I got this little book from 2019 yesterday and found it necessary to plow through it last night before I went to sleep. Matt Kracht, the author, tries to present himself as a curmudgeonly bird hater who hates all that screeching and pooping birds do. But you can tell from his charming and accurate drawings that he’s secretly quite fond of birds.
Sample page featuring a bird name that’s not too full of curse words.
Though it’s really funny, the book isn’t for kids, due to f-bombs and such. But it’s hilarious for those of us comfortable with adult language. And Kracht includes lots of birding/birdwatching advice, bird feeding information, and “helpful” information that’s both funny and sorta useful underneath.
This is not a book I’d recommend for a person who’s new to birds but it’s a great amusement for your experienced bird-loving friend, white-elephant gift for your nature group gift exchange. Or you could leave it in the bathroom for visitors to enjoy.
I certainly felt it was worth $7! See if they have it at your local bookstore.
Honestly, I don’t understand why anyone is interested in that “career path.” I’m familiar with a few interesting people who have or would like to become internet celebrities. More than one of them has mentioned feeling weary of trying to stay “on brand” and repeating their talking points (or whatever influencers call them—remember I’m not one). Oh, and artificially big lips and eyelashes, which I assume look good to the influencer subculture.
It’s a look, all right.
Early on in my time writing blogs (I’m not sure I’m really a blogger, either), it became clear to me that there was a formula the successfully monetized blogs all followed. There’s a lot of mentioning products so they can get paid in goods, and there’s lots and lots of teasing and bloviating before taking you to the “interesting” content so you have to plow through ads. That doesn’t sound like writing or sharing. It’s marketing. Yuck.
It’s like you have to make a new fake you. This is definitely a fake me.
I like to write things that interest me. I don’t have a brand, unless it’s quirky older woman goes on and on about nature and personal growth. I do have cute animals, but they don’t often do anything totally precious enough to have their own fan base.
Carlton’s most crazed look and he doesn’t even need Snapchat.
Like cats, my animals generally only have one expression, so every photo of a chicken, turkey, horse, or dog in my blog looks the same. It would be hard to influence anyone with this material to work with.
I look like this every day, unless I’ve been fighting, says Carlton
Of course that’s fine. I don’t want my social media presence to be a job. Whenever it veers that way, I veer back to just sharing stories about a rural-life newbie and her unswerving desire to become a good person who enjoys life however she can. That will not garner 200K of fans.
But it’s the real Suna. Rumpled but content.
I think I may want to influence you to share my quest for peace, love, and kindness. In these challenging times, we all can use some inspiration, so if I cheer anyone up, give someone a new idea, or make a reader chuckle, that’s enough for me.
This is intended to make you chuckle. It worked for me.
Thanks for your contributions to cheering ME up! I needed it after my day of breaking browsers and enterprise software products. It really WAS a Monday today.
I’m not doing myself any favors by watching the news. And it’s really not a good idea to listen to friends’ conspiracy theories. I try to avoid them but they sneak in, leading to nightmares like I used to get during the “duck and cover” years. Yes, yes, I’m too sensitive.
I always felt bad about those trees. And the people nearby.
I get told “they” are making lists of us members of a nonexistent terrorist organization. I can’t find the local meeting schedule or the state office. Maybe I don’t know the secret handshake? I don’t wear the correct golden pin on my lapel? Besides, I thought we fought whole wars against certain kinds of dictatorships. Anyway, if you’re putting me on a list, note that I tried to be kind.
Maybe that Mockingbird who watches me so closely is secretly a spy drone. I hope my birding doesn’t put the people watching the footage to sleep.
I get told to not mention certain topics while my phone is “listening,” and I guess I should be careful what I blog about, since the Chinese are so interested in my writing (really, that still cracks me up). No wonder my subconscious can get paranoid.
Lest you think I was kidding, check out these September 17 stats.
Heck, I did a Mabon tarot reading tonight with my online group, and YOW. It was paranoid! I got the nightmare card, the card about being trapped, and one about swimming against the tide. The rest were all unpleasant wands. My tarot friends pointed out that there IS an escape route on that 8 of swords, and the blindfold can be undone.
