How Much Wood Can a Woodpecker Peck?

From recent experience, I can confidently answer: A LOT.

We live in a fairly wooded area. Every morning for the past 6 weeks, we are startled awake by a beak jackhammering into a bit of tree trunk. It has a rhythm and resonance than can only be described as irritating. Being the appreciative sort, Miles and I throw our pillows atop our heads and wish it away.

You have to wonder where the joy in wood-pecking is derived, don’t you? Or maybe the bird kingdom doesn’t have the aversion to launching their heads toward solid material as does mankind. Or most of mankind…can’t forget the inebriated!

I just read this: “Some species drum on trees to communicate to other woodpeckers and as a part of their courtship behavior.” I imagine a swinging bachelor armed (winged) with a slew of really terrible jokes. Brings all new meaning to the cheesy reminder to laugh, knock on wood, I’d say. Do they ever bark up the wrong tree? That probably goes without saying….it’s the hard-knock life.


The site needed a makeover. It was all but beggin’ for it. (clears throat) Readers, meet Serendipity…Serendipity, meet readers. Serendipity is a PHP-based weblog system and it is going to help me maintain all of these darn entries!

I am still porting over the archives, and the pictures, erm…just about everything. I can’t quite seem to shake the lilies, though. I started the redesign with the intention of veering away from the callas when divine intervention struck with water lilies. *sigh* I like lilies…what can I say?

Anyway, the point: the site has many broken links at the moment, but doesn’t it look pretty?

My Namesake

Miles and I live life in the fast lane. We’re adventuresome, reckless, and have been known to use the express checkout even when our items total 13 instead of 12. And so, it should come as little surprise that today, despite the holiday celebrations and social gatherings, we spent twelve hours watching a Little House on the Prairie marathon.

My mother loves the Laura Ingalls Wilder books. I still remember her yellowed, age-worn set adorning the bookcase. Rumor has it, she even named her first born “Laura”. The very same child oft wondered why it was cautioned to keep bees out of one’s bonnet…how else would you spell it but with a “b”, after all? Mother simply patted my head and hoped I would grow into a less literal sense of humor.

Unfortunately, hopes are wont to be dashed.

The Sleep Deprived Mind is a Scary Thing

As I slumbered the evening last, I dreamt vividly. My husband and Jason were taking a computer class, and one day the instructor had them make banana nut bread. Yeah, I don’t know why he/she had them do that either.

Anyway, Jason gave me HIS banana nut bread…and Miles came home empty-handed, with guilty crumbs of banana nut-ness about the corners of his mouth. Then, I woke up.

Still caught in my dream, I rolled to Miles, slightly hysterically, and exclaimed, “You made banana nut bread in school! Jason shared! You ate all yours!” I had startled him out of a deep sleep and yet he looked totally calm and attentive.

Rationally, he replied, “But Jason shared his, right?” I nodded angrily. He continued, “Then what’s the big deal?” He rolled over and went back to sleep. I did so as well, coming out of the haze enough to realize how foolish I must have sounded.

An hour or so later, when we were of a more lucid mind, Miles put his hand on my shoulder and said, “I had the strangest dream. You thought Jason gave you banana nut bread while I hoarded my share. Isn’t that weird!?”

“Very,” I replied.

Oh, I see how it is.

It’s been one of those weeks. I am behind on sleep and ahead on headaches, and looking slightly worse for wear….a bit death-warmed-overish. Unfortunately, today we were scheduled to sign our life insurance policies. I thought the whole reheated death portrayal might mess with our agent’s confidence in my youth and vitality…so I allowed my hand to go heavy with the blusher.

Miles picked me up and immediately he was aflutter with compliments. Well, as “aflutter” as my Miles gets. Pat, with whom we met, was also quite generous with complimentary utterances.

Fraudulent smile plastered to my face, I thanked them both and realized that I must usually look like crap. Or, perhaps, that I look my best made up as a floozy.