Life Goes On

I used to think that when something bad happened, writing would serve as a solace and support. But I've found that in times of crisis and loss, my writing muse mostly deserts me. The death of a much-loved cousin has recently caused me to pause. While I haven't entirely stopped writing, my blog posts have been less frequent.

In the past, when experiencing the shock of grief, I've felt surprised at the way life around me goes on. This time is no different. I think about cousin Art while the birds twitter, the flowers bloom, and my neighbor stops to say hello. I go to the market, prepare meals, brush my teeth. Sadness gives the mundane a heightened beauty.

Rather than write more, I'd like to offer some photos I took the other day with my iPhone, when the flowers and greenery in my yard seemed particularly lovely. Adios, Arturo.
  
Click on the photos to enlarge them.

Happy 13th Birthday, Cosmo!

In a seeming miracle, Cosmo the wonder poodle has reached the ripe old age of 13. In my unbiased opinion, he's the most adorable dog in the world. He still retains his puppy playfulness despite his geriatric status. He may be caught napping on occasion, but he can always be aroused by the words "treat" or "walk."

An adventurous eater, Cosmo will try anything. His tastes range from strained chicken to watermelon, honeydew, apples, peas, carrots, and green beans. He's never been known to turn down a slice of smoked turkey or a few flakes of tuna, either. But he can get down and dirty with the best of them when it comes to dog food. He's pretty much tried them all. His current favorite is Royal Canin, an apt choice for such a princely animal.

Though small in stature, Cosmo thinks big. He's never shied away from a confrontation and has been known to challenge Dobermans, German Shepherds, and even Great Danes. But once he's stopped barking, he couldn't be friendlier.

Cosmo has been my loyal companion for 13 years. When he was a puppy, he helped me bond with my teenage sons. When I was sick, he comforted me. And when we moved, he made our new place feel like home. But perhaps his greatest gift to me has been a deep feeling of connection to all non-human creatures. Living with Cosmo has made me more sensitive to animals in the wild and has enriched me in ways no words can describe. Happy Birthday, Cos!

The Robins Rebuild

A couple of weeks ago, after the baby robins left their nest under our deck, E. removed the nest. Robins can breed two or three times in a season and we hoped that by removing the nest we would discourage the parents from building in the same place next time. A futile hope, as it turned out.

Robins have an uncanny homing instinct and will build over and over again in the same location if possible. Our robins had constructed their nest in the exact same spot last spring. Since E. removed this spring's nest, we've been checking daily for signs of new activity. This morning, I saw a robin with dried grass hanging from its beak and, sure enough, when I looked under the deck I could see that building had begun.

We decided to remove the nest materials immediately and to put something in the area to prevent further building there. Not that the nest itself bothered us. To the contrary, we found it fascinating to watch the eggs hatch and the chicks grow big (see my earlier post, Drama Under the Deck). But the door bashing really got to be too much. The birds were smashing into glass doors both above and below the deck, risking their own well-being and leaving a mess of bird droppings behind (see More on Robins—The Messy Side). They truly would be better off with a nest in a nearby tree, where they wouldn't fall prey to their own reflection in a pane of glass.

After clearing out the beginnings of the new nest, we found some old packing material, which we crammed into the space to make it impossible for the birds to build there again. Robins are nothing if not resourceful, though. I won't be shocked if they find some way to incorporate the foreign matter into a new nest. Or maybe they'll decide to build on an adjacent rafter. Time will tell. While I feel sad about depriving the industrious robins of their chosen nesting site, I hope they'll find an even better spot where their babies can hatch and mature in peace.

Treme

I just watched the first episode of Treme, an HBO series set in the Tremé neighborhood of New Orleans after Katrina. Thanks to On Demand, I had access to the first 79-minute installment. I hesitated to tune in to the series when it first aired in early April because I was sure it would depress me. But the show, produced by the same team that created The Wire, manages to find warmth, humor, and resilience among the city's inhabitants while capturing the devastation of the flooding. Music plays a central role and the series features many local musicians.

The creators of Treme couldn't have dreamed that their program would air just as Louisiana became engulfed in a new catastrophe, but the juxtaposition of the earlier and current events certainly added poignancy to my viewing experience. When John Goodman's character, a local college professor, angrily tells a journalist, "We're dying down here" while the government dithers around, I immediately thought of James Carville, who recently said said those same words as he furiously protested the Federal government's slow response to the oil spill. When things get really bad, as they did after Katrina, they can apparently get even worse, as we're learning during the present crisis.

Judging from the first episode of Treme, though, there's room for optimism. Even in the worst of circumstances, people find reasons to laugh. I plan to keep watching the series and hope that joy leavens the sadness on television and in real life.

