The hawks were vocal and present early this morning when I went outside to do my pool chores.

However, at some point between then and the time I returned home in the late afternoon, having a pair of hawks in residence in the backyard lost all of its charm for Mrs. Blather. For one thing, all of our familiar bird friends who frequent our patio bird feeder were staying the heck away. The mated pair of cardinals that have been pretty much a permanent fixture at the feeder since January are nowhere to be seen.

Then Mrs. Blather saw one of the hawks finishing off a meal of some poor creature from our private backyard ecosystem; and that was it. Apparently she grabbed a skimmer net on a long pole and with a mighty hand drove the wing-ed invaders from our domain. (Possibly violating several federal statutes if they were a protected species.)

They have stayed gone, too–obviously considering the enticement of fresh water and abundant squirrels and lizards not worth the risk of being attacked by a crazy woman with a net.

This backyard is once again a raptor-free zone.

It hit 107 late this afternoon. Same story tomorrow.When it gets hot and dry for an extended period, we sometimes start seeing animals around the house looking for water–creatures that ordinarily keep their distance.

Today the girls were in the pool and reported seeing a couple of hawks swooping low over the backyard. At one point I walked out into the blast furnace and saw one of the hawks sitting on a low branch of one of the trees by the pool. Around sunset I could hear their screechy cries from all the way inside.

I looked out back and saw one of the mated pair standing beside the pool by a puddle of water that had splashed out. The mate was in a tree right above. Grabbed the camera and shot this:

These are not the Red Tailed Hawks that I commonly see perched atop telephone poles. As best as I can tell, I now have a pair of pet Broad Winged Hawks–which customarily pass through Texas on a migration route between Central America and the East Coast of the U.S..At least I hope that’s what they are. If they’re actually an endangered species, it might goof with my home sale. (Which gets consummated in about two weeks.)

Where are we moving, you ask?

Great question. I’ll get back to you on that.

I drove the three-and-a-half hours into the hills of Eastern Oklahoma to surprise my Mom on her 77th birthday Thursday. And surprised she was. Pleasantly, too, I hasten to add.

Trips up to see my folks grew disgracefully infrequent over the last two years as the demands of the hamster wheel (“Faster! Faster!, More! More!”), became more unreasonable and loud. This coincided with the decline in their comfort with negotiating Dallas traffic in driving down to see us.

All that to say, it was a pretty good birthday surprise I think. And justifiably so. Seventy-seven sounds like a milestone number to my ears.

Do the math and you’ll know that Mom was born in 1931. That was two years into the Great Depression and, to make things more interesting, her father, my Grandad Andrew Jackson, was a barely-literate tenant farmer in Grady County, Oklahoma—also known as the buckle of the Dust Bowl.) In the event early 20th Century U.S. history is not your long suit, here’s a quick refresher on the context:

The drought hit first in the eastern part of the country in 1930. In 1931, it moved toward the west. By 1934 it had turned the Great Plains into a desert. “If you would like to have your heart broken, just come out here,” wrote Ernie Pyle, a roving reporter in Kansas, just north of the Oklahoma border, in June of 1936. “This is the dust-storm country. It is the saddest land I have ever seen.” (PBS)

It was in Ernie Pyle’s year of heartbreak, 1936, that Mom lost her mother to a post-operative infection. The little girl standing at the dusty grave site holding the hand of a toddler sister was the second youngest of five kids; and only five years old. Hard times simply don’t get much more granite-like than that.

Nevertheless, Mom says that Grandad Jackson used to claim that he lost nothing in the crash of ’29 and ensuing panic—because he literally owned nothing to lose. And that was close to the truth. He farmed a section of Grady County land owned by a wealthy man in Kansas City and squeezed his family of seven into the little house that sat on that land. He faithfully sent the owner an agreed-upon percentage of the profits after the crop came in . . . if and when a crop came in.

Single-parenting wasn’t an option for a man in my grandfather’s situation. So he quickly remarried and five more half-siblings came along in quick succession (four girls, one boy). Mom, as the oldest girl in the clan, must have shouldered an impossibly large measure of responsibility at an astonishingly young age.

