Bon Voyage

I’m not a good traveller. As much as I am drawn to the idea of seeing the world while ticking items off a bucket list sort of itinerary, I love staying home even more. The fact that I am height-challenged and can never reach the overhead bins in the plane doesn’t help, never mind that lifting heavy bags like that is poor ergonomics in the first place. Flight attendants, I feel your pain.

But the worst part of traveling for me, is having to leave my pets behind. The very thought of it renders me to a hand-wringing, horribly guilty state. Heartbroken really. We have three birds and two dogs to board. The birds are fairly new acquisitions but no easier to care for. These small feathered beings recognize us, socialize with us and do not cope well with change. My husband says I am anthropomorphizing them.

Finding resources to look after them has been challenging because most people who love animals have their own menageries to care for with little room at the inn. Plus, the fact that it’s summertime with overlapping vacation periods.

One positive aspect of being an anxious, over thinker is that I gave myself plenty of time to come up with a plan. Our groomer, Tania, will be looking after the dogs. Whereas I don’t know her personally, she does a great job cleaning them up, takes them on very short notice when there is a “poop” emergency and consistently tells me how sweet and well-behaved they are. What sealed the deal though was when she said, “They can even sleep with me if they want!”. Only a true dog lover would ever considering sleeping with boarders.

The birds were a little trickier to place. It had to be an experienced “bird person” as they have
particular needs and tendencies. Based on recommendations from a couple of friends, we booked three spots at the the Veterinary Hospital for Birds and Exotic Pets in town. This had to be organized
well in advance as the prerequisite was a full medical exam as well as preventative treatments for
parasites. While we were there, we decided to have a DNA test done for our albino cockatiel, Johnny Winter, and discovered that she was in fact Betty White incognito.

Yesterday morning, my husband and I washed all the cages, loaded the birds in their carry cages, and transported them into town. The technician who checked them in was great. Efficient, kind and very knowledgeable. Betty White was placed next to two other cockatiels named Bob and Bill and Eugene Blue and Limoncello were side by side just like they are at home. Full disclosure: I bawled my eyes out later in the car.

And I cried again when the vet called me a few hours later to say they were worried about Chelly, our barred parakeet, who had been fluffed up and lethargic for hours. Could be stress or could be that she is ill, the vet explained. Not wanting to take any chances, particularly as we would be out of reach the following day, I gave her permission to do an exam and culture. The vet called me back around 8:30
pm. The culture was positive for a crop infection, was treatable with antibiotics and had a good
prognosis. It was only after the vet hung up that I remembered something. For the past couple of weeks, whenever I kissed Chelly on her little head, I noticed a sour odour, almost like urine. I wondered about it at the time and sprayed her more regularly with the water bottle (she loves having a shower, then preening herself). But the smell lingered. I had also noticed a few times that she stayed in her cage rather than run out to greet me when I opened the cage door with her comical, chicken wearing pyjamas, belly to the ground kind of gait.

In retrospect, thank goodness we decided to board them at the avian vet’s. Not being experienced bird owners, we may have let this go on too long with dire consequences. Birds are fragile little things; when they are ill, their condition can deteriorate rapidly.

We still have to drop off Sami and Gami shih tzu later this afternoon. It’s like they know what’s in the
air. Neither of them have eaten today. Ugh.

Part of me (the adventurous, bucket-list part) is really looking forward to this trip. It will be good to see family overseas again and for my husband to see the land of his forebears for the first time. That being said, I am already looking forward to being reunited with the fids and the fur kids again.

À bientôt!

Limoncello "Chelly", our Linnie.

Eugene the pacific blue parrotlet

                                                                  Betty White

                                                                 Sami & Gami

White Loafers

As far as I am concerned white loafers should stay in the closet at all times but if you’re going to wear them anyway, for heaven’s sake, dust them off and (shoe) polish them up after Spring equinox.

Context: I put my clip-on sunglasses in my coat pocket the other day then sat down for a car ride. Needless to say, either my body heat, hip flexion, or possibly both caused them to bend and contort. I dropped them off at Vizualis to be repaired and picked them up today.

Clerk wearing white loafers before Spring equinox, who I know fairly well and try to avoid when it comes time to choose new frames: "Hi! How are you?"

Me: "I'm well, thanks. You look good. Did you get new glasses?"

White loafers: "No, I lost weight. I'm on a diet, nothing but salads for me."

Me: "Go figure, I'm on a diet too!"

I'm thinking we may not recognize each other next time around. One thing's for sure, you will never, ever, catch me wearing white loafers no matter what season it is. Not even the kind with velcro straps.

56

“You and me, we’ve met geniuses. And we know we’re not like them, don’t we? What is it like to go on, knowing you are not a genius, knowing you are a mediocrity? I think it’s the worst kind of hell.”

“Well,” Less said. “I think there’s something between genius and mediocrity—“

—Less, by Andrew Sean Greer

And that is the bar I am aiming for as I begin my 57th year. Anything between mediocrity and genius will do.

Valentine's Day

Valentine's Day

I love this face

This face, this face

The space it takes

When pressed so close

To mine

The crinkled corners

Of kind blue eyes

The deepened grooves 

That earn another year today

I love the way it takes me in

The tam o’ shanter

Silly grin

That makes me laugh

(At stupid things)

The words that form

Inside its rooms

They swirl and dance

Into songs and poems

My Valentine’s Boy

He makes me sing

He makes me better

He makes me think

There was supposed to be

An earth shattering KABOOM

And oh, by God, there was

A spark, a flame, a plume

That face, that face

it caught me fast

I’m smitten now

No looking back.

Happy birthday, sweet I! ❤️❤️❤️

The Shape Of My Joy

What is the shape of your joy? 

