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Yesterday, I sat at this window and probaby spent too much time, just ruminating on the beauty of nature and the joy it brings. I think it must have given God a great deal of pleasure to design this world we live in, making it so lovely that it can cause us to forget what we're supposed to be doing and just sit and gaze upon it. If a backyard in Irving, Texas, can cause that response, just imagine what a Rocky Mountain vista, or a helicopter flight over Maui, or a trip through Grand Canyon could produce. Still, since I'm not likely to ever again have the opportunity to drink in one of those sights, I'm content to sit at my window and contemplate the beauty on the other side of the glass. Indeed, I'm grateful for the opportunity.
It was one of those green and gold days, fresh, warm and bursting with life. Just how much life, I was soon to discover. As I sat looking out at the swelling buds on the iris, and the white froth of bloom on the spirea, I caught a movement beneath the shrubbery. Thinking it was the neighbor's cat, back for another attempt to catch some hapless creature that had come to feast at my feeders, I reached for my sprinkler remote control. But no! It wasn't the cat! It was a large gray possum!
Now, that's a completely different story. Not only do I not mind his presence, I welcome it. He doesn't bother birds, squirrels, or me. He does, however, root around and dig up grubs that would cause damage in my yard. Yes, he leaves a few holes, but I can kick the dirt back in with the toe of my shoe, and there's no permanent damage. The little holes are shallow, and in fact they probably help to loosen and aerate the soil.
I reached for my ever-ready camera, and got a couple of shots of him as he bumbled along through a flowerbed. They're a bit hazy, as they were shot through the windowpane, but he's clearly visible.
Today is another beautiful day, just as pretty as yesterday. The temperature is a pleasant 81, with a balmy breeze causing the trees to sway slowly in their new, soft green dresses, like young girls in a gentle minuet. I just love this time of year.
I haven't seen the possum today, but I suspect he/she is around. Actually, I think it may be a female. You can't tell it in the pictures but it was one portly possum, especially around the middle, so there may be little possums soon. I hope so. I will definitely keep the camera charged up and ready, should that little parade appear. Not likely, though. Possums are mostly nocturnal - yesterday's appearance was a bit rare - and I doubt that a mama possum would bring her babies out in broad daylight.
I may get to see them, however. I have a night vision scope, and often am treated to things that I wouldn't be able to see otherwise. Just can't photograph them, unfortunately.
Well, I'm off to buy more impatiens. I finally found a nursery that has some in the color I want, so need to go get them. I'll take little Toye Starr along, the nurseries never seem to mind, and she loves to go with me.
Peace, friends.
I guess it's officially Spring around here. Flowers are blooming, and small critters are appearing. I love it! There are squirrels everywhere out in the yard, and birds of every description. I even had a lovely little squadron of goldfinches that passed through a couple of weeks ago. They found my nijer thistle feeder, and just about stripped it. They were still more green/gray than gold in their winter plumage, but a few were showing the bright gold feathers of summer. They fed, and moved on. Wherever they are right now, I'm sure by now they look like drops of sunshine in the trees.
As I was brushing my teeth this morning, preparing to go forth and meet the world, in the mirror I could see what appeared to be a large piece of lint, dangling from a corner of the a/c vent over my head. I turned around and reached up with a tissue to wipe it away, and realized the lint was green and had eyes. It's a little gecko, chameleon, whatever he is. I had zillions of the babies around here last year, I guess this is one that managed to evade the birds.
MY LITTLE GECKO FRIEND
I'm not quite sure what to do about him - nothing, I guess. He has made it on his own this long, I suppose he can continue to do so without my help. I'm concerned about his need for water, though. That will soon bring him down into the bathroom, where Starr's water bowl is on the floor. She's confined to my bedroom and bathroom when I leave the house, and would certainly spot him. I'm not sure what, if anything, she'd do to him, but I'd hate for her to hurt him. She wouldn't "attack" him, but she'd try to play with him, I have no doubt. Of course he can run into tiny spaces where she can't get him, but I'd really rather he wasn't camped in my bedroom. I'm afraid I'll step on him at night, and while he might survive Starr's attentions, he'd never survive that!
