Something New Every Day!

For 14 years, my husband and I lived in the same little house. It was a shack (I called it “our hovel”) but, the rent was cheap, it had a huge yard with huge, ancient willow tree and it sat in the middle of vast grasslands (that had once been wetlands called the “Laguna de Santa Rosa”) on the edge of the oak woodlands. From our front yard, we had such an unobstructed view of Mt. St. Helena -- some 20 miles away -- that on clear days, you had no trouble making out the observatory that perches upon its highest peak with the naked eye.

In the spring, vernal pools would form in the meadow across the driveway with tiny fish (that appeared to spring miraculously from the ground) already in them and around the pools’ edges were scores of different wildflowers like redmaids, popcorn flower and baby blue-eyes which, like the fish, came with the spring rains and lasted only until the hot, dry months of summer began.

Having once been part of a huge marsh, the property we lived on was still a “regular stop” for migrating birds like Canadian geese, mountain bluebirds, swallows and larks that passed through a couple of times a year on their ways to other places. We had permanent avian neighbors there, too, that were just as magnificent -- like red-shouldered hawks, hummingbirds, egrets and mockingbirds. . .

As I said, our house there was a hovel but, I think because the beauty of nature was so very close all around us (well. . . also because the rent was so very cheap), we got used to it and that’s why we stayed there for so long. So, when the owners sold the place and we were told we had to move, I was crushed.

My husband -- who apparently comes from much more “stoic” stock than I do -- said, “Don’t worry, honey, we’ll find a house that’s better than this one. This place is falling apart anyway.”

Wiping the tears from my eyes with back of my hand, I sniffed, “It’s not the house. The house is a dump -- but what about our nice, big yard, our willow tree and the birds? I’ll miss all the birds. . .”

My husband gripped my shoulders, looked me in the eye and said, “Listen honey, these aren’t the only birds in the whole world, you know. There’ll be other birds. The whole planet is covered with birds -- they’re everywhere.”

Of course he was right. (I do hate it when he’s right. It’s a good thing that it doesn’t happen very often. . .) The house we moved into next was a far nicer with a huge kitchen, a beautiful yard and a several-acre field along one side with a marvelous little stream behind it in a sunny canyon surrounded by steep hills covered with redwood trees.

There, I discovered birds I’d never seen before and learned the names of many of the songbirds like the fox and lark sparrows, the Swainsons thrush, orioles and warblers. One morning, an ibis flew right over my head!

But, that winter, the area flooded so badly the landlady was forced to move everyone out in order to rebuild all of the structures on the property, so, once again, we found ourselves looking for a place to live. That’s when we found the place we live in now.

I was wary, at first, of renting this small, dilapidated, single-wide trailer on a steep hillside that hadn’t been lived-in for over six years.

It needed a lot of work before I would allow even one stick of our furniture to be put in it but, I have to say that -- after doing a bit of remodeling, putting on new wallpaper and paint, doing the landscaping and expending lots and lots of elbow grease -- it’s now quite “livable”.

Since it’s located in dry, rolling hills of chaparral and totally unlike anyplace that we’ve ever lived before, I’ve been getting to know all kinds of new birds and wildflowers.

One evening several weeks ago, I heard the unmistakable hoots of a great horned owl in one of the nearby scrub oaks. When I heard a second owl (with a much higher voice) answering the first one, I rushed outside to look for them but it was too dark, my field glasses were useless and, disappointed, I came back inside. . .

Every evening, the two owls would start up their little “hootenanny” in the tree. I looked for them several times over the following couple of weeks but couldn’t locate exactly which tree they were in.

But, lately -- with the approach of spring -- the days have been getting longer. That means there’s been more daylight when the owls start-up each evening and, yesterday, I finally found them!

I was thrilled!

The female is huge and looks very regal -- calm and steely eyed -- as she surveys the far hillside (looking for some errant rodent to come scurrying across her field of vision, I imagine).

The male is smaller than the female by at least a third. He sits a few feet away from her in another branch of the same tree. The poor thing looks like he’s half put-together -- as though a bunch of his feathers fell out and somebody stuck them back in at all the wrong angles. He merrily goes about preening himself -- seemingly totally unaware and unconcerned about anything that’s happening around him.

To tell the truth, he looks kinda goofy. . .