In Kyo Maclear’s wonderful memoir, Birds Art Life, she refers to her friend Jack Breakfast and his cure for creative depression: "He had discovered his joy was bird shaped."

A few years ago, I think it was the month of June, I was walking my dogs through the local park during my lunch hour, when I heard a bird song for the first time. What I mean is, until that exact moment in time and space, this song had been nothing but white noise in my head, the soundtrack to a busy, distracted life. But on that particular day, for whatever reason, the universe opened up and it was like I heard it for the first time. Its melody was sweet and clear. Two notes in succession, repeated. I remember feeling fully aware in that moment and the distinct sensation of my heart lifting in my chest. I scanned the trees above to find the source of the music but to no avail. It was only much later, in describing it to Ian, that he identified it as a chickadee song. 

As it turned out, the shape of my joy was also a bird. And in discovering that joy, my life was permanently altered and I became a bird person.

****************************************************************************************************************

Late last night when I should have been in bed, I was busted by Ian as I edited a selection of the 500 plus bird photos I took during this past Sunday’s snowstorm (make that crazy bird lady). 

“What are you doing?”, he asked.

“Editing photos when I should be winding down.”, I replied sheepishly. I showed him the shot I was working on.

“Nice! I wrote you a poem.”, he said. “I sent it through messenger.”

“Really?” 

(As much as I love poetry, I especially love it when it’s written for me.)

Here is the poem:

My love loves taking photographs

The backyard birds are famous now

Her spirit animal

Chick a dee dee dee...

Little cuddly looking cuties 

that can't be cuddled

Cause they can't be still

If I were to describe a bird 

that most resembles her

It would be the chickadee

Predictably unpredictable 

Or unpredictably predictable

These little flitterfluff rascals

All puffed out against the 

fierce forces of winter

Flitting and quitting 

in acrobatic routines 

that never repeat. 

Peep peep

hard to photograph, a challenge

They don't sit still for long 

Not long enough to focus on. 

Always on to the next task

I'm waiting for my chickadee

To come home

— Ian Hanchet

And here is the photograph I was editing (the shape of my joy):

So tell me, what is the shape of your joy?

What’s In A Name Domain?

So I just bought a domain name thinking it would inspire me to write more blog entries. Here goes.

Actually, I bought two domain names: I purchased the second one after making a big spelling boo boo on the first one. I’ll blame that on my cataracts. Apparently I have to wait five days before canceling the first one which makes absolutely no sense to me unless they’re hoping I forget to cancel. 

In other news, I am following four times more people on Instagram than are following me which makes me rather uncool and needy. Not to mention many of the accounts that do follow me promise to make me more popular on Instagram. Sigh ... welcome to the world of social media. 

Oh, and there are a total of eleven people (still) following my blog. (If you’re reading this, you’re one of them!) Out of those eleven, two are the same people, one is my husband, three are from my defunct book club and five are (loyal) friends.

I’ve entered cancelling my domain name in my smart phone calendar. Five days seems so random. 

My domaine name is bogeyandruby.com, by the way. I was both shocked and pleased it was still available. Sounds a lot better than bogieampruby. com, don’t it?

A Little Support, Please!

I went sports bra shopping today. Not because the ones I wear aren't doing the job. Rather, I wouldn't want to be caught dead in one if I were in an accident and somebody had to perform CPR or something.

Anyone who knows me well knows well enough how much I hate clothes shopping and shopping for undergarments is no exception. Luckily, my go-to clothing store is conveniently located next to my favourite bookstore, the ideal place to console myself after a failed attempt to find something, anything that fits. (I have a lot of books, by the way.)

This particularly clothing store happens to sell a sporty line, clothes to sweat in, or in my case, stuff to sweat in AND wear to the office. I am particularly drawn to the fact that they carry an "ultra-petite" section though by section I mean one pair of stretchy pants (what the hell are sculpture pants?) that are still two inches too long for my 26" inseam.

I found the sportsbra rack at the back of the store, all black except for one conspicuous salmon-coloured model, and searched for my cup size. Uh ... what the heck does size "extra-large" translate to in cup-size? I spotted a sales clerk lurking in the shadows and asked her how the bra sizes work. She replied, "Well, I take medium.", as if that was supposed to be some kind of universal reference point for the rest of us. "I'd better try a large then.", I decided. I headed to a cubicle, undressed and pulled the claspless, crossed-back bra over my head, then grimaced in anticipation as I turned to face my reflection in the mirror. Well, folks, how do I put this? It would have been a perfect fit if I'd been looking for some sort of abdominal hernia support. Or a hammock to have a nap in before I used it to carry my coconuts home.

"How's it going in there?', the salesgirl called from the other side of the cubicle. "I'm afraid I'm not as young and perky as you.", I lamented. I need proper cups that lift and separate and provide a solid surface to rest my chin on.

Besides, I just remembered a book I need to get.

The expedition wasn't a complete loss though. I managed to snag a fall coat on my way out the door. Don't you just love stuff you can try on without undressing?

Additional rant: please, please, please, dear fashion Gods ... make skinny pants/leggings go away and bring back the boot cut. I really don't like having to take my glasses off to try on pants, never mind my shoes. And I don't like having to put my socks back on everytime I take them off. It's bad enough being 4'11" on a good day without feeling like I'm just another link in the sausage train!

Had any luck with clothes-shopping lately? Do share your stories of inspiration.

P.S. I did wear a pair of jean leggings the other day that my dear work friends bought me before my honeymoon last year. It's the first time I wore them in public and even though I was very uncomfortable and had to take my shoes and glasses off to get them on and and put my socks back on when I took them off, I wore them happily because they were chosen with love, by people I love.