The irises are starting to bloom. Rapture's Edge has opened two huge flowers, with more buds below. Purple Streaker has set some buds, is about a week away from opening. A tiny purple miniature, whose name I think is Hottentot, has burst forth in one end of the rose island, lovely purple bloom on a short 8" stem! Delightful! Roses and irises are good companions, and I do have a mixture of them in the rose island.
RAPTURE'S EDGE
HOTTENTOT (?)
The grass is greening up nicely, would actually be acceptable if it didn't get any better, but it will. The white, weeping spirea is showing color, will be gorgeous in a few days. The Little Princess spirea, which is more shrubby and blooms a lovely pink, is just starting to leaf out. It usually blooms about the time the white one finishes. I'm always amazed at how two shrubs from the same family can have such vastly different growth habits. The white sends out long, droopy canes and the flowers emerge along almost the entire length of the canes. The pink doesn't make long canes, and the flowers appear in little flat-topped clusters all over the top and along the sides of the bush. Both are beautiful.
The roses are covered with tender red/green leaves, after being pruned within an inch of their lives a couple of months ago. Of course, those tender leaves looked like a sign that read "Eat Here" to the aphids, and they arrived in hordes. Not to worry, I bought ladybugs from John, and released them one evening after first running each sprinkler zone for about a minute, just enough to wet foliage. The next morning, I checked the rose bushes, and not a single aphid could be found, but a lot of ladybugs were sitting around picking their teeth. Sure beats chemicals!
I just watered the neighbor's cat again. Dumb cat, he never learns. He knows there are lots of birds and squirrels in my yard, and at least once a day he heaves his big old overfed belly over the fence and tries to look sleek and menacing as he prowls through my shrubbery. If I see him, all it takes is a click of my sprinkler remote to turn on the appropriate zone, and then I get treated to the spectacle of a cat losing all his dignity as he scrambles to get back over the fence before he's completely soaked. Miserable wretch.
Never a dull moment around here, and I wouldn't have it any other way.
Be blessed, friends!.
P.S. I just went into my bathroom, and my gecko friend was sitting on Starr's water bowl, just as I had feared he would do. I brought my dipnet from the pond, managed to scoop him up without any difficulty, and he is now patrolling my flowerbeds, outdoors, where all good little lizards belong. End of story.
As a member of the Dirt Doctor's "ground crew", I receive frequent newsletters from Howard Garrett, with the latest skinny on organic gardening. The dues are very small, and I've gotten a lot of good information over the last couple of years. If you'd like to do the same thing, go to www.DirtDoctor.com. All the information is there.
With spring approaching, and mosquito season not far away, I thought this article from Garrett was appropriate, interesting and informative. I'm old enough to remember when pyrethrins were believed to be completely safe as insecticides. Of course, I'm also old enough to recall when the same thing was thought about DDT. Look where that misinformation got us - we nearly lost our national symbol, the bald eagle, due to the cumulative effects of DDT. Only when DDT was banned in this country did the dear old eagle begin to make a comeback. However, the battle isn't fully won, as many countries still use DDT heavily - specifically Mexico. At least it's no longer used here.
The point is, as the King sang in "The King and I" - "Some things neeearly so, others neeearly not!" Garrett lists several fiercely toxic poisons that were once widely used - diazinon, Dursban, Sevin, etc. Then there's the infamous malathion. I remember when my neighbor got tired of the fleas on her dog, and the occasional roach in the house, so she dosed her yard with malathion, at about 1000 times the recommended strength. Instead of putting an ounce into a gallon of water and running it through a sprayer, she dumped in the whole bottle. You could smell it clear to the end of the street, all the toads and lizards disappeared, there were very few birds in the neighborhood for a couple of years, and the squirrel population all but vanished. Darn near killed the dog, too. She just about nuked the whole neighborhood. I could have wrung her neck, and I wasn't even into gardening and backyard wildlife that much at the time.
