It was a busy day in Margaritaville. Roberto the painter and his crew arrived early with pistolas and paintbrushes to caulk and paint the new moldings that went in after the floors. Night stands for one of the bedrooms were delivered.

I began a wall of old family photos in the alcove next to my mom's room, and I talked for a while with my brother's girlfriend about the doctors my mom will need--cardiologist, pulmonary specialist, neurologist, etc., and whether or not there's a smaller version of her oxygen machine that can make the move with her from Maryland to California. I called the utility companies, and the phone company, and made plans to cancel my old homeowner's policy, and my internet, and changed my address. There was more unpacking, and my kitchen island is heaped with things that go here and there and who knows where.

The swallows are still nesting above my patio doors, flying in an out, tending and rebuilding, and I feel they are kindred spirits as I feather my new nest. Come September when their nesting season is over, and they are no longer protected by law, I will encourage them to go elsewhere by having the old nests washed down, and a "bird slide" installed. It seems that it's impossible to have just one or two nests, and the bird poop is currently raining down a little too liberally.

The reality of this move is raining down, too--that I'll be more than an hour away from the man who loves me. That I'll be the point person for my mom without any family nearby to serve as back up. That my traveling days are done. But every time I step outside here and smell the ocean air, it feels like what I've been waiting for--that this spot is a destination.

I'm picturing a patio full of friends. Walks on the beach. Kayaking. The blender will be working overtime. People will be too tired to drive back to L.A. The extra bedrooms will be full, and we'll have to break out the air mattresses.

I'm ready. I've got toothbrushes and  razors. Sunscreen and aloe vera. Q-tips, cough drops, and Dramamine. Tequila. Coffee. Open arms.

My House: The Aviary of Desire

Yesterday I heard moaning. You know, "Oooooh, Ooooooh, Oohhhhhh." I was sitting in my living room with the patio door open, and the moaning seemed to be coming from upstairs. My upstairs. I was home alone...or so I thought. 


Two pigeons were perched on the balcony off the master bedroom, and well....they were in a rather interesting position. One of the birds was straddling the other bird's head while the cooing continued apace. I raced downstairs to get my camera, but when I arrived back on the scene, they'd separated.

This morning, as I made us fresh carrot-apple-kale juice, the man who loves me read an article to me that he'd just stumbled upon on the Internet. It  began like this: "Do these beetles have oral sex? By the window of a country house I found two celeoptera performing an incomprehensible dance for me: the ..."  I'd include the link, but have only been able to come up with this message when I search for it: "But the Requested data is not available Currently." Perhaps too many people have read the article and now no one is at work.


It's spring. As Cole Porter sang, "Birds do it. Bees do it. Even Educated Fleas do it." Soon the heat of summer will be upon us. Enjoy those balmy breezes now before the urge to eat ice cream and drink beer engulfs you in lethargy.


photo of cliff swallows' nest under my eaves

Just remember, this could happen to you. 
Not to me, fortunately. But perhaps to you. Baby birds will be peeping soon. Parent birds frantically feeding them. Defending them. Protecting them. Teaching them to fly. 

swallow's nest #2--with a third in progress

Have a lovely evening, dear readers. Look at the moon as she fills herself up. Savor the coming of the sweet dark before summer delivers its longest day.

Angry Birds

It's hard to say what the neighbors thought if they saw me leaning out of my bedroom window wiping my window-washing drips with a wad of paper towel clasped in a pair of tongs. The squeegee-sponge gizmo worked well, but I couldn't quite get the proper angle to apply the requisite pressure to the squeegee on the window that was the hardest to reach. The alarmed swallows threatening to peck my eyes out while defending their nests (yes, there are two of them now) added to the drama. I washed the wall of windows in the master bedroom one at a time, mindful that the swallows might need a break from all the stress. I certainly needed a break from wondering what would possess a builder or an architect to create the odd combo of double-hung and sliding windows that are difficult to access for washing from the inside. There is a rather handy ledge, but having seen those architectural trim pieces at Home Depot that appear to be made out of something like styrofoam, I couldn't help but wonder if the ledge might crumble. Plummeting to the patio would be very inconvenient.

I washed all the windows on the second floor that could be accessed today, running the screens down to the patio for hosing and then back up again.

I applied privacy film to the lower panes of my bathroom windows, so that now I can run stark naked through the bathroom--which is what one often does in the bathroom. Even though my neighbors windows look directly into my bathroom, it's now possible to lie in the tub unobserved while still seeing the sky through the upper panes. And window coverings are now unnecessary.

Another builder/design conundrum: If you are going to put  giant windows in a bathroom--windows that require shades or blinds, being able to access said shades or blinds without climbing into the bathtub and then out of it onto the far edge of the bathtub to do so would be sensible.

I unpacked boxes, moved boxes around from here to there, and swore at the boxes that are too heavy. I think I'm going to ask anyone who visits to carry a box of books up the stairs if they are able.

I washed linens and put them on the two new beds.

I made four stacks of sheets and blankets, getting ready for an onslaught of grandchildren.

And tonight, I'm going to sleep in a bed here for the first time.

The air bed is pushed into a corner waiting for guests. Hear that? It's me sighing with contentment.

Bird of the Day X 3

Swallow. Perhaps Cliff Swallows since these birds do not exhibit the "deeply forked tail" of the barn swallow.

Yesterday, as we were enjoying my patio, my friend Michael pointed out the mud nest under my rafters. Wasps, we thought. Then today as I was washing my windows, I noticed that the nest has quite a large entrance. I put it all together then--the swooping chattering birds outside my living room, the mud nest.

And as a bonus, a Great Blue Heron flew over this evening, its legs stretching out behind like a travel trailer. The lines, "Jane, Jane tall as a crane," popped into my head. I studied Edith Sitwell's poem in high school.

Here's the full text. If herons could be domesticated, I'd have one and call it Jane--even though herons and cranes are different birds.

Jane, Jane
Tall as a crane,
The morning light creaks down again;

Comb your cockscomb-ragged hair,
Jane, Jane, Come down the stair.

Each dull blunt wooden stalactite
Of rain creaks, hardened by the light,

Sounding like an overtone
From some lonely world unknown.

But the creaking empty light
Will never harden into sight,

Will never penetrate your brain
With overtones like the blunt rain,

The light would show
(if it could harden)
Eternities of kitchen garden,

Cockscomb flowers
that none will pluck,
And wooden flowers
that 'gin to cluck.

In the kitchen you must light
Flames as staring, red and white,

As carrots or as turnips, shining
Where the old dawn light lies whining

Cockscomb hair on the cold wind
Hangs limp,
turns the milk's weak mind...
Jane, Jane,
Tall as a crane,
The morning light
creaks down again!


AND, I may have seen a Red-Billed Tropic Bird. Maybe. It seems unlikely, given the range, but it's the closest I can come to the white, long-tailed bird with the orange beak that flew over about 4:00 this afternoon.

Who knows what I'll see "when the morning's light creaks down again."