The contrast between the two is immediately obvious. The female reminds me of that big, scary owl in the old “Merrie Melodies” cartoon where the little mouse tries to steal the owl egg for a scavenger hunt. The male reminds me more of Daffy Duck.

Well, they say “opposites attract”. . .

Since we’ve been here I’ve also seen northern flickers (my first), lots of acorn woodpeckers, with their brilliant scarlet topknots, and a pair of mated, red-tailed hawks that live over the next hill. We’ve also seen turkeys, deer and even a fox and -- when the weather warms up -- I imagine the coyotes that we heard last fall will return for another big singing engagement. . .

Today as I was backing out of the carport, I noticed little, purple flowers growing all over the far bank of the tiny stream that runs down the other side of our driveway. When I returned from my errand, I examined them more closely and they’re shooting stars! Shooting stars are the most darling “cyclamen looking” little, fuchsia-colored wildflowers and the small rise across the way is covered with them!

I can’t wait to see what turns up next!

TODAY'S LESSON: PROPER FORMS OF ADDRESS

Class! CLASS! Now, let's all settle down and pay attention, shall we?

Today we’re going to examine proper forms of address. There will be a test on this material later on, so I advise you all to take notes…

Now, we are all aware that "Granny" was a character on "The Beverly Hillbillies". It is also a type of knot, a low transmission gear and a variety of apple that makes a really swell pie; however, the one thing that it is not, in our humble opinion, is a flattering form of address for one's female grandparent.

So, unless you happen to be regaling all of your little friends with stories about the endearing antics of your "critters" down by the "CEE-ment pond", please do all of us grandmothers a huge favor and try to refrain from using the word in reference to our persons. (I, for one, would appreciate it immensely.)

The other word I find almost as unacceptable is "Grandma" (as pronounced with, or without, the quasi-silent "d").

For my part, the images that this gauche little word conjures up include:

1. Ma and Pa Kettle going to (or returning from) "The Fair", "The City", "The Army" or wherever it was that they were always going by means of a decrepit vehicle (the title of which, I'm fairly certain, they transferred to a Mr. Jethro Bodine upon their retirement) to meet up with "Frankenstein’s Cousin", "The Step-Son of the Wolfman", "The Third Cousin of the Mummy's Ghost Twice Removed" or whomsoever it was that they were always going off to meet in all of those dreary little films that they churned out by the case-lots in the Forties, or,
   
2. A drab, dusty, economically-depressed borough in some forgotten corner of the planet where all of the residents are "decorating-challenged" and there are no factory outlets for Chanel -- some kind of nightmarish hell where Christmas lights stay up long past Labor Day and everyone buys copious amounts of lotto tickets.

I think we can all agree that neither of these images is very flattering…

Being much too young and nubile, myself, to have any grandchildren related to me by blood (**blink-blink**), I have chosen to insist that my adorable, little step-grandchild address me by the infinitely more cosmopolitan and chic-sounding "Grand (with an articulately pronounced "d") mah-MAH".

I like it. . . I like it A LOT. . .


I like it primarily because it doesn't sound like anything Jed Clampett might say but, also, because it reminds me of a grandmother whose dramatic flair and razor-sharp wit are my inspirations.

Yes, I'm speaking of that "Queen of All Bi- [I mean] Witches", the one, the only Endora (mother of Samantha Stevens and mother-in-law to both of the Darrens Stevens) of the old TV sit-com "Bewitched".

Ah, yes. . . Endora. . . A grand-mah-MAH whose broom I can only aspire to be worthy enough to ride someday. . .

I know the question ruminating in all of your minds right now. Yes, it is a trifle difficult to pronounce properly; however, I truly believe that it’s well worth the trouble.

I have found that, with a rigorous training period of only about two years or so, the parents of one's grandchildren can be taught to pronounce the word at a nearly acceptable level. Oddly, they seem to develop the affectation of enunciating the word through clenched teeth, however.

Grandchildren, on the other hand, learn much, much faster, of course.

Just give it a try and I believe that you, too, will discover the same serene sense of satisfaction that I have from employing it. (I have also discovered that it has the added benefit of assuaging any stray feelings of repressed hostility that one might still bear toward one's own children in reference to their teenage-years.)

Alright, Class, for tonight's homework, I want all of you to practice deliberately mispronouncing the given names of your sons and/or daughters-in-law.

Class dismissed. . .