Mental health with feathers

Woodpecker

Hope is the thing with feathers, according to Emily Dickinson.  A good walk with birds is the thing for my mental outlook. So much to do at home, but the dark rainy morning had changed to a gorgeous sunny afternoon. The sunshine grasped me in her talons and dragged me through the bright blue sky to the trailhead at Renner Road and US 75.

Mockingbird, juvenile.

Greeted by a woodpecker. Under the watch of a kestrel. A red tail hawk circled overhead. A mockingbird posed. Mallards bickered and bullied in Spring Creek under the highway.

Bad boy mallards

Kestrel photo good enough for an ID.

Odd, loud, buzzy, rattled bird calls tantalized me as I got closer to the US 75/190 George Bush tollway interchange.

Kingfishers avoid paparazzi

The buzzy calls led to a pair of kingfishers on a telephone wire above the creek, but under the highways. No mistaking the shape of the kingfishers, or the glorious blue when they swooped along the creek declining to be photographed by the paparazzi.

Teeny brown birds in a budding tree consented to photos but declined to be identified. On the way back I spotted a heron looking scruffy near a heap of trashed grocery carts.




Something was bothering me earlier.  I wonder what it was... besides the ugly grocery carts.




© 2013 Nancy L. Ruder

The world would beat a path to my door

...if I could only invent a childproof glue-stick for use by preschoolers! Kids can't open brand new glue-sticks. Once opened, kids can instantly twist the glue up out of the tube until it

1. falls completely out of the glue-stick tube
2. can be mashed down by putting the lid back on the tube
3. can be used as pretend lipstick
4. can be schmushed onto the paper
5. can be schmeared on the wrong side of the paper
6. can be used like a crayon to coat the paper
7. can stick to your underarm
8. can roll away under the table and then be stepped on

On a happier note, the weather is cooler and I'm back out on the paths and trails many days after school for mental health and exercise. It's been a fine week for fritillary finds, but yesterday it was the hawk that made my day. I hadn't been on the trail that goes under the overpass for a long time, as there's almost no shade.

The hawk was busy catching supper as the trucks roared by. It flew right across my trail while I fumbled my camera.

© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

Whole lotta nature out there

In the Carboniferous Period of the Paleozoic Era, dragonflies grew to be fifteen inches long with thirty inch wingspans. When I finish my Time Machine, that will be one of my test destinations.

Took the trail to the pond at  this morning, and entered a dragonfly jam. None were Paleozoic-sized. Glad it was  Arbor Hills Nature Preserve, and not Jurassic Park.

Very cooperative turtle sunning and surveying his domain.

Heron on the far side.

Water beetle.

  

A cute stripey snake.

Hunting for dragonfly lunch?

Ew.  That's a big dang snake in the water.

Time to head back up the trail!

© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

Webbed bliss

When I got the spider on the left in focus I didn't even notice the spider on the right. I love that digital photography lets me see things I wouldn't otherwise. Are these two frolicking in webbed wedded bliss?

Trouble with those pesky little b's and d's is rampant as the preschoolers prepare their Father's Day project. I love my dabby!  I love my baddy!

I love these turtles just hanging out in the sunny curve of the creek far below the trail. They seemed pretty blissed. I may need to find my inner turtle today.










© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

On the trails

The two-week break from school is almost gone, without winding up Dad's estate or doing a heroic house-cleaning. My stay-cation included several wonderful walks and lunches with friends, but also solo walks with my camera.

Bluestem  shared information about this plant,  Illinois Bundleflower.  The seed pods have always intrigued me, but now I'm paying more attention to its growing cycle.  And yes, it makes me sing, "Yes We Have No Bananas." Desmanthus illinoensis may have psychedelic properties.











Leather-flower has hairdo properties. When I first spotted it in May I had just watched Amadeus, and was thinking about those purple powdered wigs. Clematis pitcheri seems to be a hardy perennial vine.

As the flowers opened further I was reminded of my childhood Barbie wig salon toy. I could dip the flip or bouffant in vinegar and watch it turn flame orange or maybe even purple.

