Birds, Diuretics, Anti-Vaxxers and Fan-Girling Baseball

 Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday went by with a good deal of guilt tagging along behind me. Guilt because I feel like I’m wasting time. I’m in a holding pattern where I don’t want to start packing or selling and giving away art and furniture I used for staging the house because I still don’t have a firm appointment for a closing. (We are one step closer though, the appraisal came back $2,000 higher than the offer I accepted.)  

And I’m worried I might spill my morning coffee on the carpeting or break something now that the house presumptuously will belong to someone else soon and I’ll be like a squatter living rent free for up to 60 days while someone else is making mortgage payments. I asked the realtor what happens if, say, a tree falls down? Do I just have it cut up and hauled away? "They'd notice it missing." He said I’d need to call the new owners and ask them how they wanted to handle anything that gets broken or damaged during the 60 days possession period. "It’s their house, their decision."

I’ve started a mental list of all the things I’m going to miss about this house. Birds ranked in the top ten---added on the list when a white-breasted nuthatch landed on my deck railing and he brought with him a wave of sentimental attachment for all the birds that are attracted to my yard. Over the years I’ve cataloged twenty-five species of birds that hang around this place. In the early evening if I sit on the deck wearing my hearing aids their songs and calls drown out all thoughts and it’s almost effortless to live in the moment. I’m taking my bird call with me but I don’t expect it will get me into the same Man-Bird “conversations” I’ve come to enjoy here. But I might trick the neighbors into thinking their eyesight is getting bad when they can’t spot the ‘bird’ calling its mate.

Did I mention I’m sitting at the Guy Land Cafeteria right now, another high ranking thing I will miss after I move? I stopped on the way home from a doctor’s appointment because it was 3:00 and I hadn’t eaten breakfast or lunch. I was trying to fool his scales into believing I’d lost a few pounds in the two months since I saw him last. But both my blood pressure and my weight were exactly the same causing me to curse the fact that I’ve given up oriental food, salty snacks and cookies for absolutely nothing. The doctor decided it's time to add another drug to the mix to lower my blood pressure---oh, God a diuretic. Could I pee anymore often than I already do? I know where every single restroom is between home and every place I go. If reincarnation is real I want to come back as a man just so I can pee in a bottle.

My house cleaners were here this week but the house was pretty much still spotless from the showings so I had one of them clean the oven for the new owners. They came to the door carrying their masks and asked if they needed to wear them. I replied, “The Delta variation of the virus is in our county now, so, ya, I’d like you to wear them.” They are anti-vaxxers to the core. “We don’t like the government telling us what to do.” One of them said her uncle just got vaccinated and sent her a picture of a magnet stuck to his vaccination spot. Rather than believe the obvious, that her uncle was poking fun at her anti-vaxxer miss-information, she’d rather believe the government is involved in a vast conspiracy to make us all tractable with magnetic chips. You can’t argue with stupid and I didn’t even try.

Apparently, they’d just lost a large job of cleaning rooms in a motel because the owner only wanted vaccinated cleaners and the cleaning service owner (who was one of my cleaners that day) told the motel owner that she refuses to ask her workers if they’ve gotten vaccinated. "It's none of my business what they do with their bodies," she told me and her former client. Then she said her sister-in-law who works for an OBGYN is “being forced to quit her job of 30 years because she won’t get vaccinated. What an outrage!" I kept my mouth shut because one does not disagree with someone on a rant who could use your tooth brush to clean your toilet.

I’ve written seven hundred and thirty words to here. What can I add to get my writing quota up to 1,000? I could list a few more things I will miss after I move but I don’t want to dwell on that aspect of moving. I’m way past the point where a pros-and-cons list serves a useful purpose. I’ve already caught myself on the verge of crying once while thinking about all the memories associated with this house.

How about I report on my project to teach myself about major league baseball? I’ve watched a game just about every night since I made that declaration. The basics of the game I pretty already knew but I’m still trying to sort out the different kinds of pitches and I’ve printed out a list of baseball slang so when an announcer says things like, “He threw a cookie” I'll have a clue what’s going on. I'm also still trying to figure out why runners throw themselves on the ground and slide to a base instead of just keep running to get there. And are some of those guys wearing man-thongs because they don't all have the telltale underwear lines. And can we talk about the germs they pass around in baseball? What's with all the spitting? One guy even rubbed his spit all over his bat and I doubt he washed his hands before he was out in the field catching a ball in the next inning.

But the most interesting thing I’ve learned about baseball is how easy it is to fall asleep during a game. It makes me smile every time I catch myself waking up when the crowd gets loud because it brings back warm memories of my dad doing the same thing while nestled in his sleepy hollow, red leather chair. He could be snoring but would wake up if we tried to change the channel or turn the volume down and I'm starting to fan-girl those crowd sounds playing in the background of my life. ©

Pet Birds and Apple Pie

My mom had parakeets when I was a kid. If my memory isn’t playing tricks on me she had them trained to do amazing things. Well, maybe not amazing but I do know she could make a sound with her tongue and they’d fly across the room to land on her outstretched finger. Mom was a tee drinker and I have a couple of photos of her with a tea cup in her hand and a bird or two perched on the edge of the cup. It’s a wonder she didn’t get sick with salmonella bacteria drinking from a cup that bird feet had been walking around. Maybe she did and it got blamed on handling raw chicken.