Run! (From Robin Wood Tarot)
All kidding aside, I think my subconscious is just trying to ensure that I don’t wear rose-colored glasses so thick that they allow me to sink so far into denial that I don’t notice important indicators of potential danger. Whatever happens is going to happen, though, so dwelling on possibilities won’t change things—paying attention and swimming against the current without letting myself drown—seems prudent.
From the Gaian Tarot
And by the way. Things keep breaking. Our upstairs air conditioner’s fan decided now would be a good time to quit working. We will add air conditioner repair to the list, along with RV generator repair. I’m now laughing at it. I promise I’m not invoking broken infrastructure!
Never fear! I have a fan!
And don’t worry, there’s plenty of good stuff to balance things out, appropriate for the season. At least I knew the Rapture wasn’t gonna come get me. I appreciate the wisdom of Jesus, but not what’s been done in his name, especially lately.
I needed some light and humorous reading this week, so I picked up this book to read before bedtime rather than the depressing memoir I’m reading at other times of the day. How the Hell Did I Not Know That: My midlife year from couch to curiosity, by Lucie Frost, certainly provided me with laughs and gave me other things to think about than cults of personality and so on.
One of my friends from when my kids were younger recommended the book, and I believe most everything this friend says, so I bought it. Lucie Frost lives in San Antonio and is an actual Native Texan (who lived in Mexico for some time as a child, so also speaks Spanish). She is also sort of foul-mouthed in an endearing way, so if you don’t like curse words in your books, skip this one.
The idea here is that Frost retired early, in her 50s, then didn’t know what to do with herself. She came up with the idea of trying to learn new things to get herself to stop bingeing on reality television and wine. Spoiler: she got better.
The fun of the book is going along with Frost’s journey of knowledge, in which she freely admits to being ignorant about things many people know about, but also bravely provides a peek at how her mind functions in coming up with questions to ask. She has a pretty funny mind. My favorite of her discoveries is what the balls for different ball sports were made of when the sports were invented. Hint: animals.
While this may not be the most well-written book on earth, it’s quite entertaining and worth spending some pre-snooze time on. Since she and I have much in common spiritually and philosophically, I probably got more out of the book than some folks I know. But if you’re “a person like Suna,” you can get a good chuckle or two from Frost’s stories, and you’ll heartily agree with her conclusions that by keeping your senses open to new things and living in the world with a curious mindset, you’ll feel a lot better.
Example of Vicki’s extremely cute Sheltie puppies. Don’t tell Lee his hair is thinning.
Let me know if this was too controversial and I’ll try harder next time. I’m now limiting Facebook/Instagram posts to cute little animals, except for blog links, which mostly will be cute little animals and book reviews for the near future.
It looks like I do. I made a drink from one of Kathleen’s little flavor packets and ended up with the blues: blue drink, nails, hair, and glasses. I will point out that I had a brown shirt (with a blue Roadrunner on it).
Good thing the light washed out my hair.
On a more serious note, I shared this story on Facebook this morning:
What a morning at my birding platform. First, I was just sitting here, watching Baltimore Orioles flying around, when I heard a Green Heron. Then I saw it, flying toward me, aiming directly over my head. I thought how pretty it was, but wondered what would happen if it pooped. Then a big white glob came down! Thankfully it landed just inches off my concrete pad. My blue hair is safe!
The little bits of white are poop.
Then, after measuring yesterday’s .02” of rain, I gazed over at the fence. Oh my gosh, something was hanging from one of the chrysalises I’d been watching! It was a fresh, new Gulf Fritillary. It’s our most common large butterfly, since we have lots of sorrel vines that they love. This is the first time I’ve ever seen a butterfly emerging in the wild. What a privilege!
It was pearlescent
The humor and beauty carried me through an intense work day just fine! A meeting ended early, too, so I had time to give Vicki some slightly old frozen meat to make into dog food and exercise the horses. Neither horse was into it. I think I should have let them rest.
They were peaceful on our evening stroll, though. It’s hard to get them all in one photo.
