The bird had been stuck between two panes of the window, a tiny iridescent green hummingbird, no more than two inches long.
I gently picked it up and placed it in the shady part of the planter on the terrace.
It was still alive and breathing and now all there was to do was wait and check.
After a while the breathing was calmer and then came the joyous time
when checking
the bird was gone.
A tiny flash of green living one more day.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Thursday, April 23, 2009
On being alone.
It will hit you at the strangest of times, like when you do the dishes and finish all the pots and pans and multiple of doggie dishes and just one dinner plate;
One!
Yours.
And you realize, yet again, that you are alone.
And then you get on with it, whatever "it" is.
Till it hits you at another time.
One!
Yours.
And you realize, yet again, that you are alone.
And then you get on with it, whatever "it" is.
Till it hits you at another time.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
English Muffins
So here is my conundrum;
If I leave my homemade English muffins in my less than efficient fridge, they get soggy.
Left in a plastic bag on the counter, the rapacious rodents will feast on them, and left in a tin they get moldy.
These are my choices:
soggy vs. partial vs. moldy.
I have tried them all
and partial wins out. At least they taste fine even if there's less of them.
Such problems I have.
Such decisions to make.
If I leave my homemade English muffins in my less than efficient fridge, they get soggy.
Left in a plastic bag on the counter, the rapacious rodents will feast on them, and left in a tin they get moldy.
These are my choices:
soggy vs. partial vs. moldy.
I have tried them all
and partial wins out. At least they taste fine even if there's less of them.
Such problems I have.
Such decisions to make.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
I have received so many links to Susan the Singing Sensation from UK that I am beginning to feel a little paranoid.
Do the people who sent me this link sit around and say:
Poor old sod; let us show him that middle age frumpery can win the hearts of the most jaded judges.
That frizzy eyebrows and bad hair day is trumped by talent.
He's got the frump, the brows and the bad hair, so maybe there will be allowances made for the talent.
Or do they just like to share this great moment.
I fervently hope the latter.
Do the people who sent me this link sit around and say:
Poor old sod; let us show him that middle age frumpery can win the hearts of the most jaded judges.
That frizzy eyebrows and bad hair day is trumped by talent.
He's got the frump, the brows and the bad hair, so maybe there will be allowances made for the talent.
Or do they just like to share this great moment.
I fervently hope the latter.
Wine is A beautiful Thing To Waste
If computers have minds, mine has a singular and-- at times--unpleasant mind.
I have learned that screaming at it, punching any and all buttons, even running the mouse around and round in crazy circles, does not work.
What does work, however, is cheap wine.
You pour yourself a big glass of cheap wine, drink it, and pretty soon you can not only cope with the antics of your computer, you start to be amused.
The more cheap wine you drink, the more amused you get.
It does not solve the problem of the computer mind, it just makes it a lot easier to cope with.
I have learned that screaming at it, punching any and all buttons, even running the mouse around and round in crazy circles, does not work.
What does work, however, is cheap wine.
You pour yourself a big glass of cheap wine, drink it, and pretty soon you can not only cope with the antics of your computer, you start to be amused.
The more cheap wine you drink, the more amused you get.
It does not solve the problem of the computer mind, it just makes it a lot easier to cope with.
A Treasure
This ad has been with me for more than twenty years.
It has become strangely relevant from just being an ad for some dishwasher soap.
Who would have thunk.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Easter Parade
For so many years--at Easter-- my mother and I ended up watching Easter Parade together.
I was convinced-- for the longest time-- that it was a black and white movie, because we only had a B&W television set.
Now when I see it, I am transported back to my parents' living room with the telly in the corner, the couch and the coffee table where we kept the ever present cups of coffee and wienerbroed and cookies.
And Judy Garland is breaking my heart again.
Just like then.
Some things never change.
I was convinced-- for the longest time-- that it was a black and white movie, because we only had a B&W television set.
Now when I see it, I am transported back to my parents' living room with the telly in the corner, the couch and the coffee table where we kept the ever present cups of coffee and wienerbroed and cookies.
And Judy Garland is breaking my heart again.
Just like then.
Some things never change.
A small Country
When the company Skype was sold for many, many millions, a pundit on CNN was lauding the young entrepreneurs from, he said, Sweden and Lithuania.
Say What ?
I checked and as I thought, it was a Swede and a DANE who had started and then sold this company.
Easy mistake to make. Both countries--Lithuania and Denmark--are small and only separated by the Baltic sea and some thousand years of history. Easy.
But then it happened again.
I was watching the unfolding saga of the captain being held hostage by the Somali pirates when the announcer on BBC was telling us that the ship involved was Norwegian.
Well, the last time I checked, the owner of that ship is Maersk Lines, of Denmark.
What difference, you might rightly ask, does it make to the story of the sale of the telecommunications company and the plight of the poor, kidnapped captain.
None.
Only when the country is a small as Denmark, roughly the population of Wisconsin, it becomes kind of important to gather all the glory due. There is so little of it to begin with.
