku Voodoo

Daybreak

Pink cotton candy

floats on soft blue milky skies.

Breakfast is served. Yum!

El Pequeno Barco

"Oh Lord, protect me for the sea is so wide, and my boat, so small."

a fisherman's prayer

We spotted her at the water's edge in Belize, while on our pilgrimage to ruins of greater notoriety. I'd forgotten all about this little boat until a day later. I flipped through digital images of Mayan temples and pyramids and  masks; there she was, proud in her decay.

I wondered what secrets she kept. Had she been a fisherman's skiff? Perhaps laid to rest by a fisherman's son after the owner's passing? Was she washed ashore by hurricane or typhoon? Or was she merely discarded by a child who outgrew her when deeper waters called?

Whatever her story, some caring soul had dragged her ashore and propped her in this place of honor, to weather with time and termite until land and sea reclaim her. And I, for one, cherish the discovery of such an exquisite treasure.

The Kitchen Garden Novice: Haiku Voodoo

Yellow

Profusion of blooms

Tickling, teasing the nose

Melted butter yard.

The Kitchen Garden Novice Gleans

They say that "Men are hunters. Women are gatherers." I disagree. I think some men are both, and some women are neither. Permit me to present the following evidence.

Every day, hubby and I take our leisurely stroll around the neighborhood. Every day he comes home with pockets full of  "stuff." Behold Exhibit A:

'

Now I ask you, what on earth does he need this stuff for? At first I thought he was just trying to save the neighborhood tires from unlucky puncture. But then I realized he was storing his acquisitions on the cabinets over his workbench. "That small key unlocks my file cabinet!" he declared, victorious! Yes, he is a hopeless "gatherer." But if you watch how he spots these treasures, you realize he is also a "hunter." For hubby is a classic "looker-downer."

I, on the other hand, am a "looker-upper." I am scanning the horizon for trees in bloom...mountains... clouds...  And I seldom bring anything home with me.

It could be a metaphor for our personal evolution. Many times during our walks, I ask hubby, "What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing," he says with a shrug.

Nothing. Hubby is content to live in the now, ready to receive whatever the Universe sends his way, open to the gift.

I, on the other hand, am constantly lost in my thoughts, musing about the future, focusing on tomorrow, and convinced that what is beyond the horizon will be...better. I seldom find myself in the gap between multiple  mental maneuvers. Insert heavy sigh here.

On the flip side, Hubby's obsession with open reception to the Universe makes him a hopeless collector. Exhibit B: our garage. Only his slight obsessive/compulsive bent toward organization keeps us from  appearing on this week's episode of  "Hoarders."

Yes I could learn a bit from my looker-downer, hunter-gatherer hubby. But he could learn a bit from me as well.  Together, we almost make a whole person. And I thank God every day for leading us to each other.

The Kitchen Garden Novice Harvests

Last night, hubby and I enjoyed the fruits of our labors--all three of them. About time. This is the second year we have planted cherry tomato plants on the first week of January. And this is the second year that we've had limited success.

Last year we tried one seedling. We nurtured it with "vegetable blend" soil--not the cheap generic brand, but the pricey Miracle-Gro dirt. Oh the irony. I grew up in Iowa where good black dirt is as close as your backyard. Here--not so much. We babied that seedling with daily watering and filtered light, careful to move her when the spring sun got too harsh. When she outgrew her pot we transplanted her to a giant terra cotta crock. We harvested about ten small, tough cherry tomatoes. Tasty but a bit hard. In the end, our coddled tomato plant met her demise when a gust of Arizona wind knocked her off the plant stand we'd perched her on to avoid becoming "bunny buffet." Her pot was shattered, her spine and limbs broken. It was "matercide."

This year, we "adopted" two seedlings. We vowed not to smother our babies, rather like parents who've learned their mistakes on the oldest sibling, we planted them in plain old plastic buckets with plain old generic potting dirt. Aphids attacked this year in a plague to rival Jehovah's wrath upon Egypt. Determined to stay organic, I've sprayed with soapy water almost daily. But even with all of the extra attention, those voracious veggie vandals continue to return. And...we've had few blossoms, hence few tomatoes.

Then the other night that world renowned agronomist, Pat Sajak mentioned to Vanna "tomato plants need to dry out in order to flower successfully." If Pat says so, it must be true. After all, doesn't Pat always know where the $100,000 wedge is?  So...I started to let the aphids have their way with the tomato leaves, and... voila`--the twins began to flower.

Last night we celebrated with a "first fruits" dinner. I know what you're thinking. It's a bit like two vultures picking over carrion, but let's face it. If hubby and I are ever forced to raise our own food, we will be eating shoe leather.

Still, it didn't seem right  not to honor our little tomatoes with the presentation they deserved. Bon appetit!

Old Dog/New Tricks

"Those who seek growth, embrace life and learn from the journey."

“No matter where you are in life right now, no matter who you are, no matter how old you are – it is never too late to be who you are meant to be.” Esther and Jerry Hicks

Well who'da thunk it?  My couch potato hubby has turned into a dedicated walker. He is by nature a confirmed introvert, comfortable in his nest.  At one time in the not too distant past I had to drag him kicking and screaming, grumbling and moaning, for a stroll around the neighborhood.   Psychologists say it takes, on average, 21 days of a repeated practice for an action to become a habit. These gurus never met my slightly obsessive/compulsive hubby. We started with a daily one mile jaunt. I'll admit it took a bit of prodding the first day to get him out the door, but within a couple of days it was he who was prodding me.

I sensed that walking had "stuck" when he asked for new sweats for Christmas, something with a hood. Granted, he sports a Unabomber look, but a little wind and chill doesn't stop him.