Anyway, I'm researching something to (I hope) control the mosquitoes in the yard this spring, and am thinking that a cedar oil spray may be the thing. More checking is needed, but that looks promising. Garrett mentions it. Standing water isn't a problem, as I wash out the birdbaths every couple of days, the tire swing has a hole in the bottom for drainage, and I don't leave empty containers facing upward. The pond water is well patrolled by the fish - no larvae can survive there, and I routinely drop a mosquito "dunk" in the drain line that carries excess groundwater to the street. I think they just congregate in all the shrubbery and vegetation, the hateful little things.
So - as spring approaches, and with it the armies of insects that beset us, please be very careful in your choices of pesticides. As Garrett says, there are things that will do the job adequately and will not harm beneficial organisms. Every spring, when the aphids appear on my roses, I buy a couple of quarts of ladybugs from John Lee and release them in the rose island. Within a couple of days, I have no aphids and a lot of fat ladybugs have moved on to the neighbors' yards. This year I'm going to experiment with trichogramma wasps, maybe some green lacewings, and possibly praying mantises, in addition to the ladybugs. The wasps should help control those obnoxious little webworms that made my trees look so tacky last year.
I'm also researching beneficial nematodes, which can be placed in solution and sprayed where needed. I understand they're great for finding and destroying termites. I don't think I have any termites around here right now, but I may treat the foundation area anyway. I'll probably do the same at the rent houses, to prevent much greater expense in the future. The nematodes are cheap. Termite damage isn't.
So, as spring sprongs, I hope everyone will be very careful and thoughtful with regard to pesticides. I'm not a green freak, but I have truly become convinced that organic is best where possible, and it's just almost always possible. Incidentally, did you know that dry molasses, applied to your lawn about twice a year, is not only an excellent fertilizer, but will also get rid of fire ants? Now that ought to give you something to think about!
Happy New Year!!
What a perfect day! It's very cold, just 29 degrees, and the sky is the color of an old pewter mug. There's a thin crust of ice on almost everything that isn't in direct contact with the ground. Streets and sidewalks and the flagstone path in my back yard are dry, but shrubbery and the few remaining leaves on the trees wear an icy shell. Even the grass crunches gently underfoot. The leaf net over my fishpond is sagging toward the water, weighed down by the droplets of ice that adorn it, like diamonds. It's a perfect day, if it happens to be the middle of December.
My little lighted deer out back all wear icy garments. Some of them are animated, and it will be interesting to see what happens tonight when the timer turns them on. Will they still light up? Will they move?
A friend commented earlier today that Christmas no longer holds the same magic for him as it did years ago, and he mentioned a grandmother who has gone to her Lord, and how her passing seemed to rob the joy of the season for the rest of the family. He described how he finally hit bottom and then began a slow rebound, but doubts he will ever find the same thrill in Christmas that he once did.
Oh my. How well I understand that. I would imagine that almost any adult who is middle-aged or older would have at least some comprehension of what he meant. Most families do have at least one central figure, the person who seems to hold the reins of everyone else's happiness during the holiday time. It's usually a woman, most likely a grandmother, and she's the one who bakes the cookies, plans the gatherings, does the shopping, wraps the gifts and decorates the house. She may even make a fruitcake in spite of the teasing from the rest of the family.
My mom was a very Christmassy person, and she conveyed that spirit and love of the holiday to me. As I grew older, and my own family emerged, somehow she and I managed to share the responsibilities and the planning without any conflict. As she began to tire more easily, I took over more of the work of the season and helped her with her tree and much of the cooking and baking. For a number of years, we had it all worked out.
Then in 1996 I lost my husband very suddenly, and with him went all my spirit and joy for Christmas and everything else, for that matter. I went through the motions each year because I had to, but not because I wanted to. In 1999, my mom joined him in Heaven, and in the next couple of years a newborn grandson returned to his Maker, and then my father left us as well, in 2003.
