Hang Time...

With cell in hand, I enter the number.
Press 1 for English.
There’s something wrong with that.

The voice lists the menu options: longer than Pinocchio’s nose.
I try to remember what options 2,3, and 4 were.
I’m sorry, but all customer service representatives are busy.
The average wait time is 8 minutes. Please hold...
Hmmmm.

Let’s see…in 8 minutes, I can pour another cup of tea,
polish my nails, knock down spider-sack webs from the
pool enclosure, or go online to order Poisonous Snake insurance.
No, not really, though it’s not a bad idea…

Hanging up after 7.5 minutes of listening to bellowing
recorded music that rivaled the mating call of a wild yak,
I decided that I just saved myself $15.00.

Making the rounds around the pool deck to my padded
chaise lounge, I suddenly feel something crawling along my arm.

Looking down, I see a medium-sized black spider, dangling
from a web, orbs glaring at me, its spindly legs dancing along my arm.
Yikes! I whack it off with a paperback book, then step on it.

Maybe I should opt for poisonous spider insurance…

Golden Dreams

Where have all the years gone, and so quickly?
These thoughts cross my mind every once in awhile,
especially now as I've had my 63rd birthday.
If I could, would I go back to an earlier time, back
to my teen years or my college days?

If I'd had a way of foretelling the future, I may
have done a few things differently, change my
direction a bit, but then again...
If I'd fallen in love at 19 with the handsome Italian
fella living next door, whom I felt was in love with me
at the time , I'd no doubt have a houseful of kids.
But, I might also be divorced—since that was his
status a few years ago, and still might be.


If I'd been more motivated to finish college and
get a degree, I'd be teaching English Comp right now.
When I'd moved to San Francisco in 1970, I was working
at a local store. From the entrance I heard,
“Nancy, what on God's earth are you doing working here?”
My jaw dropped.

It was my former college professor, Jean Wilkinson,
who'd had very high aspirations for me.
She'd kept many of the works I'd written, and thought
I would've pursued a writing career, at the very least.
Presently, I'm still writing: short stories and romantic
poetry,as well as this blog.

If I'd followed my parents to Oregon instead of moving to
the Bay Area, I would've never met my husband, a handsome
airline captain,and had our two children.
Nor would I have had the opportunity to meet Charlton Heston
or Bing Crosby who were customers of mine one day.

We now live in South West Florida, which has changed the
direction of my life. I'm a freelance photographer, living a dream
I've always had--sequestered in the back of my mind.
I'm an artist, too.

Life is often convoluted.
You're never sure what each day is going to bring.
Ah, to be a kid again...?
Not a chance.

Wheely Pat?

I'm waiting for my phone to ring--the call telling me
that I'm a contestant on "The Wheel".
You know the show--the show where Vanna looks
doomed to wear, at times, the most ridiculously
outlandish evening dresses. Isn't Outlandish a planet?
Nah, but it should be...

I think my luck in receiving a phone call is much
like my luck in hatching an egg!
Paul reminds me that I had a darn good contestant
chance last summer when the traveling wheel was in
Naples for a contestant search.

It was a broiling hot day.
Jen and I approached the area of the search,
Hodges University, sweeping our eyes over the
multitude of hopefuls, and decided that standing in the
hot humid sun, probably for hours, was not that enticing.

So, on most nights, I'm correctly guessing the answer,
usually with only a smattering of letters, sometimes
with only 2 or 3 letters showing.
Tom and Paul usually can't believe how quickly
I can guess. They both think my wallet would be
bulging by now, if I were on the show...

Maybe I'll try out this summer--can I wear my swimsuit?

Gripes, Gotchas--And Then Some...

PC gremlins are haunting my HP.
The whatzit kind that materializes seemingly,
for no material reason! I’m thinking it could be
one of several reasons: PSU failure, the fan, or
dust bunnies running around inside the case.

The pc freezes while online, goes to a black screen.
No apparent viruses present. The monitor screen will
occasionally display gray and white diagonal lines.
Coming to grips with this annoying problem is turning
my hair grayer and whiter!

Last night on the news, I was very disturbed--
not that I’m not in that present frame of mine
with my pc problems!

Some dingbat official decided that Naples’ Muscovy
ducks should be eliminated. They are being 'humanely'
euthanized. My mouth fell open at the ludicrous suggestion
that these cute “citizens” which roam our lakes and parks,
are nuisances and highly dangerous creatures!
Let me say that there are far more two-footed “dangers”
we should be concerned with, particularly those who
cell-talk and drive.

