Zooming in on the small grey-green bird

Home today. I almost made it to the three-day weekend before coming down with a snozzfest headcold. Adding to the sinus pain is an eye twitch. Herbert Lom's Chief Inspector Dreyfus had Clouseau. Like many teachers, I could name my eye twitch after a certain student, but I won't do that publicly! I could name the likely suspects who shared this headcold, too, but again, a bad idea.

In between naps I sat in a sunny spot and stared out the window. To my great joy, a small grey-green bird was hopping about the soapberry tree on the neighbor's patio. It only took fifty photos, three field guides, four checklists, and two websites to get a partial ID.  My feathered insect-eating friend seems to be a warbler. Maybe a prairie warbler. Feel free to jump in with a better suggestion. Its tummy and rump shone yellow in the bright sunshinne.

Been writing about winter visits by the small grey-green bird since shortly after my mother died. I've never gotten a good identification, but this guest always cheers me up.

 

The day warmed up to near sixty degrees, so perhaps insects became active. I watched a red admiral butterfly materialize from nowhere to circle the patio.  Two anole lizards were out back, too.

The next two days should be warm. My camera and bird books are waiting by the window with the box of tissues.



© 2013 Nancy L. Ruder

Thanksgiving with Dad and butterflies

Snout butterfly on White Mistflower. Heard Sanctuary.

There coulda been a rumble on the crowded white mistflower today, but the skippers were too hippy dippy blissed-out to battle the snouts for turf.  All kinds of snouts, skippers, painted ladies, queens, assorted bees, and flashy-dresser webworm moths were imbibing, snorting, and pollinating with scandalous abandon. I haven't seen such a traffic jam since the wheelchair gridlock at the nursing home.


Been thinking of my dad, Howie, as we approach a first Thanksgiving without him.  For several Thanksgivings he was way, way out there, completely unfiltered, and uninhibited in his speech, and unable to control mucus secretions while eating. Dad in his holiday attire of terry bib, plaid flannel pjs and Depends ramming his wheelchair into the wall over and over took much of the enjoyment from the holiday meal.

Checkerspot.

Just in the last couple weeks I've been able to replace some visual memories of Howie in his protracted, degrading decline with better memories and visual associations.

Watching the common checkered skipper and the checkerspot butterfly sucking down smoothies while wearing their plaid jammies, I got a momentary flash of peace about Howie and my seasons as his "responsible party".

Common checkered skipper.

Party snouts.

Queen butterfly.

Ballerina spider.

Ailanthus webworm moth.

Catching butterflies was a family hobby Dad encouraged.  It probably started as a way for me to earn a Camp Fire bead.  Dad bought one net, then immediately made several others.  Our backyard was a good starting point, but Dad was happy to take us places where we could run around, up and down hills, waving nets, getting worn out, and occasionally catching butterflies. My perfectionist mother mastered the mounting of specimens. We studied field guides to identify our catches.

Now I just catch butterflies with my camera, but I still get exercise and fresh air. I get out the field guide to identify my sightings for Dad.

The flashy dressing webworm moth looks like a skinny beetle, since it rolls its wings around it.  I never did get a photo of one in flight. These are diurnal and good pollinators, not the evil fall webworms Dad used to cuss.

The very fragrant White Mistflower causing all the ruckus is a Texas native.  Ageratina havanensis is tolerant of drought and rocky soil. It blooms from mid-October until very cold weather


© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

Color commentary

It's a beautiful almost Fall battle of the complementary colors. Cheerleaders shake their pompons for the yellow and purple teams.  It's good to be outside watching the cosmic competition for bees. Just when it seemed purple would be the clear winner, yellow forced the game into overtime.

Spiny Eryngo, Eryngium leavenworthii, Heard Nature Sanctuary, McKinney, TX. Note tiny spider cheering for purple.

Water lilies, Dallas Arboretum.

Purple findings while walking Prairie Creek Park, Richardson, TX. (Over an inverted photo of a passion flower at the Heard.)

Morning glories, Arboretum All American Selections Trial garden.

Halftime.

 Tiger swallowtail on lantana at the Heard.

One of seven sunflowers along the fence of our school garden, Richardson, TX.

 Spider cheering for yellow.

Mystery eggs on one sunflower.

Overtime--Opening school sunflower vs. Dale Chihuly glass art installation at the Arboretum.

© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

I meant to do my work today...