This wildflower is adored by bees. When I spotted it in May it seemed to be wearing a crown. I nicknamed it "queen-for-a-day". Now the nature preserve is a sea of these flowers in full jubilee splendor. Plains horsemint is also known as lemon beebalm.

I'm excited to find the Native Plant Information Network. It's much more helpful than my guidebook.


© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

Losing my mind? No just my brisket!

To thaw or not to thaw? That is the question for GrillMama, or whether it would be nobler to finish the brisket and black beans I made in the crockpot before I try to make teriyaki pork chops.

Now where did I put that brisket?  I took it out of the crockpot Saturday and put it in some Tupperware and it should be right--  No!

• Is it behind the lettuce or that darn honeydew melon that makes me sneeze?  No.  
• You gotta be kidding.  Did I stick it in the freezer?  No.  
• In the veggie crispers or the cheese drawer?  No.  This is getting weird.  
• Check the trash.  
• Check the cupboards for canned goods, Tupperware, crackers, First Aid. No! 
• Laundry room. No. 
• Recycling bin. No. 
• Car trunk?  Well I once did forget a bag of groceries with a nice rump roast in the trunk of the Skylark. It took awhile to get rid of the smell. 
• Repeat searches except for the car trunk. 
• Check the cupboard of doom that holds a weird mix of parmesan, cottage cheese, hummus, and yogurt containers. No.  

Oh! There wasn't any Tupperware that fit the leftover brisket so I put it in the vanilla yogurt container. Phew. Glad I didn't buy any blackberries to go with that vanilla yogurt. Let's just put the honeydew in the dumpster and not have an allergic reaction that might cause further memory loss because we've got bigger questions.

Wonderful visit with good friends sitting around at Cafe Brazil. [My daughter-in-law makes better empanadas, though.] Then a noon-ish walk at Arbor Hills Nature Center. Good to see so much water in the mossy pond, and look, there's a blue heron, and another!  Put the camera on zoom. One has a blue bill. One is short. Wait one has a black and white mask with goofy head plumes. One is writing words in the mossy surface of the pond. It's spelling:

   K I S S  T H E  R E S T  O F  Y O U R  A F T E R N O O N 

B Y E  A N D  G E T  O U T  Y O U R  F I E L D  G U I D E S 

Who knew herons could write and predict the future?

• Field guides out. Check.
• Enlarging photos. Check.
• Online sources bookmarked. Check.
• Afternoon shot. Check.

The heron with the blue bill seems to be an adult Little Blue Heron, possibly with brighter breeding season colors.

The short blue heron with yellow legs, blue body, and purple throat is illogically a Green Heron.

The heron on the other side of the fallen tree that I didn't even see at the beginning is not either of those two.  It is a Yellow-crowned Night Heron, only the second one I've ever seen.

That's all the mysteries I can handle for one day, even if I'm on vacation from school. Maybe a nap now and some leftover brisket later!

Crockpot Brisket with Black Beans
(Because you've got bigger mysteries to solve):

• Dump a bag of black beans in 3 cups boiling water. Turn off heat, cover, leave overnight. Drain. 
• Put an eight-dollar beef brisket, trimmed of most fat, in a big crockpot. (Packaging removed, but then I don't have to tell you that!)
• Might be smart to plug in the crockpot
• Add 2 stalks chopped celery, 2 cloves smashed and chopped garlic, 1 can of beer, 1 chunk of pineapple from a teacher appreciation edible bouquet (At this point eat the grapes, raspberries, and strawberries from the bouquet and write a thank you note)
• Juice of one lime or not.
• Lots of chopped cilantro since what are you going to do with it otherwise?
• A peeled and diced potato
• Maybe an onion, chopped
• Three sliced mini sweet peppers or one-half sliced bell pepper
• Maybe another can of beer
• The rest of that can of Rotel and half a can of diced Hatch chiles (Hot).
• What the heck, peel and chop that last carrot. 
• Add 2 cups water
• Dried parsley--Note: Is shaker lid securely on parsley jar? Oops. Not a problem, just fish out the plastic lid
• Tablespoon of molasses
• Add water to fill the last of the bottle of Sweet Baby Ray's Honey Barbecue Sauce. Shake. Stir in

Set crockpot (already plugged in) on Low overnight, then on High when you wake up. Try some over a flour tortilla, but it's not just for breakfast anymore. Add more Sweet Baby Ray's if you've got it. Turn crockpot to Warm. It kind of perfumes the whole house, and smells lots better than potpourri.  

© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

It isn't easy being _____

a.  green
b.  quiet
c.  alone
d.  all of the above

It 's a matter of perception and acceptance.  My blogger friend at Hummus Anonymous proposed a quiz about the trials of Cubs fans.  They have it rough.

On the right please note a rough green grass snake that was hanging its head way out into the trail space like an unruly vine Sunday morning. I was just getting going uphill on my hike at Dogwood Canyon Audubon Center when I realized I was inches from this fella/gal. Was he just lying in wait for me to stumble along? Was she venomous? Did he have lots of friends nearby? Were they inclined to drop down on me from the branches like in my rain forest nightmare?

There wasn't another person on the trail that early. It was heaven to have the place to myself except for the snake, a wolf spider, a cute lizard, lots of swallowtails, hordes of hackberry butterflies, awesome moths, singing birds, and my own thoughts or lack thereof.

Our culture often seems aghast that a few oddballs actually want to be by themselves sometimes. That's because so many of us are trying to fake it as extroverts in a business world that demands team players and people persons. Maybe that lyric about people who need people being the luckiest people in the world is just envy of those for whom togetherness comes easy.

And now a coworker has thrust a new book upon me, sure that I will find it interesting.  She has seen through my  flimsy disguise! This afternoon I've begun reading Susan Cain's Quiet:  The Power of Introverts In a World That Can't Stop Talking. And more, I've watched Cain's TED Talk. How refreshing!

It's time for educators to realize kids don't necessarily learn or work well in the small groups that have been the devil of me since about eighth grade.  You put seven kids together to brainstorm over two joke-filled sessions.  Three kids are just too busy because of football and cheerleading to help write up the report. The remaining two introverts write up the project or experiment, find or create the visual examples, and carefully follow the required bibliographic format so everyone in the group gets an A+. All the while those two are internalizing the message that they are somehow defective for not being go-go social animals. Not that I'm bitter, except it isn't just high school. Employers need to reexamine this whole collaborative process to respect those who need time alone before they bring their ideas to the project.  What about the worker who would rather slowly consider, painstakingly document, and strive for clarity in a written analysis instead of blurting a reaction that sounds all yo-ho-ho me hearties at the time?

This Memorial Day I am thankful for the servicemen and women who keep us safe. But I am also grateful for two parents who respected and ensured time for solitary thought and quiet creation in my childhood.

Thanks to www.colourlovers.com for this perfect image!

© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

Hark, hark, we must ponder bark

Backward brain slowly notices the nursery rhyme setting the rhythm for my walk around the Galatyn trail. Backward brain wonders about the chicken or the egg.  First?  Seeing bark everywhere? OR the rhythm?

Unwinding from the high-pressure multi-gabilliozon-dollar world of a Montessori spring festival set designer.  Oh!  The glitter!  The press!  The enquiring minds!  Holy cow.

But back to the bark.  Om.  It's unseasonably warm and dang muggy on the trail.  I'm getting a bad case of sweaty cap hair.  This trail is a little "gem" preserved between a telecom business district and the DART light-rail train line.

Hark, hark, the dogs do bark!
Beggars are coming to town,
Some in rags, some in tags,
And some in velvet gown.

What does this mean???  For answers, I checked here. And it was "some in rags, some in jags" in early versions.  Jags are those slashings in the sleeves of Tudor costumes!

That is all the pondering for now.  Happy walking!

© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

Where to begin? Where do we end? What to wear? Will there be treats?

So far behind.  Lately I've been very happy to wear my New Balance walking shoes because they ARE NOT WHITE.  They look more like short hiking boots than peri-geezerette non-running shoes.