Why am I trying so hard to remember Petie the Parakeet and his side-kick whatever her name was? Because it dawned on me that in my Post-Levi-the-Mighty-Schnauzer era I should explore other options for a pet besides dogs. Anything that is living, trainable and depends on me might be enough to make me feel needed, and if some other kind of animal has a shorter life span and a lower price tag than a puppy all the better. I allergic to cats, rabbits and horses so those are out of the running. I’m not fond of Guinea pigs, gerbils or ferrets. Pet rats or snakes would have me boarding up the windows and running away from home. I had tropical fish at one point in my life and all the water bubbling in the tank at my age would have me peeing too often.

Narrowing my search down I landed on Domestic Canaries and Zebra Finches and what it takes to keep them as pets. Both are said to wake you up by singing an ode to the sun and if that got too annoying I could just fry them up for dinner. JUST KIDDING! Canaries have been bred in captivity and caged since the 17th century so if there’s a protest group out there wanting to free all the breeders’ birds they should know that pet store birds are not the same as wild birds and probably couldn’t fend for themselves in the great outdoors. Or am I just buying into the bird breeders’ publicity campaigns? Either way, they have a lot of positives to recommend them for a senior companion. They supposedly are curious about what their humans are doing, smart, will sing back and forth to the birds outside your window, can be left alone for two days if you want a weekend get-away, and they can sit outside with you on your deck during nice weather. “Hi, neighbor! Whatcha got in the cage?” 

Another selling point---at least for me---is that the only vet in town who treats sick birds is located close by where I’ll be moving. Before Levi died I worried about moving so far away from the dog and cat ER here in town. And just to add another point on my list in favor of getting a canary is the fact that my grandfather was a coal miner during an era when they actually used them to test the quality of the air down there. I could give one of their descendants a better life than working in a coal mine. There's that screwball logic of mine again.

Another reason to consider a bird is the canaries only cost $25 to $200. Zebra Finches are $25 to $100. Cages aren’t a huge investment either, but when I looked at used cages on Facebook Market Place---not that I'd buy a used cage and maybe bring a bird virus home along with it---I was shocked at how many were listed. Does that mean I’m not the only one who gets excited by their birds-as-pets research then they lost interest down the road and have used that fry-them-up-for-dinner option? AGAIN, just kidding! Both these species of birds only live five to seven years, sometimes ten. Heck, by then I’d probably forget to feed whatever kind of pet I end up with which makes it too bad these birds can’t "sing" like a tomcat when its hungry or horny. A parrot could be taught to cry like a cat for its food but I’m grossed out every time I see someone walking around with a parrot on their shoulder and bird diarrhea running down the back of their shirt. I see them often in the summer which---come to think about it---makes me wonder if I’m really only seeing one person who happens to travel in the same radius as I do, whose face I couldn’t pick out in a lineup because I’m so focused on that poopy shoulder. And parrots are creepy if you look them in the eye!

Anyway, to wrap this up I invested a whole day studying pet bird care and training and I am/was still open to the idea until I googled how to clean a birdcage and found out the best way is to use bleach on them once a week. Bummer! I'm highly allergic to bleach. When I get my second Covid-19 vaccine, I'll be near a store that sells live birds so I'll stop by, ask a few questions, see if I can smell some of the commercial cage cleaning sprays. Over this past few days I've talked myself into a canary and depending on what I learn at the bird store I may have talk myself back out of the idea. Ya, if you're still reading this post and aren't fed up with my pet dilemma by now you can expect the topic might pop up again as I work through trying to fill the silence Levi's death left behind in the house.

New Topic: I baked my first apple pie since I helped my mom back before my teens. It wasn’t exactly a pie because I donated my pie tins to Goodwill thinking I’d never use them, but if I’m anything I’m good at research so I consulted Mr. Google to learn how to make a pie without a pan. Tip for the day: a cookie sheet and parchment paper. The only reason why I attempted this feat of Womanhood is because last fall a lady who lives down the block and around the corner walked to my house to give me a bag of fresh picked apples. I don’t like raw apples but it seemed rude to turn them down after she’d carried the heavy bag all that way to my house. I’m not replacing things in my pantry when I run out because of my upcoming move so in my pie I substituted almond flavoring for vanilla, and Truvia for real sugar. (I’ll be using that bag of Truvia for the rest of my life but it was the only "sugar" available back when the pandemic started.) My end product looked more like strudel, but it taste great and held together in slices better than a lot of pies at potlucks. I never want to have that many apples in the house again, though. It was too much pressure. I can't throw food away, the waste would make me feel too guilty. But they kept reminding me of how often I had to sit at the dinner table until bedtime when I didn't want to eat what my mom was serving---most notably, liver night once a week. One pie and a batch of apple sauce cured my apple problem. It's spring, they had to go! ©

 

 

 

Male American Singing Canaries are bred for their singing abilities and are happy to live as low maintenance bachelors. You can't put two males together or they fight and if you put a male and female together they make babies easily. Two females will sing but not make up long songs like the males.

According to what I've read this little guy is a great starter bird but I don't like the implication of the term 'starter bird.' I've heard of old ladies who keep adding cats to their households. Are there old ladies who keep adding birds to their home? Could I become the Bird Lady in Building One?