Just a little relaxation with the animals prevents the psychological blues from coming over me, though. Watching the dogs play in the long grass at sunset was a great way for me and Lee to wind down. They don’t get out much, but for once they stayed with us and didn’t run off to roll in poop.
Happy dog buddies
I’m thinking about so many of you all, dealing with what comes your way as best you can. We are in this together. As my friend Kathy just reminded me, we’re all under the same moon!
Since today was just fine (not too hot!) and I don’t want to come across too perky like I did yesterday, I’ll just answer this here question.
My name is Rhynchomitra recurva – I’m a leafhopper.
My name is Sue Ann. This is nothing new to evil internet scum. The internet has known my name since 1989, back in Usenet days.
Tell me more, says the finch.
Two-word given names are common in the southern USA, from where I and my ancestors of many generations hailed. Most of my dad’s sisters had them, Bettye Sue and Doris Ann were two of them. It appears that my parents were expecting a boy when I emerged from Mom’s twilight sleep. But there I was, including all my curly hair. They were going to name a boy Edwin (my father’s first name that he only used on official business) but they must have rejected Edwina (a name of a very funny older woman I once knew). I’m glad they saved it for my brother (Lee also had a brother named Edwin).
Look, corn. Someone lost their harvest. Nothing to do with names, except to say, “We call it maize.”
Anyway, I’m glad they eventually named me after the above-mentioned two of Dad’s sisters. Again, I’m relieved not to be Bettye Doris. Most of my life I liked my name other than a brief time I wanted to be Susanna. What I don’t like is the name Sue by itself. It’s fine for my friends named Sue (popular name of my generation), but I don’t like it for me. I don’t respond to it, and if someone calls me that, they go down a notch in my estimation. It’s like calling someone who goes by Will, Bill. So, if you ever meet me or send me a message, remember my two-word name.
Sue Ann means graceful lily according to name origins. So not me. I’m more sturdy, like this snow on the prairie plant.
You are always welcome to call me my alternate name, Suna, which I’ve had over half my life. Long story there.
We can do without that story.
No doubt I’ve told this particular story before, but I’m not up to scouring the archives to see. You can do it, of course. Feel free!
Alternative: look at the pretty morning sky.
Off I go, now, to come up with better topics and hope for rains.
Since I was young I just loved the Rocky & Bullwinkle Show. It probably started me down the road to my love of puns. Every single segment just cracked me up, even when I had to ask my parents about some of the humor.
1959-1964. Long time ago. Still funny.
Jay Ward, the creator of this weirdly wonderful cartoon show, was a genius. I had many serious scholars of his work as friends during my academic years, so I may have overdosed on the reruns and analysis, but I still chuckle if I see a clip. If you are young, look it up and read about it in the article linked above. Then binge on Moose and Squirrel, Boris and Natasha, Mr. Peabody, and Dudley Do-Right.
Their college
I’m still thinking about things and issues, but more kindnesses from neighbors and some pleasant weather helped a lot today. I got things done that are hard for a person whose brain is not firing on all cylinders.
We’ve both had better hair days.
Still, the three days of much-needed rain put me way behind on bur removal, with only Apache done. I’ll try to get someone else in the herd done before my lesson tomorrow—since the horses finally have a round bale again, they won’t be so invested in getting tidbits of grass from between cocklebur plants.
I’m way behind on book reports, and I want to catch up before I flee Texas for a couple of weeks again. So let me share this delightful volume that Lee got at the bookstore/coffee shop in Rockdale (one of the few reasons I would volunteer to go there).
Great cover!
Holy Shit: A Brief History of Swearing (2013) is worth looking for in your local used book store. Melissa Mohr has a fine way of blending academically rigorous prose with sneaky bits of humor. For little linguist Suna, this was a delightful and engaging combination.
I’m sure my friends are glad I finished reading it, because I was compelled to regale my family and friends (and complete strangers who were willing to listen) with tidbits about the origins of curses and swear words. I feel quite educated in how the English language developed its words not fit for polite company.
