Barn Swallow nest construction is on!

Well, an update is due on the Barn Swallows on my porch.  The male came back each night to roost on the nest cup, and we kept hoping he'd finally find a nice lady to woo to the porch so he could show her what nice nesting arrangements he'd found.  A week passed and finally one day, he showed up with a lady!  Sam has named them Fred and Ginger.  It did not take long at all for Fred to convince Ginger that this was the place for them, and the nest construction got underway.  It's been so funny to watch them bring in mud to fill in around the top and along the edge of the nest cup.  They've filled it with soft  pine straw in preparation for egg laying.  Here is a video I took with my camera the second full day of nest building.

Here is the happy couple on the first day when they'd only brought in just a bit of mud and pinestraw.

The handsome father, Fred, perched on the nest cup.

His blushing bride, Ginger, seemingly very happy with their nest choice.

Stay tuned for further nesting adventures as captured by my camera set up in front of the dining room window!

Barn Swallows have come again

As long time readers of this blog know, a few years back, I had the privilege of having Barn Swallows roost under my porch each night.  They would come and bring their babies, who they were teaching to fly and eat, and line them up on my gutters each evening for a final feeding before gathering them all under my porch to sleep for the night.

Last year, I got the bright idea of putting up a nesting cup, which I'd read about on-line, to see if they might indeed choose to nest here.  They checked out the cup thoroughly last season, then headed down to winter in the warmth of Mexico and South America.  I was wondering as the weeks got milder when I might see them return.  Well, last night my husband yelled out, "Honey!  Come see!"  Lo and behold, I looked out on the porch to see this sight... on April 10th!  It has to be one of the babies from years past who roosted here.  There he/she was, right in that cup, and it stayed there all night long.   I am beyond excited and anxiously holding my breath to see if they indeed choose to bring a mate and nest here on Chickadee.  

Running a bit behind

Almost a year ago, April 14th to be exact, I took the photo above of my handsome nephew and his prom date.  They wanted to come to my house and have photos taken in my garden, and they turned out beautifully.  The Knock-out Roses were blooming like crazy and the May Knight Salvia was also blooming its purple head off.  All the trees were leafed out and bright green.

My sister told me his senior prom is next weekend, April 13th, and that he'd love to come over and have me take some more prom photos in my beautiful garden.  Well, if you look below, you'll see what I mean by the title.  We are running a wee bit behind this spring!  When I contrasted the two photos, I could not believe that there is nothing even up in the garden but some green shoots on the Daylilies.  And there is nary a bloom of anything to be found.  Spring has really been teasing us this year, and we're not even into high's in the 70's yet.  This coming week is supposed to hold more spring like temperatures, but methinks we'll have to have a Plan B for a photo spot.

Where is Jayne?

A sweet Eastern Phoebe who visited my yard recently.

When I felt the calling to revisit my blog after a year hiatus, I knew I would no longer post every single day, as I had for over five years, but I also had no clue I would stare at this blank page feeling I had nothing to share.   I can't believe my last post was February 21st.  Time has flown, and I wonder where I've been.  It's not that I've not been by here, I have, but each time I'd click on "New Post," I'd sit here watching the cursor flicker and not have a blessed thing to say.  I now wonder how on earth I posted every single day.  Did I really have that much to say for five years?  Yet, I look back over the years and years of posts and I smile.  I was funny and witty and joyful... I miss that girl.  Don't know where she's gone, but I miss her.  She was creative and seemed to embrace life with gusto.  She was excited to share here and so enjoyed the friends she'd made over the years.  She had a camera in her hand almost every day, and took lots of photos of the goings on in her yard and life.  She was just a much more carefree and happy person.