I suppose that was my year of "hitting bottom". There seemed to be no point in decorating or baking or doing any of the traditional things, but somehow, I did. I had tremendous help from my son, who comes every year and puts the lights up on my house, and makes it so beautiful. A dear friend came and helped me put up my Christmas tree. Other friends invited me here and there, and somehow, Christmas came and went.
And now, I am so happy to report, Christmas seems to be a happy time again. Deep in my heart, Christmas was always there - the real Christmas. The love, the promise, the warm security that can be found in that humble stable. The Child that was born there, and placed in the crude little manger did not remain an infant, helpless and dependent. He grew up, and in time He laid down His life for me, for all of us. He died, but that still wasn't all of it. He rose again after three days, and is now in Heaven with the Father.
He's not alone there. My husband, my parents, my grandson - all the loved ones whom I've lost are also there, because they were His children, bought with the price of His blood. And because I'm His child, a true believer, I know that I'll see the ones I love again.
The pain of immediate loss, the loneliness at holiday times, all these things are inevitable. We all go through them. However, at some point, most of us "hit bottom" and realize that we can't go on that way forever. We finally reach a point where we remember that the loss is not permanent. We start to look forward, in a sense, to our own homegoing. Being able to do that also makes it possible to experience a sense of joy and contentment in the everyday things of life, and especially in the holidays and special times that once seemed so lonely. It removes the sharp edge from the here and now.
Oh, there are still moments, when those little pangs of grief hit us. A sentimental Christmas movie, a beloved carol, the warm scent of favorite cookies baking, the crackle of the fireplace - all have the power to call scenes to mind that are so dear, but so painful at the same time. Those times can still be difficult, but through the mercy of God and time, we can find the joy and peace and sweetness once again.
Speaking for myself, I can say now that I never really lost those things, though I thought I did. As unexpected upwellings of joy flood my soul, and beloved carols ring in my mind, I now realize that I had just misplaced them for a while.
Merry Christmas, everyone!
What a great morning! I'm sitting here at my window, watching four fat little squirrels playing in the leaves, pausing now and then to take a nibble off a pumpkin I put out for them, or scramble around in the seeds they knocked down out of the feeder earlier. I have some old dry cereal I'll put out later, and a few shelled pecans that taste a little refrigerator-y, but the squirrels won't mind. One is a juvenile, not fully grown, and so cute. He won't be around here for long, though. He's evidently a remnant of the last litter that grew up in one of my nest boxes, and should have left for parts unknown by now. There's one grumpy female in the group that keeps running at him and chasing him away. Probably his mother, who knows it's time for him to do his own thing. Poor little guy. If his mom only knew, it would be okay for him to stay. I'll keep him fed.
At my feet is a tiny, fluffy miniature Sugarplum. Not quite as pretty as the Plum was, doesn't have the lush coat, but she is so cute. She's almost exactly half the size the Plum was, at just under four and a half pounds. She's looking pretty frazzled today, the air is dry and there's a lot of static charge in her hair, so it stands straight out at times. She's so playful and energetic, carries a toy around in her mouth most of the time, trying to persuade someone, anyone, to throw it for her. That game can continue for a very long time, if one is foolish enough to get it started.
I enjoy her the most though, when she gets tired. At those times she gets very clingy, wants to be very close to me, and will lead me to my big old chair if she can. As soon as I settle down in it, she hops into my lap, then climbs up to my shoulder and finds a comfortable spot there, settled on my chest for a nap. She'll sleep for an hour or so, then wakes and goes up on the back of the chair behind my head. She likes to lie up there and play with my hair. She'll pat her little paws around in it, or take strands of it and draw them through her teeth! Not sure what that's all about, but it's restful to me, and she enjoys it. Maltese are odd little dogs. They seem to possess a lot of feline traits, which only makes them that much more fun.