And though she knew real hunger and real hardship, what they experienced was “normal,” because everyone they knew was in the same state. In fact, they often felt more fortunate than the desperate families that passed through on their way to what they hoped was a better life in California—“Okies,” with all their earthly possessions piled on rattle-trap cars—who would sleep in the Jackson’s barn or even their chicken coop for a few nights, grateful for the hospitality.

I took Mom and Dad to dinner Thursday night but she insisted on cooking a big breakfast for me Friday morning before I had to head back to the Dallas hamster wheel. And oh, what a spread it was. Thick ham steaks, hot biscuits, country gravy, fried eggs, and deep red sliced tomatoes fresh from Dad’s garden. I want to weep just thinking about it. It was great.

It was, in fact, what Mom’s concept of Heaven must have been back in 1939 and ’40. A table full of food, a good roof over your head, a soft bed and everyone you love reasonably healthy and whole.

There is a great, neglected truth about life which tells us: “The secret of happiness is not having what you want; but wanting what you have.” Mom wants what she has. With the possible exception of more frequent visits from her first born. And I’m going to see what I can do about that.

 

Actually, I am a former blogger, I suppose. A bad blogger would blog occasionally, though badly.

I, on the other hand, conceive a half dozen brilliant blog posts daily and post none of them. Oh, the gems of wit and pearls of incisiveness that have gone unshared! Oh, the inanity!

Life at this moment is . . . complicated.  Good. But complicated. Which I hate.

How’s the home sale going you ask?

Pretty good it seems. We’ve had lots of interested folks looking at it from Day One. Several couples have viewed it two or three times. Which has not only meant keeping the house in a constant state of metaphysical pristine-itude, but also grabbing the dog and evacuating the house every time the phone rings. It’s only been a week but that drill has already lost all its charm.

Thankfully, we received an offer on the house yesterday. It was a wee bit lower than we are prepared to accept so there is some negotiating to be done.  But it looks promising.

Which means we’ll be packing and moving the week before school starts. Which sounds complicated to me.  (Sigh.)

Thus the blogging forecast calls for a slight chance of isolated musings with intermittent micro-rants.

Thank you, patient and long-suffering reader.

This has something to do with it . . .

Yes, Casa Holland went on the market a few days ago, preparing for which required a ridiculous amount of fix-up, spruce-up, touch-up, clean-up, put up–not to mention check-writing that occasionally made me want to throw-up. (Just kidding.)

[Here is the listing in case you know someone in buying mode.]

Why are we selling? Where are going? What’s to become of us?

Well, it’s a little complicated.

First, we’re not leaving the area. We’re currently looking at nice leasing-opportunities within a four-mile radius of our current home (and they are legion). Nor is there anything wrong with our current home. In fact, we have loved living here and still do. The girls are quite emotional about the prospect of giving it up.

We have known for some time, however, that this is not the house we want to pay off and live in the rest of our lives. It has more steps and stairways than a Bavarian castle. Nor is it very mother-in-law friendly. In fact, it’s downright mother-in-law hostile.

Thus, selling this place at some point in the next few years has been a given. And over the last few months I’ve become convinced that the best opportunity to sell at a good price is right now.

Just the prospect of an Obama election accompanied by increased Democrat majorities in both houses of Congress is sobering enough. (Check out this Wall St. Journal op-ed suggesting that the current turmoil and losses in the stock markets are in anticipation of an Obama victory.)

But it’s more than that. I think there may be a storm coming.

If so, being debt free and flexible will be a very good thing. If I’m wrong–and I hope I am–well we’ll be debt free and flexible! . . . having sold a home we knew we would have to sell eventually. We’ll buy a pretty lot a build something just the way Mrs. Blather wants it.

So, why are we selling our house? Just think of it as an early vote of “no confidence” in the Obama administration.

From a Times of London article headlined, “Al-Qaeda is Driven From Mosul Bastion After Bloody Last Stand”:

“The murder toll is dropping, the insurgents are on the run. Our correspondent is on the front line as the Iraqi army takes control.”

The situation in Iraq is improving so rapidly, the Democrats may be robbed of their opportunity to surrender and retreat with the increased majorities they’re counting on picking up this Fall. Boy, would that be a bitter pill for them to swallow. Pelosi, Reid, Murtha, et. al. have been counting the hours until they reenact that last helicopter off the embassy in Saigon thing.

