Friday, June 10, 2011


On a morning when I was atypically still asleep at sunrise, husband woke me, drooling in deep sleep, by shouting - "Mumma, there's a possum out here who's sick!"  Since I panic when he calls me "Mumma," (It always means he's in desperate straits) I leaped from my four poster and ran downstairs in my gowntail to see a healthy older oppossum trying frantically to free himself from the garbage bag tie that had noosed around his privates and rendered him helpless, among other things.

After much sturm und drang, I got a pair of sissors and clipped the tie.  He still wouldn't move so I put a basket and cover over him to allow him time to recover.

Meanwhile, Husband had called Mathews Animal Control, which is manned by compassionate people who actually care about animals.  That is some definite progress in these parts.  I commend them with extreme praise.

On arrival, Mr. Horne (the Animal Control Officer) picked possum up by the tail, unraveled the plastic tie, and put him under a bush.  He headed for beneath our deck, with his poor testicles conspicuously hanging low, and prepared to return to normal or a little less.

We haven't seen him since, but Mr. Horne says he'll be fine but will probably be cured of his desire for sex.  I, for one, can live with that.  I left him a little food in case he gets hungry. 

And life resumes on Waverly Lane.

Thursday, June 2, 2011


Walking is good for your health whether it is accomplished on an expensive treadmill with various speeds and levels of difficulty, or on a brisk trip down a tree-lined dirt lane.  I choose the latter because I require the prospect of the unexpected.

On a treadmill, you can trot away in the same location to your favorite tunes, or watch TV and hope your feet don't get confused and launch you backwards.

On a real walk you can see this:

or this:

and this:

and sometimes this:

Sounds of birds, frogs and neighborhood dogs punctuate the stream of thoughts that wash through consciousness once immersed in nature.  It's impossible not to have thoughts.  Today on my walk, I thought about how much I love living things; about the inconsequence of a single life; about the contradiction of death to the proposition of life.  And then I realized that one's own death is an imperceivable state, a sudden midnight with no new dawn, and our bit of time ends but remains part of all of time.  Try that on a treadmill...and then take a real walk.