Thanks, I'm going to try those places if the other information doesn't pan out. Right now it sounds like a holding pattern. Which is driving me nuts because she blends so well into the background. Nature, you are working against me there, babe.

Great game Germany and Uruguay!

[link]

Hope that link works. It's a good picture of the pretty bird. The bird fell into the chair after hitting the window. She stayed on her back for about 5 min and then rested in the chair for about 10. Since then she has made it down to the water and I'm waiting for the concussion to wear off.

Aw, poor hawk. I hope she's okay, Theresa.

Me too Amy. I'm trying to be hopeful without getting attached at this point.

Ooh, that's a very pretty bird!

My childhood summers were mostly spent riding a bike around our tiny town and the surrounding countryside with our cocker spaniel following me around. Stopping for ice cream or soda and drinking cold, clean water out of garden hoses.

Now, I LOVE the smell of my kids after they've been playing outside. Yesterday, we went to one of the city parks that has a wide, low spot in the river with a beach. All the kids wade in, taking their nets and skimming for crayfish, frogs or turtles.

I hope they remember all these times as fondly as I will.

Not the way you want to get a good look at a stationary bird. I hope the hawk recovers on its own, Theresa, and if not that help does indeed come to the rescue.

I forgot to wish sara happy on the day, so I'll wish you a fantastic year ahead, sarameg.

And no hugs or hairpats, javachik, but I'm thinking of you.

That is a gorgeous bird. I hope it's ok.

Mel nauseates me. I hope he rots somewhere, alcohol-sodden and alone.

java, the 21 themed gifts are awesome!

I need to go make a peach pie. I'm drowing in peaches and they are not going to wait around forever.

Peace and strength, javachik.

Healthy brains ~ma to Theresa's hawk.

Summer memories. My mom futilely trying to get me to lie out and tan, finally acknowledging that lying in the sun was like torture for me. Lying in bed at night under the open window, listening to bullfrogs and crickets. Drinking water directly from the hose and then spraying it over my head in the heat. The taste of sulphur-infused water from our well. Smells of hay and drying tobacco and manure and feed and leather tack in the barn. Escaping the heat (and other humans) in the hayloft. Wading in the creek. Walking barefoot everywhere. Walking down the gravel road every day to get the mail. Honeysuckle vines on the fence down the gravel road. Eating honeysuckle nectar, drop by drop.

I miss the old farm. But even if I go back there, it's not the same; too much is gone or irretrivably changed. The place I loved is gone, even though the physical place remains. The grove of trees is cut down, the creek is dug out in a algae-choked pond, the magnolia tree and the snowball bush are gone, the smokehouse is long gone, the barn is falling into ruin and the house is barely livable. Reality is not as good as it once was, in this case.

For a long time I cried at the thought of having to sell the place, because I knew I'd never have 200+ acres to wander around in, blissfully alone, ever again. Now I'm making do with early-morning walks in the park.