I paused for a moment and took that cereal outside. The squirrels scooted up the tree when I stepped out the door, and peered down at me from their lofty perches. As soon as I returned to my window, they were already on the ground, pushing their little noses around in the pile of cereal, selecting just the right one out of the hundreds of little O's. Then they move to one side, sit upright with tail curved over their back, and holding the bit of cereal in dexterous little paws, they nibble away. For all the time and effort it appears to require to eat one little cheerio, it would seem that squirrels, like people, are prone to make much ado about nothing.
And now the pigeons have arrived. Fortunately, there are only two, not the dozen or more that usually crash the squirrels' parties. When those winged marauders hit the scene, the groceries disappear faster than Depression glass at a garage sale. Since the squirrels outnumber them today, the pigeons are being unusually polite and non-aggressive, just picking around in the grass around the feeding station. They aren't venturing into the pile of seed and cereal that occupies the big flagstones. There is a squirrel sitting right in the middle of the stones, and if a pigeon ventures too close, he leans forward looking as menacing as a squirrel can manage to appear, and the pigeon retreats.
This balance of power is interesting. If there were more pigeons than squirrels, everything would be reversed. The pigeons would be shuffling around in the pile of feed, and the squirrels would be on the fringes, looking hopeful and trying to snatch a stray bit of something, anything. Apparently, there is strength in numbers, and in strength lies power.
There are many parallels between the animal kingdom and the human condition, and I think our newly-elected president would be very wise to study this parallel and realize that the dynamic seen here applies not only to squirrels and pigeons, but to nations as well. If he carries out his campaign threat to disarm America as an "example" to the rest of the world, he is going to learn a bitter lesson, and unfortunately, the rest of us will suffer as well. To disarm is to appear weak, and when one appears weak, whether a nation or an outnumbered pigeon, one will be attacked and dominated.
My late husband was a large and very strong man. I don't recall that he ever got into a real fight with anyone, and he once told me that he only had one actual fight, while in high school. He won, of course, and after that, no one ever challenged him. As he put it, when you look like you could win, no one ever asks you to prove it.
It seems to me that we need to continue the surge in Iraq, defeat Al-Qaeda, the Taliban, the insurgents, whoever we need to defeat in order to convince the rest of the Muslim world that they really don't want to challenge us. We need to find Bin Laden and drag his wretched carcass over here and into a courtroom to be tried for the murder of three thousand people. Then we need to put him in a prison cell and feed him nothing but beans and hamhocks for the rest of his miserable life.
Unfortunately, I doubt very seriously that Barack Hussein Obama is going to do any of those things. If he does what he said he would do, he'll pull us out of Iraq and confirm in the minds of the Muslims that we are weak and cowardly. Then he'll dismantle our nuclear armament, drastically reduce the size of our military force, and step meekly aside as the vultures come to devour our way of life.
Well, be that as it may, for this morning I'm going to sit here and laugh at the antics of the squirrel who is now INSIDE the bird feeder, sending seed showering to the stones below, where the other three, the juvenile included, are all but rolling in the bounty. For this morning anyway, life is good.
Be blessed!
This morning, I received a forward from a friend (wow, imagine that!) Thanks, Kel. It was a video of interviews conducted at a polling place during the recent election. The answers given by the folks who were interviewed were astonishing.
What came through to me loud and clear, is not that they're ignorant or stupid, but simply that they're uninformed, and to a large extent, that is not their fault. While it's true that we should all get in there and dig and make ourselves informed, not many people do. We all have our lives, our busy-ness, our personal concerns. We habitually skim the newspaper and listen to the TV or radio playing in the background, and depend on that to keep us on top of what's going on. We get our information almost by osmosis, and if only one side is being presented, that's all we hear and therefore, all we know.
Also, getting one's self informed is difficult. Where do you turn? You can't trust the papers, and most news sites on TV and radio are slanted so steeply that I'm amazed that the lobby lizards don't slide off. It does take some effort to find a news source that tells it like it is, warts and all.