It is standing up for the little guy.
Say What ?
I checked and as I thought, it was a Swede and a DANE who had started and then sold this company.
Easy mistake to make. Both countries--Lithuania and Denmark--are small and only separated by the Baltic sea and some thousand years of history. Easy.
But then it happened again.
I was watching the unfolding saga of the captain being held hostage by the Somali pirates when the announcer on BBC was telling us that the ship involved was Norwegian.
Well, the last time I checked, the owner of that ship is Maersk Lines, of Denmark.
What difference, you might rightly ask, does it make to the story of the sale of the telecommunications company and the plight of the poor, kidnapped captain.
None.
Only when the country is a small as Denmark, roughly the population of Wisconsin, it becomes kind of important to gather all the glory due. There is so little of it to begin with.
It is standing up for the little guy.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Happy Easter ?
The dogs are barking wildly at some stray car and really getting into hysterics over two visiting canines from down below.
The radio has lost its signal and
the computer has given me all kinds of trouble.
The CD player is acting like a two year old child spitting out the discs and refusing to play them.
The palms that I dug from the jungle getting blisters and a sore back, have died.
Happy Easter ?
I don't think so.
The radio has lost its signal and
the computer has given me all kinds of trouble.
The CD player is acting like a two year old child spitting out the discs and refusing to play them.
The palms that I dug from the jungle getting blisters and a sore back, have died.
Happy Easter ?
I don't think so.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Happy Ending
And then this dog came and licked my arm where I sat on the beach, said Inge on the phone, and this dog and the other one were sooo cute and and I asked everybody on the beach if they knew who they belonged to.
And then the police came, said Inge, and they wanted to take the dogs away...
actually, she said "avay". Mrs. Inge is my Danish Lady Friend, newly settled into a big and wonderful house in a gated community close by. She still says "wegetables".
And then, she said, I cried and said that I would take the dogs and they are right here at my feet, playing. One is a boxer and the other.....
Wait A Minute....I cried
Just the other day a guy stopped by my house to ask if I had seen his missing dogs, one a boxer and the other a mix.
What, I asked, are the chances that a couple of dogs, a boxer and a mix, disappear on the same day in the same general area?. What ?
So I promised Mrs. Inge to find the guy--who had said that he lived at the bottom of my hill--and find out what was what.
I found the car and the guy and the description of the dogs he was looking for did indeed fit the dogs that Mrs Inge had picked up on the beach, amidst tears and threats from the local police.
I got a phone number for her to call.
I just called Mrs. Inge and the dogs are now, replete with new collars, bags of food and masses of inoculations--thanks to the generosity of Mrs Inge-- home at the bottom of the hill to go scavenging and having a good time in the hood.
Happy Ending.
Happy Easter.
Now if only somebody would take a couple of The Worthless Ones off my hands..
And then the police came, said Inge, and they wanted to take the dogs away...
actually, she said "avay". Mrs. Inge is my Danish Lady Friend, newly settled into a big and wonderful house in a gated community close by. She still says "wegetables".
And then, she said, I cried and said that I would take the dogs and they are right here at my feet, playing. One is a boxer and the other.....
Wait A Minute....I cried
Just the other day a guy stopped by my house to ask if I had seen his missing dogs, one a boxer and the other a mix.
What, I asked, are the chances that a couple of dogs, a boxer and a mix, disappear on the same day in the same general area?. What ?
So I promised Mrs. Inge to find the guy--who had said that he lived at the bottom of my hill--and find out what was what.
I found the car and the guy and the description of the dogs he was looking for did indeed fit the dogs that Mrs Inge had picked up on the beach, amidst tears and threats from the local police.
I got a phone number for her to call.
I just called Mrs. Inge and the dogs are now, replete with new collars, bags of food and masses of inoculations--thanks to the generosity of Mrs Inge-- home at the bottom of the hill to go scavenging and having a good time in the hood.
Happy Ending.
Happy Easter.
Now if only somebody would take a couple of The Worthless Ones off my hands..
Monday, April 6, 2009
A Street Full Of Buffaloes
It was a tremendous bump which woke me up, and I was disturbed.
I got out of bed and went to the window in the hallway and saw, in my tiny little front yard, a big, gray buffalo-- the source of the bump-- leaning against the wall of the house.
How strange, I thought and looked out on the street and further up, where my street makes a slight bend, were more buffaloes
many more buffaloes
a street full of buffaloes
and then I woke up.
I got out of bed and went to the window in the hallway and saw, in my tiny little front yard, a big, gray buffalo-- the source of the bump-- leaning against the wall of the house.
How strange, I thought and looked out on the street and further up, where my street makes a slight bend, were more buffaloes
many more buffaloes
a street full of buffaloes
and then I woke up.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
The call
It was New Years Eve, and I was trying to get back to Copenhagen from the little island in the Baltic where I was stationed as sergeant in the Danish army.
The ferry had left on time for its eight hour trip, but the weather was bad, and we were late.
