Cormorants

My springtime migratory route has taken me along the river for the last couple of weeks. It's a longer route and a better workout than riding straight through the middle of the city, and the first time I rode it I thought "what's that noise?" and realized it was my breath... when you're stopping for red lights you don't get such an aerobic workout.

In another month or so I think the night herons will return to the spot where you could always find them in years past. Right now the cormorants are occupying that territory.

When I first came here I couldn't figure out what these weird birds were. They don't really float above the water... they float on the same level with the water, kind of, and Wikipedia just told me that their feathers are not waterproof so maybe that's why. The other weird thing is you can be looking at this oily-looking, low-riding bird in the water and the next minute it's not there. They dive for fish, and they stay under a long time and come up somewhere else. I was fascinated with this when I first got to Boston. I had only heard of cormorants because of a book I read as a kid, about an Eskimo girl who got left behind on her own and survived by eating cormorants among other things. While they're above water, cormorants gaze upwards into the middle distance like aloof movie stars. After they dive, they hold open their wings to dry them... makes them look a little ominous, like vultures, but they're still gazing into the middle distance, as if nothing above the water can possibly interest them.

Cormorants don't surprise me anymore, but it surprises me that they're just part of the landscape. They are strange birds.

Can't wait til the night herons come back.

p.s. that yellow floaty is a boom to keep runoff from the road confined. No one who ever rides next to a big road could ever thing there is any such thing as a clean car or a green car. Cars shed black grime and grease, and it pollutes the river. It's easy to think if you've got a nice shiny car in a suburban garage that that shit don't stink, but it does.

Wrong

I have a talent for doing things wrong. I say the wrong things, interpret things the wrong way, zig when it's zag time, and even if I do the right thing I do it at the wrong time. It's at the point where I feel like I *have* to do things wrong before I can do them right. I'm like the Watership Down bunnies, tharn in the road because I can't escape the oncoming wrongness.

So the challenge becomes: how can wrongness be rehabilitated? Like when you pull a muscle and can walk upstairs fine but it hurts like heck to walk downstairs, or your handlebars get knocked askew and you have to steer right to go straight, how do you compensate? I still want to get to where all the people who do things right end up.

(p.s. this is a firefish)

Nature's Jewelry

I am not a big fan of insects or jewelry, but if they came together in one cool package I would be up for it. If I could design earrings they would look something like this. The London Zoo has a fascinating bug exhibit and a great butterfly tent. These are some kind of butterfly about to burst forth... I don't know if they hatch or if they just start unfolding from here.

Goodbye, Navy Yard

Friday we packed up the offices and said goodbye. I will miss the Navy Yard. We are moving to a building that I haven't seen up close yet. From a distance it looks like a soul-crushing industrial megalith. What kills me is I hear you can't walk to it unless you want to risk your life on a busy highway off-ramp rotary. Who wants to be anywhere you can't walk to? What kind of pasty pod people are we going to turn into?



(private note to Change: Yes, I do fear you. How did you guess?)

I am sick, so forgive me

for this fluffy kitty shot:



You think she's cute? Look at that intense yellow eye: she's the bitchiest, most demanding, most loyal & affectionate cat in the world. Fifi is no nonsense. "Get over here and start petting me now. My predetermined place is in your lap, so sit down & fold 'em." She's also a fierce watchcat. In the evenings she sits on my lap a bit and when she's had enough cat massage, she positions herself on the rug facing the door to protect her territory and her people.

and this flower shot (whee! (hands clapping))



I like lilacs; lilacs are my favorite. In this photo they're not open yet, which means they're not almost already gone.

Is there anything as sapping as a full blown cold? I made it all the way to May before getting one. My head feels packed in styrofoam. I sneeze. Food is tasteless. My guts feel like they're processing cement. I want to stay in bed with blankets over my head. But I can't. My employer doesn't hand out sick time. If you take time off to be sick, you're paying in vacation time. So I take it one step at a time; I don't think of it as going to work. I think of it as getting out of bed. Then I think only about showering. Then I think only about getting Sidekick on her way. Then I think only of standing at the bus stop. I wear enough layers that I don't feel the cold and the rain. One foot in front of the other. Pick 'em up and lay 'em down. Repeat.

Guest shot

Sidekick doesn't often shoot pictures, but she caught this one.

Ever since I found out that it's very likely I was feasting on lard in England, I don't think of the pastries quite as fondly.