. . . in China.“

Well, shut my mouth and call me “Lord Hanuman.” It’s true!

In my previous post, I truly tried to give the Senator the benefit of the doubt. Frankly, I couldn’t bring myself to believe that a man who could very well be the next POTUS would be carrying around a good luck charm based upon a semi-simian Hindu deity. Particularly a guy who professes to be a Jesus follower.

But what do I come across today? The photo above is from a Time Magazine piece on what the candidates like to carry in their pockets for good luck. I learned that John McCain has a lucky penny. Senator Clinton has a bracelet with a cross charm on it. And Senator Obama?

Well, based upon the photo above, let’s just say Sen. Lightworker likes to keep his bases covered. According to Time, the Senator is carrying:

• A U.S. soldier’s bracelet (currently deployed in Iraq)
• A gambler’s “lucky chit”
• A “Madonna and Child” charm
• “A tiny monkey god”
• And three or four other unidentified items, among which seems to be a slug, an angel coin, yet another Virgin Mary charm, and some other coin-y detritus.

Good grief, it’s a wonder the man can keep his pants up! Superstitious much?

I’m not sure what to make of this Times of India newspaper article. I think the pronouncements should be taken with a huge grain of salt given that they are made by an overly-excited Indian politician named Brijmohan Bhama. But sweet smoking Judas, this is odd . .

NEW DELHI: With Democrat senator Barack Obama busy in the run-up to the US presidential polls, a group of well-wishers in the capital have decided to send him a symbol of his lucky charm, Lord Hanuman, to help him emerge victorious.

Obama’s representative Carolyn Sauvage-Mar on Tuesday received a gold-plated two-feet-high idol which she will pass it on to the Obama after it is sanctified.

The idol is being presented to Obama as he is reported to be a Lord Hanuman devotee and carries with him a locket of the monkey god along with other good luck charms.

An hour-long prayer meeting to sanctify the idol was earlier organised at Sankat Mochan Dham and by Congress leader Brijmohan Bhama, Balmiki Samaj and the temple’s priests.

“Obama has deep faith in Lord Hanuman and that is why we are presenting an idol of Hanuman to him,” said Bhama.

Accepting the souvenir, Sauvage-Mar, who is chairperson of Democrats Abroad-India, said, “Obama has extended his thanks for the support.”

Just when you think the cultish, new age-y circus surrounding Obamamessiah worship has reached the upper limits of absurdity. . . Someone named Brijmohan whips out a big fat golden idol and raises the bar.

Hopefully some enterprising young reporter at Sen. Obama’s next campaign stop will ask a few questions and clear some of this up for us. Will someone please ask:

Sen. Obama, do you indeed have “a deep faith in Lord Hanuman” as asserted by an Indian congressional leader? And if so, what does the monkey-god mean to you?

Do you carry a monkey-god locket and other “good luck” charms in your pocket? If so, may we see them?

What do you plan to do with the big golden image of the monkey-god presented to your representative in New Delhi? Does Michelle have a spot in your foyer in mind? Would it move to the White House with you? Would the girls be allowed to dress it up and give it a nickname?

According to the article, the graven image has to undergo 11 days of additional blessing and consecration before it can be delivered to the Obamas.

All this follows the straight-faced suggestion in the San Francisco Chronicle that Obama is some sort “enlightened being.”

And the election is four long months away. How strange does all this have to get before the average American pulls the emergency cord on the crazy train and says, “That’s it. I’m getting off here.”

Update: A helpful commenter with knowledge of India informs us that Mr. Bhama, quoted above, isn’t necessarily a member of Indian parliament, but is rather a member of the “Congress” political party, and therefore may just be some local yahoo. The whole story is priceless, nonetheless. (Be sure to check out the YouTube video he links to.)

I came across a fascinating article in “The Atlantic” about the way Internet use is altering the way we think and, as a by-product, robbing us of the ability to read large bits of text as found in books and long articles.

It is, of course, a long article. And wouldn’t you know that about half way through it, I started to lose focus and