Keep the coop clean and carry on

Marilyn, far right, as a groovy, young chick, with gal pals. Photo: Robert Schley 

I just learned that Marilyn was mauled last week and didn’t survive. Having just spent the weekend with her room mates, I’m shocked. I am sitting shiva, albeit belatedly, to honor my friend.  God accepts all petitions, I believe, even those for fine, feathered friends from fallen away Catholic girls like me.

Marilyn was an Ameraucana chicken - a lusty, busty hen who lived a cozy little life in the Town of Matthews with her pen-mates until a raccoon invaded their home and, well – that’s that.

Nature is an evil bitch, at times. But we remain calm and carry on. What choice do we have?

Part of my newly-crafted career as a Middle-Aged-Woman-Without-A-Steady-Job includes chicken sitting duties. My friend Jane hired me to handle her menagerie while she and her hubby Brian travel. Our grown sons have been buddies since elementary school.  Jane was a rabid fan of my family’s now-defunct community newspaper, for which I will always be grateful. She’s always had a thing for such newspapers, having grown up with a father – Neal Friedman - who wrote a wildly popular column in the Baltimore Jewish Times.

So, now I feed her animals, where she used to feed me story ideas. It is a fine arrangement, as she pays well, and I get all the chicken poop I can handle for my garden. My finned and furry charges also include a skittish but painfully lovely rescue dog named Delilah; a tank full of fish;  and the coolest cat on the planet, Mr. Kitty, who thinks he’s a dog and has a face not unlike the actor Elijah Wood of Frodo Baggins fame.

Stock photo: Mr. Wood

Family photo: Mr. Kitty

Rest in peace, Miss Marilyn! We’ll keep the coop clean and carry on!

God shots to the gut: Confessions of a woman who's quickly losing faith

Taylor Swift concert, Charlotte, NC

First – my daughter scores primo seats, at a deeply discounted rate, to her first-ever concert.

Then - my husband gets a real live, old-fashioned job-with-benefits following a dry spell.

And this just in!

Welcome back, frogman

The Hula Painted Frog, declared extinct, rears its slimy little head in an Israeli swamp for the first time in 50 years, according to AP reports.

My God, my God. You really do have faith in us lowly creatures. These are small things, I realize, in the big scheme of things. But, little-by-little, perhaps we'll get to know each other again. 

Thank you from the bottom of my cynical little heart.

A Great Gust of Wind

Family photo taken from the bedroom window

What's the story behind those shoes dangling from telephone lines? How do they end up there?  

Strewn randomly across lines in the sky, they seem to be everywhere once you become aware of them - by schools, near tree tops, on lone highways, in fields, at parks.

Is it just pranksters pulling Pumas from gym bags, then tossing them up in the air? Or is it something more sinister that draws my attention to footwear foisted onto high wires?

My son David’s old Nike gym shoes have been suspended from the pine tree in front of our house for several seasons. 

At first, I didn't mind. He’s eighteen and I barely get to see him these days between work and school and friends and getaways.

The shoes gave me a warm, fuzzy feeling that he really enjoyed "hanging around" his family, pun intended.

One day soon, like a great gust of wind, he’ll be moving on. That makes me melancholy and moments like that don’t come with operating instructions. 

I tell myself that the shoes are a sign of a truly lived-in, comfy home. 

In reality, the ratty old sneakers have taken on all the romance of a white trash tree ornament. I want them removed. But I am powerless to eradicate the situation because another mother has entered the scene.

Earlier this year, a chickadee built her nest in them. Not in one shoe, but both of them. 

At first, I was smitten by this dangling duplex for my feathered friends. Now, not so much.

So, another season unfolds. Summer is turning into fall. Then winter will be here again.

 The birds have left. The shoes and the Man-Child son remain.

These days, it just doesn’t feel right to shake the shoes from their branches. They’ll just have to dangle. 

Demolition has been delayed and I’m left awaiting further operating instructions.

That, or a great gust of wind.