Woodstock, Live

A few weeks ago, during one of the many snow storms we’ve had this winter, I heard a loud “WHACK” at the bedroom window.  I walked over, saw little feathers plastered to the pane and knew we just had a bird strike.  I looked down and saw a tiny little thing pile driven into the snow.  I rushed outside and downstairs to where I spied the accident victim.  I gently pulled it out of the snow, expecting to see his neck flop to the side, broken.  But the head and neck were intact.  I put a finger against the breast and thankfully felt breathing and a very rapid heartbeat.  I cupped the little guy in my hands and headed for the garage where I could ask Poncho for something to put our patient in.  I wasn’t very hopeful that this bird would survive.  I imagined it had a pretty serious brain injury based on the sound it made when he hit the window.  But while I waited for a container with a clean t-shirt to be fashioned, this sweet little bird grasped its talons into the palm of my hand.  As best as I could tell the bird was a Bewick’s Wren.  When the container was ready, I very lovingly disengaged the wren from my hand and set him in the makeshift nest.  I set the lid on and took it upstairs.  Ginger, the cat, was shooed from the bedroom, and I placed the little bird in the window sill where he would get natural light through the clear plastic box.  I made sure the doors were closed and went to take a shower.  Knowing the chances weren’t good for survival, I was very pleasantly surprised to see the wren fluttering around in the box, trying to get out.  Amazingly, he had shaken off his stupor and wanted out . . . NOW.  So I opened the bedroom window and lifted the lid so that birdie would fly away from me and not into the house.  It took about two nanoseconds for him to realize that he was free.  With a tweet, tweet, and poop he took off back into the wild.  Out here in the country when a bird strikes a window, chances are rarely in its favor for survival.  A couple years ago we had a young Red Tail Hawk break its neck flying into a window.  So It really warmed my heart that I could provide this tiny little creature the warmth, safety, and time needed to recuperate from his accident.

For more posts inspired by today’s one word prompt click the link below.


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Standing Up

Today I cannot be quiet.  Today I must stand up and be counted.  As a woman who has risen above being sexually attacked by someone whom I trusted yet who thought it was his god given right to have sex, to see these T-shirts is not just an insult, it is an outrage.   And those out there buying them and think it’s okay, I say “NO!”  How do we protect our daughters, granddaughters, nieces, girlfriends, all women when this is what is considered okay.  How do we teach our sons, grandsons, nephews, boyfriends, all men to respect and cherish women when this is considered acceptable.  If you have a young woman in your life, give them the tools to protect themselves.  They deserve to be able to walk down the street unmolested, but that is no longer the world we are leaving them.  Teach them to be strong.  Share and get the word out.  This is not acceptable.


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It’s A Beautiful Thing

When I saw today’s one word prompt I wish I could say that my first thoughts were of the intricate beauty of a Faberge egg, or the ethereal light captured in Monet’s Water Lilies series or the sublime simplicity of a perfect crystalline snowflake.  No, when I saw the word, exquisite, my first thought was pain.  Not the pain of the everyday:  sore muscles from too much yard work, or the pain of keeping a milk jug from dropping when both the elbow and shoulder decide to no longer work together.  I’m talking about the pure white hot pain that blots out all other thought.

When I was in my second go around for a college degree I got an infected hang nail that went all the way down into the nail bed of my finger.  It wasn’t a mere throbbing pain, but a blaring siren that told me if I did not act soon, I might at the least lose a finger, at the worst, my life.  When I went to the student health clinic, the nurse taking my vitals mentioned that the pain must be “exquisite”.  And it was.  Only after the doctor sliced the side of my finger to get the infection out and prescribed a ten day dose of antibiotics did I fully appreciate the dire strait I was in.

Now jump forward a couple decades to about eighteen months ago.  I’m coming down the stairs to speak to Poncho about something inconsequential.  I pause on the stairs to look out over our yard and I forget my stair count.  You see, I always count the stairs because I’m an incredible klutz.  So when I begin stepping again, I think I’m on the last step when in actuality I’m on the second to last.  I step off into air, land hard, twisting my left ankle, falling down, narrowly missing the edge of the open man door to the garage.  The pain I felt in that moment nearly left me breathless.  When I hurt myself, I generally can swear up a storm, but this time all I could muster was a long line of “Ow, ow, ow, . . .”  Luckily I only sprained my ankle.  In those first few minutes when I wasn’t sure whether or not I might pass out I was sure that there was bone protruding from my skin.  That was an “exquisite” moment.