Here's a link to a trailer for Treme on YouTube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RPVMxuoarbg.

Things Are, Then They Aren't

Earlier today, I met a friend at the Deluxe Town Diner, where we spent a delightful couple of hours having lunch and catching up. When I entered the restaurant, white clouds scudded across a blue sky. By the time I emerged, the sky had turned gray and threatening. It was a beautiful day, then it wasn't.

Last Friday, I was about to cook dinner and enjoy a leisurely start to my weekend. The only thing on my mind was what DVD I felt like watching that evening. Then E. discovered that the hot water heater was leaking and the basement was rapidly flooding. We spent the next several hours attempting to mitigate the damage. It was an uneventful evening, then it wasn't.

I've been patiently switching Cosmo from one anti-seizure medication to another. The first medicine couldn't be stopped cold turkey, so I added the second medicine for several weeks, then gradually began weaning him off the first. After the initial dose reduction, all went well. Cosmo acted like a healthy dog, with plenty of pep and enthusiasm. I felt optimistic about the prospects for continuing the weaning process. After two weeks, following the vet's instructions, I lowered the dose again. Two days later, Cosmo had a seizure. Then another. And another. Cosmo was seizure-free, then he wasn't.

The east coast of South Florida boasts beaches with soft white sand and bright blue water of striking clarity. During walks along Biscayne Bay, I've seen manatees, dolphins, sting rays, barracuda, brown pelicans, egrets, herons, gulls, and other magnificent wild creatures. The South Florida coastal waters still provide a healthy habitat for sea creatures and birds. But, if the oil that's currently suffocating the Gulf of Mexico gets picked up by the loop current, predictions are that it will be carried around the southern tip of Florida and along the east coast. For now, that coast is pristine . . .

Young Love

While on a meandering walk with Cosmo the other day, I found myself in front of a neighbor's house. The family had moved in a few years ago—a husband and wife and one daughter, now a tall, pretty teenager. Cosmo paused to do some sniffing in front of their house. It was a beautiful early-June afternoon. The air smelled of flowers and the wind whispered gently in the trees.

I heard the murmur of voices but at first couldn't tell where they came from. Then I noticed the daughter, lying on the side lawn with a dark-haired boy by her side. They were talking and laughing and the girl had a blade of grass between her teeth.

The scene instantly took me back to my own teenage years, when I wanted nothing more than to daydream the afternoons away under the spell of a clear blue sky. It made me nostalgic for the heady sensation of having my whole life before me and all the time in the world. And most especially, it brought back the glorious feeling of young love.

I know I'm leaving some things out—the insecurity, the adolescent angst. But still, not much can compare to the teenage intoxication of a warm day, a cute guy, and no parents in sight.

Bananas are Cool

I love bananas. I like to eat them with my breakfast granola. I enjoy them as a late afternoon snack, which will stave off hunger pangs until dinner. I love banana bread, banana cream pie, banana splits. Mashed bananas were among the earliest food I fed my kids. But I've always had a problem with bananas — when stored at room temperature, they quickly become overripe.

I tend to like my bananas firm, when the skin has turned yellow but there's still a hint of green at the stem. I don't like them at the supposedly ideal stage (except if I'm baking banana bread), when they're yellow with a few flecks of brown. Until recently, I always hesitated to buy my bananas in large bunches, lest they rot before I had a chance to eat them, so I would buy one or, at most, two bananas at a time.

Then I heard an interview with Dan Koeppel about his book, Banana: The Fate of the Fruit That Changed the World. Toward the end of the interview, Koeppel sang the the Chiquita Banana song, one of the more successful advertising jingles in history. Among the original lyrics are the following assertions — "Bananas have to ripen in a certain way" and "You should never put bananas in the refrigerator." 

According to Koeppel, both those assertions are false. In fact, bananas are shipped refrigerated, which keeps them from ripening too soon. Refrigerating them once you've purchased them will slow down further ripening. While the skin may turn brown in the refrigerator, this does not mean the bananas have gone bad. In fact, they will remain at pre-refrigeration ripeness for a much longer period than if left at room temperature.

This was all news to me. On rare occasions, I had previously put bananas in the refrigerator in the hope of preserving them. But the skins quickly turned an unappealing shade of brown and I just assumed the fruit had gone bad. My mistake. Since hearing the interview with Koeppel, I've been buying bananas by the bunch and refrigerating them once they reach exactly the stage of ripeness I prefer. In the refrigerator, they remain firm and delicious for a number of days. And they don't always turn brown (see the photo below, of a banana that's been refrigerated for several days and is still looking good). Plus, I've discovered I like the refreshing taste of a cold banana.

These days, my bananas are cool, both literally and figuratively.