I don't believe in a heaven or a hell, and I know Howie didn't either.  Still, he might be hanging out just anywhere, maybe under the overpass.  There was a wire circle there that made me think of recycling halos.

My dear Organic Cousin's Ex-Wife lost her elderly mother recently.  Well, her mother is not really lost, just departed after a fall, many broken vertebrae, and pneumonia.  My OCExW says that the deceased have forty-one days to move on, but until then they can make phantom telephone calls, ringing and ringing on a nonexistent cellphone.  She and her husband and a friend heard it several times.  For real.  Okay, just so the deceased don't send text messages.  I don't have an unlimited message plan!  Maybe Dad is just messing a bit with my computer and/or my condo mailbox.  Something is definitely messing with both of them.

When I walk the under/over trail in Richardson, I keep tabs on the new grass growing through the plastic netting used to control erosion.  Get fun sparkly effects as the sun heads down.

And that is all for now.

© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

A Three Hour Tour

Darting away from school at three-thirty, I headed to the nature preserve for a walk in the woods.  Without the leaves I'm more aware of the land.  The trails on each side of the creek have seemed so far from the other.  Now I can see how close they are, and spot landmarks on the other side.

This has been a year for learning about decline and decay and approaching death.  Out of the loss I am trying to see the transformation of vital energy into a new form.  I can't express it very well, but in the forest for that hour it made sense.

This barely clothed leaf is a Venus de Milo.  How can humans transform stone into art of classic beauty?  Mushrooms descend a staircase like Duchamp's nude as they dance of the living out of the dead.

Transforming
Transitory
Ballet

Movement
Short trip

By six-thirty we had moved Dad into a shared room three doors down the hall.  I have upset his tiny island world again.  Gilligan and the Skipper will have to make him comfortable and secure again.

On a lighter note I offer these Tammy Faye mushrooms in the haunted Muppet forest.

© 2011 Nancy L. Ruder

Mud thoughts

No, not musing on ugly campaign tactics, walking under the freeway.  Wednesday was so beautiful I made another trek  under Over World.  And there was joy in Mudville when mighty CollageMama looked up.

With color on hiatus, texture is much more visible.  The many installations of mud tubes on the concrete support columns and beams under the freeway ramps impressed me with their structural precision and beauty.  Thanks to a former teacher/365photographer in Tennessee, I've learned they are made by organ pipe mud dauber wasps.  [No, that was not Mork's wife.]  Male mud dauber wasps guard the nest while the females go hunting for orb spiders to stuff into the pipes to feed the little ones.  Okay, I'm not going to make the manicotti for supper tonight...

There are many mud bird nests under the freeway access ramps, but not any under the main lanes of US 75.  Too much noise and vibration?  Or maybe to far a first flight to open sky?  There is a shortage of graffiti, too.  Will the birds and spray paint artists return to nest in the spring?  What can I learn about teaching clay projects for children from the birds, the wasps, and the tire tracks?

Heading back toward the trailhead, a word that sounds ridiculous in this urban setting, I annoyed a great blue heron in the creek on beyond the graffiti column.  The heron flew away against the traffic.

© 2011 Nancy L. Ruder

Suggestible

If you tell me I'm in a tsunami evacuation zone, my shoes will already seem wet. Mention, just FYI, that there have been no cougar sightings in a year and a half, and I'll spot one slinking at every turn of the trail.

Add to that a buddy who emails when she spots a bobcat on her driveway, and I can find a saber tooth tiger. And no, I don't want to go camping! Appearing large is the least of my problems.  Make noise!  So there I was singing "Frosty the Snowman" loud and off key on the self-guided nature interpretive trail at Willamette Mission State Park just north of Salem, Oregon on a dark and foggy Monday afternoon.














Except for the cougar possibility, this was a nice two and a half mile walk on level, soggy ground.  I saw the largest black cottonwood in the United States.