I’ve never been so aggravated.
Now, I can understand why Cruzer, our neighborhood
Muscovy, has been lying low for a few days.
I sure hope she’s got the “spring fling thing” and hasn't
been captured.

Love is in the air in the bug and bird world.
Luv-bugs are enjoying marathon sessions, mid-air--amazing!
Female birds are playing hard to get--their antics are
quite amusing, and keeps my mind off Cruzer’s absence.

Tom is in a chopping mood. Our poor palm trees out
front have been topped-- glad he didn’t become a barber…
The wasps are building condos in our hot garage.
They’re zeroing in on the holes in the garage doors.

Tom is forever swatting them--he’s been stung
once already. Yes, it’s another hot day in paradise,
and my day is planned around a trip to the Byte Shop
for advice, and a dip in the pool.
I’m not going to think about pests, gremlins, or house cleaning.
Just floating around the pool…

Sentimental Journey...

Santa Monica Pier


Dad's Rocketdyne pic--2nd on left side, arms folded--
rocket gang!


Thanks for the suit, Ma!

'Headlight' Nan
Apple Valley desert

When my brother visited with me recently
from Arizona, he brought along a folder of
family photographs, many of which I'd
not seen before.

I couldn't believe how funny some
of them were. In many, I had a 'caught in
the headlights' expression on my face.
Michael remarked that I still fell into
the expression when talking about things.
Ha-ha...

We reminisced about our childhood in Santa Monica:
our house on the opposite side of the upper middle-class
neighborhoods, and how that kept so-called friends
from coming over for birthday parties; how I got
swept up in a rip-current when I was about 5-6, and
was saved by a lifeguard; the jelly-fish sting I got
one day; inner-tube wave riding; buying candy cigarettes
at the corner grocery;Mike's funny Messenger bike
and my new one...ouch!

Those were the days of tracking sand back to the
house from the beach, fishing from Santa Monica Pier,
buying Creamsicles from the Good Humor truck, and
catching gross spiders in a glass jar.
We played cowboys and indians--I was always 'arrowed'!
Mike cut my hair when I was 3 and whacked away my blonde hair.

There were times when we really got into it, typical name-
calling. We are like night and day in some ways.
He's a used-to-be brunette, and I'm a platinum blonde.
He loves to read historical books, and I like 'cozies'.

I said goodbye to Michael yesterday as he stepped curbside
at Regional South West Airport. A big hug, some"I love you's",
and he was off.

Yes, Mike's the Moonlight to my Sunshine...

Just Between Us...

*I’ve been away from my blog because
of lower back trouble, LBT as I call it.
I remain locked--sure that the 'key' has been tossed!
I’m coming back, no matter what, writing my
once a week blog--though sitting in my computer
room chair is a back killer.
I look forward to the M-W-F physical therapy sessions,
which includes the highlight of my day-- electric
stimulation therapy, or TENS, as it's called.
***********

My brother, Michael is visiting me, so we’ve been
having lunch out most days.
We drove down to Olde Naples the other day
and went to Tommy Bahama’s Tropical Café for lunch.
We grabbed the last booth--a large booth across from the
Restrooms doorway.
Figures…

We considered alfresco dining under the thatched
umbrella tables but decided it was too hot for outdoor dining--
though a good place for people watching.

While Mike and I ate, I was watching the parade of
European tourists move through the doorway.
thinking I might spot just one person who might be dragging
just a hint of bathroom tissue along the path, usually firmly
affixed to the heel of a shoe. It’s a common occurrence, and takes
awhile for the person to notice.

Such an event happened to me while returning to my seat
on an airplane, which has been so long ago.
A young man got my attention by pointing behind me:
I’d dragged about 15 feet of tissue behind me, apparently
snagged on my clothing.
Talk about embarrassing moments, but all I could do was laugh…

I’ve been sort of eavesdropping on people’s conversations
during our lunches. It’s been easy since the talker seems
to be talking to everyone within 20 square feet of their own table.

One gal was saying that she was picked up for a date in
a convertible, and she closed her own door quite hard.
Her date said “My, you’re a big girl!”

She was peeved and stewed for several miles on their
way to a social event, her hairstyle slowly unraveling as
was her temper. Upon arrival, she spent several minutes
in the car attempting to smooth many of the stray blonde
strands of tousled hair.