The ferry was full of enlisted men who wanted, more than anything in this world, to go home and get drunk for the new year.
And then the PA system announced:
Sgt. Madsen to the bridge. Ship to shore call.
Now this is the early sixties, and in Denmark long distance calls were rare and expensive. Ship to shore calls on the ferry were even more rare.
Looking back, these many years later, I see a crowd of guys who just wanted to get home, get drunk and-- hopefully-- get laid, listening to some dude getting a ship to shore call which was, well,
weird and impressive.
And all it was about was my friends being concerned about me not being at their gathering.
But it gave me a lot of clout though.
The guy who had a Ship to Shore call New Years Eve.
Me.
The ferry had left on time for its eight hour trip, but the weather was bad, and we were late.
The ferry was full of enlisted men who wanted, more than anything in this world, to go home and get drunk for the new year.
And then the PA system announced:
Sgt. Madsen to the bridge. Ship to shore call.
Now this is the early sixties, and in Denmark long distance calls were rare and expensive. Ship to shore calls on the ferry were even more rare.
Looking back, these many years later, I see a crowd of guys who just wanted to get home, get drunk and-- hopefully-- get laid, listening to some dude getting a ship to shore call which was, well,
weird and impressive.
And all it was about was my friends being concerned about me not being at their gathering.
But it gave me a lot of clout though.
The guy who had a Ship to Shore call New Years Eve.
Me.
In memory of Gerda
Gerda Madsen --no relation-- was a star. She had a career that started in the silent movies and went on for years and years.
When I met her she was a lady of leisure, living in a spacious apartment in Copenhagen and more and more often, in a wonderful cottage in the country where her grandparents had lived.
Gerda was like a magnet, attracting all kinds of people because she rarely judged. She had been through many rough times herself during the war and after, but she was a survivor.
Many years after I left Denmark she had a sudden revival after a young director used her in what turned out to be a wildly popular movie.
But what I remember most clearly was a gathering at her cottage about Easter time, before her second round of fame, when one of the group cooked a leg of lamb.
I had never tasted lamb before, and I fell in love with the taste and texture of lamb, a love affair that was shared with--many years later-- Chuck.
So when I find lamb [not often] I think of these bigger-than-life people I met and loved.
What could be better than that.
When I met her she was a lady of leisure, living in a spacious apartment in Copenhagen and more and more often, in a wonderful cottage in the country where her grandparents had lived.
Gerda was like a magnet, attracting all kinds of people because she rarely judged. She had been through many rough times herself during the war and after, but she was a survivor.
Many years after I left Denmark she had a sudden revival after a young director used her in what turned out to be a wildly popular movie.
But what I remember most clearly was a gathering at her cottage about Easter time, before her second round of fame, when one of the group cooked a leg of lamb.
I had never tasted lamb before, and I fell in love with the taste and texture of lamb, a love affair that was shared with--many years later-- Chuck.
So when I find lamb [not often] I think of these bigger-than-life people I met and loved.
What could be better than that.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Once Upon A Time
In 1937 the Mexican president appropriated app. 3.180 acres from a hacienda in Quimixto, including amongst many other sites, the area of Mismaloya.
All was quiet for thirty-plus years till 1964, when the ejido signed an agreement that excluded Mismaloya and surrounding area.
After that, with regular intervals, the ejido has been trying to renege on this agreement, and has just as regularly been denied by the courts.
That Vallarta rose to prominence and lucrative tourist trade in the sixties and skyrocketing landvalues might have something to do with wanting to change back.
The latest court decree of Nov. 7 08, tells the inhabitants of the shantytown at the bottom of my hill and next to the sea, to vacate and move to ejido land in Boca de Tomatlan.
They are still here.
Now, all this I got from a pamphlet I found on the street, and I am not too certain as to some of the facts since this was in Spanish, and mine is none too good.
The dates I am certain of though. Numbers are the easy part.
All this, if indeed I got it right, goes a long way to explain the banners, the meetings, the loud speakers and general feeling of unease in the shantytown.
As I see it, it all comes down to lucre.
Filthy lucre.
All was quiet for thirty-plus years till 1964, when the ejido signed an agreement that excluded Mismaloya and surrounding area.
After that, with regular intervals, the ejido has been trying to renege on this agreement, and has just as regularly been denied by the courts.
That Vallarta rose to prominence and lucrative tourist trade in the sixties and skyrocketing landvalues might have something to do with wanting to change back.
The latest court decree of Nov. 7 08, tells the inhabitants of the shantytown at the bottom of my hill and next to the sea, to vacate and move to ejido land in Boca de Tomatlan.
They are still here.
Now, all this I got from a pamphlet I found on the street, and I am not too certain as to some of the facts since this was in Spanish, and mine is none too good.
The dates I am certain of though. Numbers are the easy part.
All this, if indeed I got it right, goes a long way to explain the banners, the meetings, the loud speakers and general feeling of unease in the shantytown.
As I see it, it all comes down to lucre.
Filthy lucre.
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