My National Geographic Book of Mammals says bobcats (aka wildcats) are shy, solitary, strong, and twice the size of a housecat.  Cougar is another name for mountain lion, puma, or catamount.  Those agile felines can weigh up to two hundred pounds.  Stay calm!  What is that creature crouching by the trail and waiting to pounce on me?

Hark!  I hear reindeer!  Or maybe pumas on the roof.

© 2011 Nancy L. Ruder

Exploring under Over World

I'm still under the influence of the big Richard Diebenkorn exhibit at The Fort Worth Modern.  Had a delightful girls' art getaway last weekend.

The Modern's architecture suits the Diebenkorn paintings perfectly.  Soon I was seeing a potential painting in every space of the Tadao Ando building.

Monday I discovered some treasure. Finally found the parking and trailhead for the Spring Creek Nature Area.  Had begun to think the city of Richardson, Texas created a trail system it didn't want anyone to use.  Since these trails are close to my workplace I could have a little more walking time than driving to my usual Plano trails. Afternoon light is so soon gone this time of year.

My first trek took me under Renner Road and the 75 Central Expressway interchange with "The George Bush", as we call the 190 tollway. Chilly, and threatening to drizzle, this was an invigorating walk, especially because I found a bird-watching delight.

The rhythm of the traffic overhead was jarring at first, but gradually comforting. Only a little graffiti and day-glo orange spray-painted markings for utility crews. Trash in the creek, of course.

 

Every so often a bench and trash can. The city has an interactive map so you can locate the trash cans. This one is under the connection from 190 east to 75 southbound. I've looked down from the top so many times in traffic and never known it was a wilderness park down there.

The tree color was striking in the misty rain, and the bushes were full of tiny birds singing their songs and ignoring the road roar.

A hawk seemed to check out the strange intruder in pink fleece, then played a game with me. Come close, come close, no now I'm over here...

Tuesday, no treasure. The "LOW BTY" message showed on the thermostat. In a clumsy attempt to open the battery door, I pulled the thermostat too far from the wall and broke  a wire. Spent a cold night in my old sleeping bag, grateful at least not to sleep under and overpass like too many homeless people in this country.







Wednesday's treasure was Mario the repairman. He's happy to arrive at the time I can be home, does a quick fix, and charges little. He's glad to help me with the other little things like the darn smoke detector hanging out of the wall while he's here. Mario, in fact, seems pretty much happy about everything, a lesson I need. I'm getting better understanding his accent. He's getting better understanding my vague descriptions of malfunctions.

Thursday's discovery was more jarring. I walked into the nursing home room to find Dad entangled but mostly uncovered and having removed his diaper.  You might be saying "TMI".  I sure was.  He hollered at me to get him some help. Since he usually doesn't talk, that was note-worthy. I'm looking for the silver lining here!  I found Big Red and she talked him calm and got everything put back together.  

Dad insisted on being spoonfed as he couldn't shove the ham and yam in fast enough. He's eating like a horse lately. After I fed him I offered to soak his fingernails and trim them. He insisted soaking was unnecessary.  I said I could only help if he soaked and softened the nails. He proclaimed he didn't "need any damn help" and ordered me to "sit on the chair." Hasta la vista, Baby! 


Friday I walked a different part of the Spring Creek trail. Learned, too, that the Richardson police use the trailhead parking to set up a speedtrap for drivers on the 75 access road, so drivers beware.

I like the vague completion date on the sign.  "F W I N T E R Y 2011" is just exactly this season.

I do like ramps, bridges, and boardwalks.  All the under over possibilities make me happy.

Took Dad a poinsettia.  I'd be happy if Scrooge's ghosts convinced Howie to keep the diaper on.  God bless us every one! 

Spring Creek Nature Area

51 acres south of Renner Rd extending from Central Expressway to Foxboro Park at Plano Rd and Braeburn Dr 

Multi-use trail, natural areas, hardwood forest, pedestrian bridge over winding Spring Creek, picnic benches, horseshoe pit. Restroom facilities and parking located at trail head at SE corner of Renner and Central Expressway. Trail links with Galatyn Woodland Preserve.

© 2011 Nancy L. Ruder