Opening the car door herself, she slammed the door as hard
as she could. The lady’s girlfriends all roared at their
friends’ storytelling. I was nearly done with my
Panera sandwich, nibbling on a pickle and potato chip,
ears alert to further interesting tidbits, when the
ladies parted company and the conversations spilled
through the back doors.

Tomorrow we may be going to Turner River Road.
Not a conversation pit, but is guaranteed to have a squad of
sunning alligators, or is it a gaggle?
No, that’s geese…
If Michael edges up too closely, we may have something to
talk about after all!

By Hook Or By Crook...

Insert Part A to Part B, intersected at the hypotenuse
of Parts D and C, making sure the tabs are facing inward.
Insert screws X and Y--do not tighten, yet.
At this stage of art table assembly, I’m ready to leap out
the window--even if it’s only a 3 foot drop.

I went on the internet to check on the directions.
I thought, just maybe, some other fumbler is struggling--
or has struggled through the directions--no doubt written
by a crinkled, beady-eyed old goat, beard falling into
his flask of Johnny W, in his 4x4, windowless cubicle.

The comments about the table were glowing:
"Easiest table to put together. had it up in an hour."
"Couldn’t have gone smoother--great table!"

I’ve spent 2 1/2 days earlier this past week attempting
to function like a human and assemble the dang table.
I only disassembled it twice!
“My aching back” has been a royal pain. I’ve been dueling
with an annoying sacroiliac which has kept me away from
sitting in front of my desk top PC for any length of time
to write my blog.

I’ve spent considerable time dreaming of having a
completely organized workspace for my art, photography,
and beading interests. I’d been occupying space in my
walk-in closet with most of my books and art stuff.

As I spent broken hours trying to figure out the
directions of the table--which, it turns out, had an illustration
discrepancy--I was thinking of ways to track down the
“brain” behind his desk--who, I’m sure, was devising new
and more complicated directions for me.
Maybe in 3-D?

So, here I sit in my new, ergonomic desk chair for my
art table--tapping out my blog on my portable
word processor. No, I don’t have a laptop…
My slightly lowered rib-tickler level needs a Mento
thrown into the mix. I’m hoping for an eruption of humor,
even a spit wad of something funny.

The small corner of the bedroom is finally complete with
all of my supplies neatly tucked into drawers, and my table,
waiting for me to finally sit down awhile to create.

Meanwhile, a letter is waiting to be sent to the mad illustrator
and text writer of my wonderful table.
I’m almost sure he has a stack under his nose by now…











I

Invasion!

I’m still getting sap out of my hair from the
Christmas tree. Now, if you believe that,
I can probably sell you swampland here
in Florida--might even come with a pet
alligator, or a Burmese Python.

Pythons are open to hunters now.
Thousands of these snakes are winding
through the Everglades--and even a few
have been spotted in populated Florida cities.

I’m not sure what I’d do if I ever saw a python
slithering in my wooded back yard. I might
give it the directions to a couple of homes where
yapping dogs break the peaceful hum of the outdoors.

I don’t like snakes whether harmless, or not.
One hot day a couple of summers ago, an
unidentified, dome-headed snake lay coiled in
the corner of our lanai, by the pool.

I hollered for Tom to remove it.
With a bamboo pole, he managed to drape
the snake--which was flaring out in attack mode--
and flung it out to the woods.
I was hoping for drawn and quartered myself…

I’ve been a few feet from a coral snake, which was
snaking its beautiful body along the pool pump,
just as I was coming around to feed the chlorinator
its weekly biscuits.

I ran 0-30 in a matter of seconds to the
garage for a shovel. By the time I’d made
it back to the same spot, the deadly snake
had winded its way toward the hose in the front yard.

I bashed it a few times, and it defied me,
slithering onto the damp grass. I took the
pointed head of the shovel--by that time, I was
shaking--and jabbed it hard as I could, then
shoveled the 3 foot lump and dropped it onto
a wooded, corner lot.

Passing gardeners gawked in amazement at my
catch of the day. Yes, I’m not a snake fan, nor
a fan of anything creepy that has more legs than I do.

With Spring finally here, and hot summer
days ahead, I’m also on creepy-crawler, fly-by
critter watch. I’m sure invading armies of
subterranean fire and black ants are planning
their “Nancy” invasions in my yard.

Mosquitoes are busily promoting their species
for a juicy attack, along with their co-conspirators,
no-see-ums. I’m waiting…

A Little Bit Of This And That...

My eyes are growing to the size of golf balls
as I stare at the blank computer screen...