I was extra glad that Mohr started out with how the Romans used swearing in Latin. I learned some good Latin and laughed a lot at their creative bathroom scrawls. Actually, they scrawled on all the exterior walls, too. I also learned more about their sexual practices than I did before. I’m not putting that stuff in the blog, though.
The main point of Mohr’s research was that what US and British society found to be the most offensive type of words has changed over time. early on you could babble on and on about shitting and fucking, but you’d better watch your tongue when uttering oaths or insulting God. The worst was to swear by God’s body, like God’s blood! They felt that you truly hurt God when you did that.
As time passed, oaths and swearing became less of a touchy subject. Nowadays we swear to God or whatever, and most sects don’t get up in arms. It’s the bodily functions that are taboo. Now we pass gas, have a bowel movement, urinate, and copulate. That’s all thanks to our Victorian ancestors.
The history of what was allowed under what circumstances is fascinating, though. You have to get used to reading all those “naughty” words, of course. It’s worth it. I haven’t laughed and learned at the same time to this extent in a long time.
It’s weird. Since Apache started his medicine, he’s been a lot calmer. I wonder if he has a buzz or something.
Drew, on the other hand, has been on a real tear of peskiness and mischief lately, like he’s Loki and Apache is Thor (Apache has a lot of hair, like Thor). I’ve been watching Drew running around and chasing his herd-mates around, but never had any photographic evidence until this morning, when I saw a lot going on in the horse pens as I was feeding the chickens.
It interrupted my nap.
Droodles had gotten ahold of one of the food buckets and was playing with it. He picked it up and rested it on the fence; he waggled his head and threw it up and down; he ran off with it, as if he wanted to hide it from me (which probably would have worked if I hadn’t seen it).
Chomp.This is funWheeLook, I’m collectedMaybe Suna won’t find it here.No, I better take it farther away.
He was really having a good time with that bucket. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted his absolute favorite toy, innocently grazing and minding her own business: Fiona. Off he flew to pester her.
I’ll get herZomHerding actionI kicked him.
He ran circles around her and tried to herd her into a corner. I’m not sure why he always wants to force her into a corner, because the result is always the same: she kicks him in the head. Sadly, I didn’t catch that part of the fun.
I’m outa here. She kicked me.
Drew let Fiona go, because his eyes alit on yet another toy. This is an old lead rope that actually is supposed to be a toy, which is why I don’t put it away. He picked that up and flopped it around vigorously until it hit Apache in the face, leading Apache to come over to me so I could get burs out of his tail.
See, Apache, isn’t this cool? No.
Drew then turned to the next object in his visual range, which is a large water trough made of the same recycled rubber as the food buckets. He spent a few minutes chomping away on that, which gave me some bur removal time.
This is too heavy to toss in the air, darn it.
But, no, not enough time. I was still de-burring when Drew sidled up beside me. I thought he wanted a treat (he knows treats exist now, because he gets them when I bridle him). But instead, he wanted to “help” me with the tail project. His idea of helping was to try to take a big chomp out of Apache’s tail. Granted, that would have gotten rid of some burs, but not how I wanted it to happen. After three attempted chomps, Apache walked away, and I had to laugh as I watched Drew trying to sneak up on him for another chomp.
Shh, I’m sneakingI’m totally innocent, SunaSoon as she leaves, I’m chomping.
I finally shooed him off and he ate some hay while I finished with the tail project. I’m sure he was at least a little tired after all that. He doesn’t know it’s lesson day, so he’s going to get even more exercise later, and not just the circles, squares, barrels, and sidepassing I make him do every other day or so. (Yesterday I even made him do something scary: go around the shed from the BACK. Oooh, that was different.)
Don’t scare me or my hair will look worse.
Daily Bird
Today’s bird is the mockingbird, because I got a nice photo of one today. I remember as a kid being deeply disappointed that the mockingbird was the state bird of Florida, because it was all gray and black and white. I wanted the blue jay, due to being able to use more crayons to color it (the state flag of Florida had that tiny Native American lady in the middle who was hard to color, by the way, and the dang flower was white, which equalled NO crayons).
This bird was really enjoying something on these branches.