I know she's still inside me, but lately it feels as if I am on the proverbial hamster wheel.  Each day morphs into the next, and the rut feels deeper at times.  I don't feel sad per se, but the spark of who I once was feels far away, and the energy is diminished.  I have an appointment with my GYN nurse practitioner on Tuesday and I think I shall finally admit that I need to have some hormone testing done.  Maybe menopause is finally getting the best of me, and I can admit that I am ready to feel better.  I was telling a friend that I just don't seem to have a sense of well-being any longer.  When you Google well-being, one of the definitions says, "...the term is used to describe a state of serenity and inner happiness, or hauora."  That pretty much sums it up for me lately.  My hauora has left the building and it's time to take steps to reclaim it in my life.  I'll be in touch and will appreciate and covet your prayers as I try to find Jayne again.

Taking care

Last Thursday, on Valentine's Day, I received a call from my Mom.  My Dad had been on a trial of several new blood pressure medications and was having all sorts of bad side effects from the latest one he'd been on for three days.  I was eating lunch with my sister when she called, and we finished up to head over to their house to see what was going on.  I found my sweet Daddy, who turned 80 on the 10th of this month, sitting on the sofa looking for all the world like he wanted to head out to meet his maker.  He had swelling in his legs, was not voiding well, said he felt like his head was "fuzzy" and he simply had no energy to get up and go.  The medication, which was a vasodilator, was certainly not agreeing with him, though his blood pressure was actually pretty good.  He'd been struggling for weeks as his nephrologist (he inherited his Dad's polycystic kidney disease) tried to find another combination of blood pressure medication that might not cause him to retain fluid as the one he'd been on for years was doing.  He's always been sensitive to medications and it took his previous PCP forever to find one that he could tolerate which controlled his blood pressure. There had been spotty communication from the doctor's office and I was simply tired of all the confusion.  So, I put on my best "nurse Jayne" voice and called their office to talk to the nurse.  She was seeing patients so I had to leave a voice mail, but lo and behold, she called me back within 30 minutes and said, "Can you get him on down here to see Dr. H?" I told her I certainly could, and hung up the phone to tell him to get his shoes on because we were going to get him evaluated.  He seemed surprised as it's hard to get past the front desk with this particular practice and phone calls are usually returned at the end of the day and urgent appointments made for days out.

We got down there, they collected blood and urine, and we were back in an exam room in no time.  They did an ultrasound of his kidneys and bladder as well. His weight was up five pounds from the prior two weeks. Dr. H came in, smiled, shook all our hands, and looking at me said, "I knew when you called something was up."  I had once worked with him when he was a hospitalist, before he went on to do a nephrology fellowship, and we had a good relationship.  Our labs and urine looked OK and the US did not show anything new.  Once we discussed how difficult it is for him to adjust to new medications, the good doctor decided to place him back on his regular BP medication and add a diuretic to the mix, which was met with great relief from both my parents.  It had been a truly miserable few weeks.

This week, he's slowly feeling himself again and on Tuesday, my parents asked me to go to lunch with them. We had a lovely lunch at Red Lobster and once back at their house, my dad handed me an envelope.  Once I got in my car to leave, I opened it.  Inside was a way too generous "love offering" with the note above.  I paused.  My eyes welled up with tears. I've never felt I had to take care of my Daddy.  He has always taken care of me.  I felt humbled, and the swell of love in my heart was huge.  He's taken care of me for 51 years now.  He saw that I got an education as a nurse and that I grew into a strong, confident woman who can take care of herself.  Now, it's his turn. And I smile as I think about how gladly I take on this task of making sure he has everything he needs in these next years of his life. I feel honored and privileged that I can somehow, in some small way, say thank you for the enormous love I've been given.  It's what life is all about.

Twenty three years ago...

Twenty three years ago today, we stood facing one another in the covered pavilion at a local park on the river, as it was raining torrentially, and our plans to be wed on a pier overlooking the river were dashed.  The day before was clear, as was the day after, but that day, February 9, 1990, was drenched and gray.  The officiant who gave us our vows told us, "You know, it's actually good luck to be married on a rainy day."  As he smiled, I wondered if he decided that bit of information would be a good self fulfilling prophecy for us to embrace as we began our lives together.  