It’s not easy dredging through the cobwebby
recesses of my brain in the early morning hours,
trying to figure out something humorous to write
about for my blog--and to think I was writing my
blog every day for a few months!

My blog friend, Colin, is prolific--his food blog at:
http://wokkingontherun.blogspot.com is colorful
and informative, filled with delicious recipes.
But then, Colin isn’t an antique like me.
His brain is still in diapers…

Speaking of which…

Cruiser, our resident duck, has been bob, bob,
bobbing along the back lanai twice a day.
She brought her white headed baby with her last week.

Cruiser was quite piggish, swiping whatever bread I
was tossing out to her baby. So piggish in fact, that
Cruiser has a case of “beano-itis’.

Yesterday, she waddled beside where I was soaking
up some sun, and emitted what I thought was a foghorn.
She looked over at me, and I thought, don’t you dare
pin that ’blurp’ on me!

Speaking of which…

I live in Naples, Fl, a beautiful, gulf coast town filled
with senior folk, a natural, tropical atmosphere,
early bird dinner and drink specials, assorted cultural
events, and cars that cost as much as pocket change
in an Arab’s wallet.

So, with all the round-the-clock, delectable varieties
of international cuisine and drink, over-indulgence
is often a big problem.

Store aisles are often filled with indescribable ‘blurps’.
“Air fresheners on aisle 6, please.”
I make a quick beeline so as not to get pinned with the
unfortunate scent du jour.

Speaking of which…

I’m thinking about my sinner menu for tonight.
I mean dinner menu! Stir-fry, I think-- right, Colin?
My eyes are now hanging on little springs, flopping
up and down as I continue staring at the blank screen
in front of me, wondering if Dave Barry ever had this problem…?

Duck...!

I’ve never been very adept at sports.
My tennis serve always looked as though
I was swatting a swarm of flies.

Ping pong was no better.
The last time I played a couple of years ago,
the ball pinged more than it ponged.
The ceiling tiles were hit more often than the paddle.
I nearly lopped the ear off my partner.

Field hockey in high school?
Let’s just say my teammates were lucky that
their heads were still upright…

Basketball?
If it was game legal to shoot into both baskets,
I would have been stellar.
However, I reigned supreme at volleyball.
Being tall helped as I could spike the ball
just over the net.

One recent sport I’ve taken up is billiards.
I still can’t break worth weasel spit, but I’ve
learned enough from pool technique books
to plan a shot--often surprising, Physics defying,
two-pocket shots, jaw-dropping my opponent.

“That shot defied the law of Physics, Minnesota Skinny,”
he’d say. I always felt highly complemented since my
doctorate friend geometrically planned most of his shots.

I think I finally found my niche…
Now if I’d only keep some of the balls from jumping the table…

For You, Jen: Daisy

Today’s blog is for my daughter, Jen.

It’s amazing how much a pet comes
to mean to us everyday. Someone said yesterday,
“It wasn’t the same as losing a dog.”
Does that make the hurt any less?

As many readers know, I’ve blogged
about Daisy, our lovebird, on numerous occasions.
She died yesterday.

We all had an attachment to her.
Even Daisy’s vet said that she was the most
resilient, sweet bird he’d encountered in a long time.
She always looked like she was smiling.

Jen and Daisy were on the lanai yesterday morning,
probably on ‘Cruiser’ watch. Daisy liked to walk
around the decking by the pool.

She was always honing the edges of her beak
along the textured concrete. Recently we needed
to take the edge off her sharp beak--she could punch
a hole through leather, it was so sharp.

Suddenly, Daisy toppled over into the frigid pool,
wings flapping. Jen quickly grabbed her out,
and spent several minutes trying to revive her,
but the shock was too much for Daisy.
Heartbroken, Jen buried her in the woods.

Daisy was a loving animal. She begged for
and enjoyed her head rubs, and was always nuzzling
our cheeks and necks.

Daisy is missed, but won’t be forgotten…
Turn the sound on high for the spoon clattering!

It's A Purple Bellied Snork...

Zap that bird!
My left eyeball hasn’t met up with the right
one this morning. I’m droopy-tired, along
with Tom--we were both awakened at the crack
of dawn by a highly energized dove. Even earplugs
barely drowned out the incessant cooing.

I got up, and in my brain-haze, made a strong
carafe of coffee, poured it and quickly knocked
the full thermos over onto the counter.
I swear I heard that dove mocking me…

A couple of years ago, we were plagued by a
highly vocalized bird in the woods that sounded
like an escapee from the Amazon rain forest.