...but two caterpillars chewed
On my Key Lime tree.
So I neglected the peach-mint salsa recipe
To watch videos of my grandbaby.


Connemara Preserve opened before it got hot,
So I went for a hike, how could I not?
Father William, this butterfly stood on its head.
Not wanting to work either or instead.

I lunched with a friend who needed to vent,
Shopped Kohl's for perfect tops
For fifty-ish ladies obviously
A designer has yet to invent.


The laundry won't care,
Neither will the floors.
Better connect with 
Family, friends, and outdoors.


For these bad verses don't curse
Poor old Louis Untermeyer.
Send  him with Joan Walsh Anglund 
To fold clothes from the dryer.

Spotted the caterpillars while I was out cutting mint for the salsa.  Have home-grown peaches, a gift from a library patron.  Keep your fingers crossed that the Giant Swallowtail caterpillars will continue to grow and that I recover from severe impaired poetitis.  



Ten days or so back this butterfly hung out
laying eggs on my little Key Lime tree.  
My photos were awful since time was so short
and because the window was dirty.

I meant to do my work today--
But a brown bird sang in the apple tree,
And a butterfly flitted across the field,
And all the leaves were calling me.


And the wind went sighing over the land
Tossing the grasses to and fro,
And a rainbow held out its shining hand--
So what could I do but laugh and go?








Richard LeGallienne




FATHER WILLIAM  by: Lewis Carroll (1832-1898)

"OU are old, Father William," 

the young man said,

"And your hair has become very white;

And yet you incessantly stand on your head--

Do you think, at your age, it is right?"

 

"In my youth," Father William replied to his son,

"I feared it might injure the brain;

But, now that I'm perfectly sure I have none,

Why, I do it again and again."

© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

Twilight Zone on the playground

Yes, this cicada tried to fly off with our picnic table.




















b

Two rowdy hawks have been perching on the telephone poles near the playground for three days.  They screech loudly, and sometimes fly off together.  A third hawk appears sometimes looking rather ruffed up or ruffled.  We don't understand the avian soap opera.  We need subtitles.

But what really knocked me out was your cheap sunglasses.






© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

Choreographing a swallowtail ballet

Inspiration plus perspiration plus going where angels fear to tread into the thistle meadow in search of the dramatic black swallowtail photograph.  The butterfly always one more giant prickly weed beyond the range of the sun-dazed photographer with her tiny camera. Digital click click click zoom point zoom out of focus tangled on thorns wondering about snakes click click swing zoom. Percussion mostly.  Vertical stripes pink black glaring white yellow greens.  A Seventies disco floor flashing backdrop. Exaggerated prickly prancing silhouetted photographer sharp shadow dancing spiky.

Corps de ballet in pink tutus.  Male corp in shades of green-- vertically striped tights. Photographer frames shots larger and smaller circles. Lighting changes from soft to stark contrast.

Floor a glowing pink light projection.  Back a bokeh of greens and bright whites. Dancers in yellow leotards and tights with black markings, orange and blue spots on the floor.  Legs open close angle point pivot from floor. Small shifts to other pink circles of light.

Solo.  Black swallowtail prince.  Slightly battered.  Short movements between vertical green translucent banners.  Sense of confinement.  Needing nourishment.  Corps returns in front with windy shielding and frustrated photographer.

Sphinx moth interlude.  Low to floor. Two moths with three fading thistle flower dancers.  Hovering with strobe.  Rosy hues and browns.

Color invert dance.  Black light effect.  Sharp wire sculpture wings with pearls and jewels.  Neon edges glowing.  Sphinx moths, dragonflies, damselflies, hornworms, wheelbugs, tiger beetles, orb spiders, weevil, caterpillars, praying mantis.  Grand, triumphant, dark. Sousa meets Pink Floyd.

Brown.  Roly-polies.  Millipedes. Snails--how to leave a sparkling silver slime trail??  Worms slightly pink by comparison. Cicadas. Dark background and floor.

Grand finale starring fabulous black swallowtail male in dances with strong, leaping yellow swallowtail female.  Occasional entrances of small groups of female yellow swallowtails. Prolonged threesome frolic with black swallowtail and two yellows.  Exit into dark woods.

Finale--Black swallowtail emerges from shadows and flies weightlessly toward the glittering crystal sunlight on the creek.  Ode to Joy?

© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

Rowdy neighbors, continuous party

I keep getting distracted from composing this post by the wild spring party outside my window.  For a week now the red admiral butterflies have been playing beach volleyball in wet t-shirts in the soapberry tree.  Cedar waxwings have fought for the karaoke mike.  Monarchs, swallowtails put in celebrity appearances, and a new stubby-tailed anole thinks he is the bouncer.

It's all just so 1974!

The soapberry blossoms have a scent one would not call "subtle". It is like Boone's Farm Apple Wine mixed with Clairol Herbal Essence shampoo.  Seems odd that it is "natural".


Maybe Mother Nature has been yarn-bombing and joining Zumba flash mobs.

Wild strawberry

Passionvine

Six-spotted green tiger beetle

People are even wearing platform shoes again, but I haven't seen any Famolare crepe soles.


Flagrant is not the word I'm searching for, nor blatant.  Conspicuous, yes, but that's not sufficiently pumped.  Even the word "SPRING" does not seem sufficiently fuchsia alligator crinkle-patent leather enough this year...She's got electric boots and a mohair suit.  You know I read it in a magazine....B-b-b-Bennie and the jets.

 © 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

Finally Friday night

It rained.

asymmetrical ankles

blue morpho butterfly

Buick in ecstasy

so long without rain  

This has been a week of frittering, taking refuge in very old stress relief habits of procrastination, compulsive grocery shopping, wandering around in Tuesday Morning, staring out at my patio jungle, and wondering why my ankles don't match.  One is concave, and the other convex.

The hummingbirds are gone. Haven't seen one at the patio feeder in over a week. An anole has claimed their feeder.

Dad is fighting, slapping, kicking, and hitting the nurses and aides.  Also me when I try to help out.

Overslept.  Felt like growling quite a bit. The growl forming in my throat and maxillary sinuses, the ones  behind my cheekbones.  The teeth clenching. The squint taking over my eyes. Used the coffee grinder, and got the morning pot too strong.

The preschoolers learning insects call that a "Blue Martha butterfly".  I can't help thinking of Stewart.

© 2011 Nancy L. Ruder

A very fine day two of the three-day weekend

After using my Saturday off to get a grip on life maintenance tasks, I slept the clock around.  Must have needed the dream time, as I sure felt better, mentally sorted and filed.

Took Dad a cup of coffee, and convinced him to get one arm out of the blanket to hold it.  He was having a non-talking day, but I held the phone so he could listen to my brother's voice.  By the time I convinced Dad to get his other arm out to hold the phone, my brother had said goodbye.  I sympathize, as these one-sided conversations can be draining.  My sister is the only one who can really keep the monologue patter going nonstop.

Dad's become accustomed to holding his arms in the King Tut pose under the blankets.  It's probably bad form to compare ones parent to a sarcophagus, but the description fits.  Dad's pose is partly due to poor circulation and cold hands, so I started thinking about ways to make or get a muff.  When I worked at the hospital (just after the Civil War) there were lots of fuzzy pads and booties.  Then Danger Baby had a fleece to sleep on when he was little.  Don't know what happened to it.  Maybe he took it to the dorm!

So just a warning here, gentle readers.  Should you want to Google for sheepskin muffs, use the alternate word "fleece".  Otherwise you will get a million hits for lambskin condoms!  For now, Dad will have to keep his arms crossed under the comforter.  Indeed, I may shop for a crook and flail instead.

Next a lovely, long catch-up visit and vent with my walking buddy.  What a delight to be friends so long we know each other's backstory, share our temporary rants and long-term frustrations. We don't offer fixes, just unconditional support.

It seemed silly to want a nap, so I headed to the free Basically Beethoven concert by the Fine Arts Chamber Players at Texas Discovery Gardens. Spent an hour in the Butterfly House, and finally got photos of a blue morpho butterfly.  I saw an owl butterfly in flight, another first.  The photos aren't good, but I sure understand  the owl experience.  The butterfly in flight is almost as big as my two hands (not under the comforter), and whooshes by like a bird, or a stealth bomber!

An hour with brass Sousa and Karl King marches, armed forces salutes, and young families learning how to behave at a concert brought back good parenting memories.  I tried to be a good example for a new generation, but like the little kids I joined most of the adults riding Silver through the William Tell overture.

Then an hour spent in the the native plant, butterfly garden, and demonstration gardens with other concertgoers speaking an amazing number of languages.  We all ooh and ah about the same.

 

Happy Independence Day!

© 2011 Nancy L. Ruder