Much has transpired in these 23 years together.  We've weathered many storms since then, the largest of which, was realizing our dream of the "perfect family" with two kids was not to be.   We grieved the loss of a "normal family" life, until we finally realized that it really does not exist.  We incorporated what life had given us as our "normal" and went about the task of living.  It has not been easy by any means, but after all these years, what I do know is that we became stronger and stronger friends.  For only we know the truth of the struggles, and the fact that we share those makes the burden divided.  We smile when things don't go the way we planned, as well, they just sometimes don't.  We lean on one another, and we know that we can survive anything.

The doorbell rang this morning and when I opened it, there stood a delivery man with this lovely arrangement for me.  A token of love, of appreciation, and of a deep and abiding friendship with the man I said "I do" to all those years ago.  

Ah, so now we know

Last summer, for the very first time, my son was bored.  Yes, he was bored being here alone all summer and we rejoiced!  If you know anything about autism, you know that most people with autism typically love their alone time.  In fact, they relish in it, and usually don't feel the slightest need to include anyone else.  But, Sam has grown so much emotionally and developmentally, and finally was feeling bored and alone.  Yay.  So, I told him we'd work towards finding him something to do for the summer this year.

Thus, started the odyssey of seeking out organizations that might help us achieve this goal.  I called a state organization with offices throughout northwest Georgia and was put in touch with their developmental disabilities unit.  I spoke with a kind woman who, in 15 minutes time, gave me an education about what it will take to receive services for Sam.  Firstly, he does not even qualify for their services until he is out of the school program, which won't be until the spring of 2014.  Secondly, he still won't qualify if he does not have a Medicaid Waiver.  I was very naive about such things and thought that these things were income based, and hence never even looked into applying for Sam.  Seems that if you do not have one, you are not eligible for much of anything once you are 22 and out of school.  But, the kicker is that there are only so many funds and there is apparently a long waiting list.  I downloaded the forms to fill out and will gather all the needed documentation to send along with it, but was told we'd initially be denied.  "Just expect it," I was told.  Then, keep applying.  Seems we need the GA NOW Waiver which is the particular waiver for individuals who need support services for vocational/employment training, transportation, and living arrangements.  

In the meantime as I recovered from looking like the proverbial deer in the headlights, I was still needing to find something for him to do for the summer.  After all, I promised him, and I was determined to come through.  So, I had a discussion with the head of the program where he is now, and we decided they could start taking Sam to the local public library to volunteer each week.  That way, the school could be our "foot in the door" and the people at the library could get to know Sam while he has support there to assist him in learning what his responsibilities will be. We filled out an application to be a volunteer, and after his first day there on Thursday of this week, the assistant director happily told him, "We're looking forward to your being here with us this summer, Sam."  (Insert me doing happy dance here.) Then, there is the issue of transportation.  Well, our county does have a state funded bus program that will pick people up and take them places and bring them back home.  When I mentioned this to the head of Sam's program, he said, "Oh, sure, they've helped us out on a number of occasions and I'll contact them towards the end of this semester and have them be the ones to transport Sam from school to the library and back.  That way, they will get to know him, and he'll get experience riding the bus." (Insert another happy dance here.) 

I've often said that throughout this journey, I've learned not to stress about things, because God always seems to see that things work out.  So, the summer at least is taken care of, and now, I'd best get to digging for the documentation to send to the state.  But hey, I know that will work out too.  It always does, after all, this is a journey through grace. 

Becoming literate

I ordered the book above from Amazon and it arrived late last week.  On Tuesday of this week, I finally was able to sit down and crack it open, and boy, what a difference it has made!  Several times, I'd had people show me a staff and try to explain the "Every Good Boy Does Fine" and "FACE" but they left out the rather important detail about where those notes are found on the staff.  I am embarrassed to admit that I never "got" that the EGBDF are notes ON THE LINES and that the FACE was describing those notes BETWEEN the lines on the staff.  Duh.  See, it's all in the minute details that people assume you know.  I shook my head and laughed out loud when the light went on.