Journalism in America has fallen to a pitiful low. It's slanted, biased, irresponsible and not at all trustworthy. It's time for us all to demand better performance from those charged with the awesome responsibility of keeping our citizens informed. If they can't report the truth, ALL of the truth, then they should step aside. Maybe they'll be pushed aside in time, by the bloggers, by email forwards such as this, by all the independent network of news-sharing that's developing.
Medically, quite often when a blockage in an artery begins to form, and that artery isn't doing its job of delivering oxygen-rich blood to its intended destination, collateral circulation will form. New blood vessels will begin to push their way through the tissue and bypass the poor performer. If that didn't happen, there would be many, many more heart attacks than those which do occur.
And so it may be that the day will come when newsboys will again be standing on the streets, shouting "Read all about it!" to people walking by, almost begging them to buy a newspaper, but to no avail. Instead, people will be checking their email and reading blogs, watching a select few TV networks, and newspapers will become as non-essential as butter churns and buggywhips.
This puts a big responsibility on us as private citizens, though. We must be as unbiased and responsible as we want our news media to be. No willy-nilly forwarding of things without checking their veracity first. The only reason I forwarded this is that I could see it with my own eyes. The lines of people in the background fit with the implication that it was conducted at a polling place. The folks being interviewed seemed to be genuine. Though it is always possible it could have been staged, my gut feeling is that it was not. Some of the folks appeared to be a little brighter than others, and one woman really seemed to be thinking it over, when she said, "I don't think I'll be changing my vote, though." Obviously, a chord had been struck.
The fact is, two things elected Hussein. Racism, obviously, was one. Millions voted for him, who would have done so if he had sprouted horns, simply because he's black. If it had been reversed, with Hussein being white and McCain being black, they'd have all voted for McCain - everyone knows that. However, there were other millions, black and white alike, who voted for him simply because they were poorly informed. All they heard from the MSM was "hope and change", and they drank the kool-aid.
So, Hussein rode into the White House on a tide of racism and rotten journalism. We have no one to blame but ourselves. Until we demand better from our news media, we will not get it. Dallas has only one newspaper, The Dallas Morning News. One voice, for a city the size of this. That's not right, and Dallas is not alone. Many major cities have only one big newspaper, and I think that's dangerous.
So, what are we to do? My mother used to warn me, "Don't believe anything you hear, and only half of what you see." There's a lot of truth in that. I think it could be modified to "Don't believe anything you hear or read, and only half of what you see - verify it first!" I was unable to definitely verify this video, so be aware of that. However, it fits with the results of a couple of free-lance interviews of my own - questions asked in conversation with patient aides at work and the like. What I found was that almost no one had a clue regarding the issues. Try it yourself, you'll be amazed.
Well, the election is over, Hussein is to be the president, assuming he can solve that annoying birth certificate thing, and so we have four years to get through. We will, and perhaps will emerge the stronger for it. Perhaps people will see where voting blind gets them, and will begin to demand more balanced, comprehensive journalism.
Those who know me well know that I am very particular about my car, almost to the point of being neurotic. It's four years old, and it looks like a brand-new car, because I'm extremely careful about where I park it. I refuse to park where someone else is likely to hit my car with their car's door. Those hateful little "dings" just annoy me to no end. Therefore, it is my habit to park far out on a lot, where no one should be likely to park next to me. Well, at least that's what one would think.
However, there is a glitch in the thinking process of people, a tendency that is often seen and recognized in the animal world, but goes largely unnoticed in humans. That is not to say it doesn't exist, it just isn't recognized as such. I call it the "flocking syndrome". Most people just simply cannot bring themselves to park apart from the crowd. They absolutely have to join the flock, just like sheep.
Think about it. You're driving around a parking lot, and some woman, driving a car as big as your first house, is just ahead of you. Spotting a space between two cars, one that would barely hold a coaster wagon, that woman will spend five minutes jockeying back and forth, trying to insert her big old car into that narrow space. Never mind that the lot is designed to hold five thousand cars, and there are only a few hundred there at the time, so there is ample space to park, quickly and without difficulty, if one is willing to walk a few steps.