Really, though, I’ve gotten so much pleasure out of mockingbirds in my life, that I’ve forgiven their boring colors. We had one that sat on the streetlight outside of our house in Brushy Creek and would sing for hours. There was also a big singer over by Sara’s horse pens back when Apache lived there. They can really come up with some doozies of songs, like backup beeps and cell phones.
The northern mockingbird (Mimus polyglottos) is a mockingbird commonly found in North America. This bird is mainly a permanent resident, but northern birds may move south during harsh weather. This species has rarely been observed in Europe. This species was first described by Carl Linnaeus in his 1758 10th edition of Systema Naturae as Turdus polyglottos. The northern mockingbird is known for its mimicking ability, as reflected by the meaning of its scientific name, “many-tongued mimic”. The northern mockingbird has gray to brown upper feathers and a paler belly. Its tail and wings have white patches which are visible in flight.
The northern mockingbird is an omnivore, eating both insects and fruits. It is often found in open areas and forest edges but forages in grassy land. The northern mockingbird breeds in southeastern Canada, the United States, northern Mexico, the Bahamas, the Cayman Islands and the Greater Antilles. It is replaced farther south by its closest living relative, the tropical mockingbird. The Socorro mockingbird, an endangered species, is also closely related, contrary to previous opinion. The northern mockingbird is listed as of least concern according to the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN).
The northern mockingbird is known for its intelligence. A 2009 study showed that the bird was able to recognize individual humans, particularly noting those who had previously been intruders or threats. Also birds recognize their breeding spots and return to areas in which they had greatest success in previous years. Urban birds are more likely to demonstrate this behavior.
The mockingbird is influential in United States culture, being the state bird of five states, appearing in book titles, songs and lullabies, and making other appearances in popular culture.
They are fun to watch when mating, and their babies are darned cute, so I’m glad we have them out here at the Hermits’ Rest to entertain us on the off chance that the meadowlarks, killdeer, crows, and white-crowned sparrows get quiet. (In other words, there’s lots to hear out here.)
Bonus snow goose photo, since you can actually tell they are geese in this one, taken today.
Neigh! It’s me, Apache Smoke Signal, Suna’s horse buddy, also known as Patchy. I’m taking a break from constant eating, my favorite hobby, to be your guest blogger. Suna is too tired to type.
I had to dictate this, because I can’t use a keyboard.
I want you all to know I’ve been eating my special treats with the nasty pink centers every day, and I think I feel a lot better. I jumped two jumps in a row today, to my surprise. I surprise easily.
I’ve been extra well behaved, too, not like that young punk Droodles who keeps pestering my little friend Fifi. Today he decided to gallop full speed into the pens, pester Fiona, then gallop back to our manna from Heaven that Suna calls a round hay bale, three times. I don’t know what gets into that boy.
He won’t even lower his head like a gentleman to get those pain balls Suna calls burs off his head. That’s probably what’s making him all goofy.
Suna says maybe next year my coat won’t be so thick in winter. I’ve been so sweaty.
I had fun this evening when I had my first night visit with the human who tells me what to do and gets all bossy when I get nerved out. She always makes me go fast and tells me I started on the wrong hoof. How do I know?
I tried to enjoy eating my delicious bag of hay while my pal Aragorn was running around with my previous rider friend Sara, but there is a horse baby who won’t shut up there now. He kept yelling that he wanted his mommy. She was just over by the handsome man horse, so I can’t figure out why this baby was so loud. It ruined my moment of peaceful eating with no other horses daring to try to share.
What Suna wanted me to tell you is that even after enduring her washing my mane (I was enjoying that dirt) I did things I didn’t know I could do! Even though it was dark with bright lights in my delicate eyes, I trotted less awkwardly than I used to at many speeds and could understand what Suna was asking! And I went around the barrels well enough to please the bossy human. I admit I don’t like that weird fast walk they keep making me do, but it’s getting easier.
I need to get back to chewing and dominating the other horses now. Suna will be back to talk about birds and plants tomorrow. How boring. Grass is the only interesting plant! And maybe alfalfa.
The Hermits' Rest 