But the most exquisite moments in my life have been from the migraines that I have been genetically blessed to have.  There is no pain on the face of the earth that I am aware of that matches that period of when the first twinge of pain starts in the brain to the last twist wrung out after several hours of intense suffering.  There is nothing but the pain.  It takes over.  It is my life.  I must let it own me.  I am compelled to let it take me from one turbulent wave of agony to another.  There is no bracing against it.  I can only give into it and let it sweep me away to it’s distant shores.  There is nothing more immediate, nothing more pure, nothing more exquisite, than losing oneself in the throes of that kind of pain.

So while my higher self would like to imagine something beautiful and perhaps even sacred when thinking of the word, exquisite, the reality is something much more profane and immediate.  Something that I cannot run away from when faced bare and naked with the onslaught of sensory overload.

Has anyone else ever experienced a pain so intense as to be considered “exquisite”?

Daily Post Exquisite

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Someday My Prince Will Come

Too many of us girls have and had been raised on the Disney paradigm of “one day my prince will come” thought when it comes to our place in the greater scheme of things.  Who didn’t wish to be Snow White or Cinderella rescued by the handsome Prince Charming?  But the reality of the situation is we are stuck watching “Reality Television” thinking that this is what is real.

It seems Ginger is stuck in this sad, ill be gotten thought process.  Here she is watching her version of reality Television.


In her mind, I’m sure she is thinking, “someday, those birdies will be mine”.


I don’t mind her thoughts of mass murder, just so long as they are confined to the rodent variety.

Daily Post Someday

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Cold Bony Fingers

I don’t know if the snow from last night’s storm is so much clinging to the sides of the trees as much as having been sand blasted on due to the wind.  It was definitely a winter wonderland that we woke up to again this morning.  We haven’t had such a snowy winter in quite some time.


And all the work that Poncho did  plowing the lane with the tractor seems to be for naught except that what he did plow yesterday doesn’t have to be moved in addition to today’s plowing chore.


The icicles seem to be growing as they cling to the downspout too.


Cheers from the cold and white Pacific Northwest.

Daily Post Cling

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The Sun and The Moon

After several days of constant wintery weather with no breaks of sunshine I am deeply missing that big, warm orb in the sky.  The feel of the sun’s rays on my face seems a distance memory from when we were in Albuquerque back in October.  With these dreary overcast days the only shine that we can get is of the moon variety.  Moonshine might not provide a body with vitamin D but it does give a nice warm glow to the skin.  Of course, as with sunshine, moonshine is best partaken of in modest quantities.  Otherwise that glow turns into a burn.  So until the sun comes back to the Pacific Northwest, or I get back to the Desert Southwest, I’ll have to satisfy my need for shine from the liquid moon sort.  Cheers to All!

The Daily Post Shine

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No Will No Way

I was trying to make a piece of flash fiction come together about a little boy in a candy shop and the shopkeeper distracted for today’s one word prompt of “tempted”.  Of course real life completely took over and created an even better story.  Today, while at work, my most wonderful boss brings out a bowl full of chocolate treats that evidently had been left over from Halloween.  I know!  Who still has leftover candy?  Anyway, this bowl had M & M’s, both plain and peanut, Almond Joy’s, and York’s Peppermint Patties.  He just nonchalantly brings this bowl out from his office, and places it next to the hard candy bowl that we keep out for our clients.  Over the nearly two years I have been there, I have only about six times gotten into the hard candy.  I like hard candy, don’t get me wrong, but it doesn’t send my inner child into larceny overdrive.  Well, now there is this chocolate candy bowl.  I’ve been staring at it since he brought it out, but have not partaken only because I have been busy with the business of my job.  But let me tell you one thing.  Once he left an hour early for the day, it wasn’t five minutes before I was overcome by temptation to paw through the bowl, picking out the chocolatey treats that had been taunting me for a good two hours.  If I had been five years old, I would have had chocolate all over my face; and I very well might have.  I just had the presence of mind to wipe it off with a tissue.  I was tempted and I have no regrets in succumbing to said temptation.  And come tomorrow morning, there may or may not be anything left in that bowl by the time my boss arrives to work.

Daily Prompt Tempted

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