By the way, I'm using a female example here, because women seem to be more deeply ingrained with the flocking syndrome than men. Men have it, but they're inclined to park next to the last car on the line - still close and in the flock, but they're willing to be the outermost bird on the wire. Women will always choose a space deep within the flock if at all possible.
Now mind you, I have been studying this phenomenon for some time now, and it is eternally interesting to me. So, while the woman is sawing back and forth, I drive my undented car about thirty yards out onto the lot, well beyond the last cars, park in the wide open spaces and walk back to the scene of the action. Usually, if I'm in a lot where the store has baskets, I pull one out of a corral, put my purse in the child seat, and pretend to rummage in it while actually watching the little drama. If there are no baskets, I might just stand and watch!
When the woman finally manages to wedge the car in and get it stopped, the fun begins. She now has to get out of the car. This is no small task. She opens her door (ding) and usually finds she has about eighteen inches of space to squeeze herself through. This might be possible if she's eighteen, but she probably isn't, and like most mature American women, she's usually amply endowed. Getting through an eighteen-inch space might be possible, but not easy. Still, she's optimistic, and she tries. (Ding, scrape, scrape, scrape.)
I'm still standing off to the side, covertly observing, and trying to hide my laughter.
Most of the time, she manages to make it through the door, and ends up standing on the ground, with the car door still open. Her purse is inside the car, naturally, and she must retrieve it. Facing into the car, she bends over and leans in to get the purse. This maneuver means her posterior is pushing against the door, which of course is still in contact with the adjacent car. (scrape, scrape, scrrraaaatch!)
Finally, she completes her escape, steps to the side and closes her door, never once looking at the carnage she has left behind on the other person's car. Very satisfied with herself for securing a space within the flock and close to the store, she walks the few yards to the door, quite possibly to visit a spa or fitness salon where she will exercise and even walk on a treadmill, or maybe she'll just join the other mall-walkers inside and walk her daily mile or so.
Meanwhile, I go in and complete my errand, still laughing inwardly at what I have just witnessed, and return to my car. Now, this is where the comedy ceases to be funny. All too often, no matter how far out I have parked my car, I return to find that someone with a very bad case of flocking syndrome has parked right beside it. Yep, with the whole empty lot on which to park, they have chosen to park next to me, and quite closely at that. (Yes, I'm aware of the potential dangers here, and always approach the car very carefully.)
I have concluded that these are people who aren't willing to squeeze into tiny spaces like the woman described earlier, but they just can't quite make themselves park all alone, and mess up the rank-and-file order that prevails with the flock. And so, they join me, perhaps in the hope of starting a new flock. It's the only explanation I can think of. It doesn't make me happy, but it makes sense.
Now, here the comedy not only ceases to be funny, it turns to tragedy. I believe the flocking syndrome is also a possible explanation for the outcome of our recent election. I believe that many people just followed the crowd, and got caught up in the fever that was so skillfully generated by President-elect Hussein. I know, that's really his middle name, but if the Democrats could refer to President Bush as "Dubya", I think I can call Mr. O by his middle name as well.
Anyway, I'm pretty sure that a lot of people voted for him who couldn't tell you why they did. It just seemed like the thing to do, because their friends and family and neighbors were talking about him, and they didn't want to break with the flock. Many people, far too many, don't bother to investigate or study the issues, they just listen to the people around them and follow the flock. I truly believe that's what happened here. It must be so. I can't believe that anyone who actually thought things through could have still voted for the man. Who is he? Where was he really born? Do we believe him, with his agenda to complete, or his Kenyan grandmother, who has no ax to grind? Who are his friends and associates? Who was, and is, funding him? He says he didn't know about "Rev." Wright's beliefs - so is he deaf, stupid or lying? There are dozens of other questions, which I won't repeat here.
There just simply is no explanation for anyone voting for him in the face of these unanswered questions, except the flocking syndrome. That just has to be it. The "flocking syndrome" is funny when it's applied to parking cars. It's terrifying when the future of our country is hanging in the balance.