Its repetitious melody echoed throughout the woods
at a ghastly hour for several nights. I never caught
sight of the feathered creature--lucky for it, since I was
envisioning the bird’s spiraling descent from its lofty perch.

Our lovebird, Daisy, has acquired some new screeches
into her repertoire of bird noises. Since her recent surgery.
she’s aggravated by the meds she’s forced to ingest every day.

Daisy’s lucky that we’re so patient with her,
with the woods only yards away…

A Nice Sunday Outing...

Everything slows down with age, as the saying goes.
Heading out to the Coconut Grove Art Festival Sunday
with Jen drove that saying right into the ground.

Older drivers, many of whom need a booster seat
while driving, were defying the laws of motion,
squeezing themselves tightly between cars. I spent
most of the drive gasping and inventing new cuss words…

Nothing phases Jen at all, driving the Capsule
[what she calls her Tribute] with expert reflexes,
though I was white-knuckled most of the trip, commenting
how glad I was to live on the quieter side
of Florida. If I’d had dentures, they would have flown
out or been swallowed.
I know my eyes socket-popped a few times…

When we finally made the last left turn to the festival,
we picked out Pay and Go parking, only a few blocks away.
Should have been called Pay and Go Broke Parking.
After inserting a credit card, and selecting the time
amount, we waited for the transaction to complete and
print out a parking voucher.

Ha! I think the transaction was routed through Siberia.
Nothing happened.I thought of inserting cash, but couldn’t
find the money slot. Coins Only, Jen told me.
Like people are carrying a wad of quarters…
After trying another parking kiosk across the street,
we finally had our ticket.

The festival was packed.
We walked a few inches at a time along the tented streets,
downwind of Cuban cigar smoke and expensive perfumes.
Craning our necks to see some of the exhibited artists, we
wobbled around leashed gorilla-sized and dust mop-sized
dogs to view the artist displays.

After 4 hours and probably as many walking miles, we
found the car and hopped in and drove off with visions
of Bimini Bread at the Islamorada Fish Company occupying
our hungry thoughts…the streets were light and we made
all the green lights. I supposed drivers had made it to
the Early Bird and Happy Hour specials by then.

Miami is a real experience if one has steel nerves.
I mellowed out, enjoying the beautiful sunset as we
drove from Miami to Bass Pro Shops in Dania, near
Ft. Lauderdale. High rises shimmered pink and gold.

Yes, everything is supposed to slow down with age,
except the time it took for Bimini Bread to reach my hips…
Mmm, good!

Inky-Dinky Do Or Don't....

I’ve been noticing a lot of “ink” lately.
Colin, dear reader and prolific food
blogger, you didn’t think I’d blog about tats?
Ha!
Everything and everyone is possible
food for my blog--so belly up!

What makes someone entrust their
tender, unmarked skin to a virtual stranger?
The tattooer looks at the tattooee
and sees a desert of unclaimed skin--
soon to be a work of art.

With my luck, the needle would clog
and spit out a series of connect-the-dots.
Anyway, if I saw a needle pointed at me,
I’d scream and run the other way.
Besides, a person needs a good, firm
stretch of skin for the artist’s jabbing.

I’m more like lemon meringue, kind
of soft and fluffy, but I’m working on
it. I hope to be firm as a scone soon…
Colin, see what your food blogs do to me?

Getting back to inking up…
I couldn’t and wouldn’t think of letting
Drago, Bronk, or Helga poke me with a needle.
No way.
I’d have to be wrapped in mummy cloth first…

I just knew something was up when
Jen thought she did a good job of
hiding her impulsive piece of fish art
from me a few years ago--but not for long.
I have the special gift of Knowing...

As time progresses, I hope those tigers,
dragons, fairies and fish won’t mutiny--
collapsing into a valley of sagging, wrinkled
skin--along with fallen arches…
Heh-heh…

Deep Fried

The humor quadrant of my brain is slightly
exhausted from my last blog:
http://gulfgal-nancysworld.blogspot.com/2010/02/hey-mister-your.html
My brother Michael thought my friend’s wake up
remedy was ‘out in left field’--[something’ sure was]!
Mike feels someone should have jostled the man awake.