Marc Shonbrun has created a very wonderful book written with simple detail and explanation and I am finally not feeling so lost and confused in learning this language of music.  And, it is a language, with it's own words and symbols that you have to take the time to learn in order to understand it.  He also includes a CD with examples of different rhythms and such so you can actually hear it and follow along in the book.  Brilliant!  Each one is done with a snare drum along with a metronome so you can count as well as hear the placement of the notes.  There is hope for me yet!  I have faced my fear and I am grinning.

Our budding artist

My nephew, Brian, is becoming quite the artist.  Since he started taking graphic arts in high school, he's been really budding as an artist, and now has decided he'll choose that field for a career.  He's 18 and will graduate this May and head on to college to gain more insight and talent.  I'd say he's well on his way, wouldn't you?  The sub sandwich above is done using a stiple technique where all you can do is make dots to form an image.  Pretty impressive!

This Harley Davidson above was created using an exacto knife to scrape a black tile.  And this portrait of the rapper, Wiz Kahlifa, was done a couple of years ago using pen and pencil.  I can't wait to see what the future holds for him!

The Artist

XOXO

And just where is that dotted eighth note?

Back in 2006, I began my foray in to singing with a choir.  I had no idea I could sing or that I was a soprano.  All I knew was that one Sunday I was singing in church when a nice man turned around and asked me to join the singing group at the church I was attending.  I had NO music knowledge or education, and truly started from scratch.  They were so patient with me, explaining what a measure was and how to find my place in what we were singing.  I could not read any of it and it felt like a foreign language to me, but I knew that if I heard it, with repetition, I could sing it.   Those days were so frustrating as it took me forever to learn pieces, and the intimidation had me wanting to bolt many times.

Fast forward to 2008 when I returned to my "home parish" and was invited to sing with the choir.  This choir was no "occasional, casual singing group" but rather a well established, and wonderfully talented group of people.  It took me months and months to work up the courage to walk into that choir room, and when I did in November of that year, I was welcomed with open arms.  I've learned so much just by singing and doing and listening.  Our director knew my limitations, and was so very patient with me and my inability to "get" certain things without lots of repetition.  I found myself, more often than not, finding certain anthems we were going to do on YouTube, just so I could "hear" how they were "supposed" to sound.  It helped me tremendously.

This past October, our director left for another position, and one of our parishioners, who is multi-musically talented, was offered the position which she happily took.  She is much more knowledgeable about music and I can tell already that she will pull more out of our little group of singers than we've ever imagined.  But, she leads with the assumption that we all know and understand music theory. When she starts talking about singing "that dotted eighth note" just so, my eyes cloud over and I am hopelessly lost.  She knows this about me and has even offered to work with me, which I so appreciate, but the truth is that I am so very intimidated my friends.

I don't find myself ever counting when I sing and wonder if I even can.  I have no clue what my voice can and can't do.  And yet, I am anticipating that my brain won't "get" what I need to know in order to understand all the nuances of music.  It's very math based, and my brain is very language based.  I hate that I am letting myself be so very intimidated by the very prospect of trying to learn it all so that it makes more sense to me.  And, I secretly apologize to all the people who lived on my dorm hall at college and were music education majors.  I used to think to myself, "Huh, what on earth are they learning?" Oh, but now I know.

All I know is that I love to sing.  Let me hear something a few times and work on it with others and I can get it pretty well.  But, I need to know more, and I need to let go of the fear that keeps me from even trying to open my mind to what it needs to know in order to really read the music.  Fear.  It's a powerful thing.  Fear of failure or fear of feeling stupid because you just don't get it?  Fear holds us back from trying.  I have a paperweight staring at me here on the desk right now that says, "What would you attempt to do if you knew you could not fail?" Indeed.