Then, one day, I returned home from work and he casually reported, "CoCo and I had an adventure today."

"Really?" I asked. "Did she go to the drive-thru with you?"

"No. We walked all the way up to the high school."

What!!!??? They walked...without me! Don't get me wrong--I wasn't resentful. Just mildly, well...shocked.

Clearly, my hubby's daily walk has become a spiritual practice. More times than not, when I work the early shift, hubby and CoCo Chanel head out on their own. Most days, their one mile stretches into two.

And I am so...proud. Not that I had much to do with this healthier lifestyle choice. I believe the seed of being a walker hid within my hubby's soul all along, waiting for the right moment of cultivation. And I marvel at the miracle our Creator has awakened in him. I stand in wonder that after all these years he still surprises me with growth and change.

A little epilogue to these observations:

Last week I joined hubby and the puppy for the first time in several days. As we rounded a corner, blocks from the house, a woman I'd never met called out, "Hi, CoCo!" and approached to pet our little diva.

"Making friends, are we?" I teased him.

"Everybody loves CoCo," hubby murmured.

I know better than to mistrust this love of my life whom I married thirty-one years ago, but I might need to rethink the introvert assessment. I cannot imagine what other seeds the Source might decide to nurture. Hmmm...

The Kitchen Garden Novice: Along the Way

Did you feel it?  The excitement in the air approached ebullience, beginning Thursday evening. I was driving home from the grocery store when traffic slowed to a crawl.  Neighbors whom I'd never met

wandered out of their homes, looking...up.                                           

Something about the balloon festival brings out the inner toddler in all of us. From the moment I spotted the first gliding orb of silk, my spirit became...well...light.  I felt like a kid again, hearing rumors the traveling Labor Day carnival was back in town. As evidenced by the stopped cars, lawn chairs in the front yards, and the squeals of children others shared my joy.  For one weekend, instead of a humdrum trip to work, I looked forward to the drive (although I stayed off the highway for as long as possible. I'm sure the city's fender-bender rate increased exponentially for the last four days. Any insurance actuaries out there?)



Hubby and I once took a hot-air balloon trip on our twentieth anniversary over Lake Tahoe. It was, without a doubt, a "bucket-list worthy" experience. We're not in the financial position to repeat that thrill anytime soon, but I wonder if I truly appreciated the trip back then.  It seems I now truly relish the brilliant colors of the silk, the quiet whoosh of the burners, and the awe those balloons inspire in each of us, the neck-craning onlookers.



And just like Christmas, I wish the spirit of Balloon Fest could last all year long. Sigh....

Here's to Another Trip Around the Sun

Happy New Year!

Before you jump to conclusions, let me assure you this is NOT another blog dedicated to someone's pathetic attempt at making/keeping New Year resolutions. Not to belittle those who take their resolutions quite seriously, but I guess I'm not the resolute type. I do respect the concept. Yet, I've always thought that commitments made simply because it's the first day of a new year are doomed to fail. What magical, mystical power does the stroke of midnight, on this particular day, conjure, anyway?

When you think about it, the concept of a calendar "year" is a fairly meaningless abstraction. Since the earliest civilizations, humans have created their own calendars as a structure to explain change of seasons, lunar cycles, solar patterns, and the position of the stars. If mankind could explain/contain such universal things, then it followed that mankind might harness...well... mayhem.  (And we can all see how well that worked out.)  But I digress.

So this past week when the island of Samoa decided to "skip a day," I'm sure it had Gregorian monks and Mayan holy men spinning in their graves.  By dropping one day from their year, the Samoans thumbed their noses at the calendar and placed themselves at the front of the line in the world trade markets. Now that's thinking outside of the calendar box. Samoa waited until December 30-31 for the transition, making them one of the first countries in the world to ring in the new year. Talk about getting a jump on the party!

But what of those Samoans whose birthdays and anniversaries fell on the 30th? Weren't they left feeling a bit...well...uncelebrated? Then again, it might be a gift. You could claim that you're 39 for another year. And if your husband is asked how long you've been married, well who can blame him if he gets it wrong?

The concept of skipping a day kindled whimsical conversation around our backyard firepot New Years Eve. If you could get a do-over for 2011, what day would you like to skip altogether? Hubby's answer was quick and decisive.

"I would have skipped the day I spent prepping for my colonoscopy."                 

"What if you could go the opposite way and stretch one day into two?" I asked.

"I would want to go back to July 4th when we were back in Missouri with the family."

Both good choices. "How about you? What day would you slow down?" Hubby countered.

"Probably our daughter's wedding day," I said, laughing. "It was all such a blur--I should like to at least remember some of the day."
"And what day would you have skipped?" Hubby asked.

I searched the cobwebs upstairs for any memory of a day in the past year so dark, so painful that I'd prefer to wipe it off the calendar. It was a hard year for a lot of folks. I thought of the residents in Japan and Joplin who had lost everything to natural disaster. I remembered the Americans who had lost their jobs and then their homes. And I recalled the losses of so many of my friends and families this past year--personal health crises, failed marriages, and the passing of beloved mothers, fathers, and sons. So much sorrow. What one day would I choose to erase?

"Sweetie?" Hubby prodded.

"I wouldn't skip a single day," I murmured. That's right. As bad as things were for many, how do you change the course of life by erasing one day? And how do you savor the joy of a 4th of July or a daughter's wedding, without first tasting the salty tears of sorrow?  Perhaps I'm showing my age with this lack of druthers, but...life is too short for regrets and too full for skipping a single day.

Skip a day? I think not. This Kitchen Garden Novice wants another full trip around the sun.