Jostle? Wiggle? Hmmm..no way, given the bulk,
height and grumpy ratio of the man.
He ought to be glad I didn’t alert Eye-Witness News…

Speaking of things that sort of pop into one’s
line of sight, I have to say I haven’t received
any error messages, exceptions, or HD failures
for at least a year. I’m talking pc problems here…
What a segue…

Don’t you love getting strange, cryptic messages
across a black or blue screen? An exception at
Oe71312 in doppelgangerWz67x.3oe62has occurred.
No kidding? Is there a fast-ball remedy for it?
[you have to have read the previous blog to get my drift].

Like I know what the heck that message refers to,
or what to do with it. I bet a caveman would
know its meaning…
The origin is not of this planet--I think space aliens
in human form are working in the pc labs…

Too bad there isn’t some device that can warn
you of the kind of day one is going to have:
Cryptic, in-your-face, whatever.
I can always count on one thing, at least: Cruiser,
our stomach-with-a-neck resident duck…

Pardon me, Sir, But Your....

Excuse me, but your 'apostrophe' is showing.
Oops! How do you confront someone who glaringly, has
something undone--like a crucial button or zipper--
or has a pair of windows-to-the-world shorts on?

Recently I was walking into my favorite bookstore
café in Naples and was suddenly confronted by an
unfortunate display of manly 'goods'…who doesn’t like
hanging out in a cozy café…?

Now, I have nothing against the 'boys' and their
sidekick. They’re perfectly fine if they’re well
behaved--but they have their place--and should
stay there, not wandering around for some fresh air…

If Chief Spread-Eagle had been Fabio or Denzel
I wouldn’t have minded too much--for a little while.
Anyway, the café was beginning to buzz a bit as a couple
more people walked in and took notice of the 'sideshow'.

I suggested to my two bookstore friends, that one of
them should nudge the hulking man awake, and tell
him to close his gap.
Nothing doing. Big chickens..

By now, the female employees were very aware
of the predicament, but were hesitant to approach,
the man, hoping that he might wake up soon.

The sleeping exhibitionist finally was aroused from
his nap, after one of my friends tossed a napkin ball
at the man’s chest, hoping to wake him.

He looked over at my friends, and my friend
pointed down past the man's equator…
After a few adjustments, the spectacle was over.
He hasn’t been seen since…

Who's Knocking...?

I read an article recently about brand
names being used in blogs. Apparently the
FTC can come after bloggers if any brands
such as Crest, etc, is mentioned.

Yep, as of Dec 1, 2009, new laws went into
effect about so-called endorsements.
The FTC considers any mentioning of
brands by bloggers as possible endorsements
dispensed with company backdoor free samples.
‘Paid’ endorsements must be stated in the blog article.

Ha! I’m looking over my shoulder, and don’t
see any funny men in strange FTC suits with
Yosemite Sam mustaches and Hercule Poirot
comb-overs…yet.

So, if I write that I love my new pair of Dr. Scholl’s
sandals, please don’t come after me--I bought
them at ‘Wally World’--and no--Walmart
doesn’t give me any freebies…

Maybe I shouldn’t mention that Twizzlers
gave my friend heartburn, and needed to take…

Sweet Little Bird...

Many of my neighbors walk small, fluffy dogs
tethered at the end of a long leash.
We’ve always had a bird.

For readers who don’t know, we have
a cute lovebird, Daisy, who is allowed
to flit about the screened-in lanai.

She’s adventurous and a little sneaky:
Daisy flew from Jen’s shoulder awhile back,
outside to the woods.

Flying to the highest pine tree branch,
she baked under the Florida sun for at least
3 hours before deciding to fly back to Jen.

Her little escapade injured an area under
the wing at the time, and a trip to the vet
was her next adventure.

Since Daisy’s flight, things actually were
not going well--the little cut in the crease under
her wing got wider and deeper.

The drive to the avian vet yesterday was an
eye-opener: I’d never seen so many flashy and
expensive cars drive by Jen’s ‘capsule’--what
she calls her kayak-hauling Mazda Tribute.

We both noticed how many younger people
were driving those shiny Ferraris and Lambros.
She’s driven her car almost to exhaustion,
some 100,00 miles, zigzagging like a patchwork
quilt across, up and down the entire state.
I think she’s seen every alligator and iguana, too.

Finally arriving, we hoisted Daisy’s condo-style
cage from the backseat, and entered All
Creatures Animal Hospital. After a few minutes
of listening to Daisy’s frantic chirping, we left.
Daisy requires stitches to close the muscle-exposing
gash under her wing.

This morning, we dropped Daisy off at the vet;
she's home now, bandaged and is wearing a
transparent cone, which she hates.
Little 'tipsy' has fallen asleep, cuddled up in my hand..