Dead Terrorist, Dead Bird

I'm relieved that bin Laden is dead. We're safer in our part of the world. The international implications are still to be sorted out, but we've got a handle on ourselves. We can breathe a little easier.

It reminds me of the scene in From Russia with Love after Kerim Bey (Pedro Armendariz) kills Krilencu, the gunman that has tried to kill him, with one shot. He says to Bond, "That pays many debts." Obviously those two shots fired into bin Laden's head don't bring our fallen citizens and heroes back, but there can be a little relief within that terrible insanity wrought by those terrible men.

I don't feel like I'm making a whole lot of sense right now. Maybe first because it's 10:30 and I'm tired, but I still need to write. But most definitely because of what I saw on the gravel floor of our patio today.

Our dogs use the patio to do their business. Since there's dirt underneath, the first order of business is absorbed. The second order requires me to pick it up every few days. I didn't until yesterday and it was nearly its own field. I'm not waiting that long again.

But today, before I rolled the garbage and recycling bins to the curb, I decided to check the patio and pick up any new droppings.

I walked to the back end of the patio, and I saw a three-abreast stream of ants all over the body of a dead bird. A small bird. I don't know what kind it was. It might have been a sparrow because it was small enough. But how did it get there? Even though Tigger, our part miniature pinscher, part Italian greyhound, has the instincts for going after small animals, seeing how he plays so furiously with his toy squirrel, it wasn't him. Every morning, we hear a hawk or two in the trees nearby. Could it be that the hawk had grabbed onto this bird, done what was desired, and then dropped it on our patio? There have been instances when it has flown low enough for that.

I went back inside, taking two cans of Raid bug spray out of the cabinet below the sink. One was nearly empty, so I had to have the second. I also grabbed two plastic bags.

Back at the bird's body, I sprayed all over it and above and below it to quell the ants. Then after I sprayed enough, I fitted one plastic bag over my hand, tightened it, and then put the other over my hand, too, giving me a double shield. The most I could do for this bird was take it by the leg, hope that it didn't come off, and fling it over the right side of our patio, to hit the grass over there. It's all that could be done, and so I did.

Before that, I thought about this bird and that huge historical event. I thought about that huge crowd near the North Gate of the White House, letting those flags flutter, chanting "USA! USA!" and singing the national anthem, and here I was, looking down at this bird. Personal reflection doesn't happen often in this valley, or at least not often until you encounter this kind of situation and then you're flooded with it. In this valley, you just live. You go through day after day after day and do whatever you need to do and you move on just like that.

I thought about where the bird might have come from, what it was doing. It had to be local, since I doubt the hawk would fly all the way from Newhall to drop the body off here. I thought to myself, "All the excitement in the world today and here's this small moment, unassuming, and no one but me will ever know." Well, you know now, too, and that's fine, but I was just amazed yet again at the individual moments in the world, when we're just us, and the world is just as vast as it can get, and it comes to us in the smallest ways to remind us of what is also available here and how fragile it is.

I thought about that bird for the rest of the day. I still am. I heard more small birds chirping around the neighborhood a while after that, and I had the feeling that maybe those birds knew this one and were looking for it. I hate that, but you can't tell nature to be kind. It happens. That's just the way it is. Some things will never change.

Thanks and Goodbye, Superman.

Comic book Superman, don't bother coming back. We've got our own Supermen.

This is How I Feel.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YZdJRDpLHbw&feature=player_embedded

May 1st Already

It used to be that when I was in school, those days would start off slowly. First day of orientation for what was expected in those classes, seat assignments (if the teacher was a stickler for that kind of detail), textbooks, and then lunch which was always welcome, but it seemed funny because in those hours, we hadn't worked hard enough on anything to be relieved that lunch had come. That would happen in the subsequent weeks.

Now here I am, long out of school, and the year doesn't do the same thing anymore. Sure January 1st comes, and there are the celebrations, and those slow minutes to appreciate the time that we may have spent doing good for ourselves in the year past and hoping for even better in the year to come. But now, after January 1 comes February 12 and the day after that, March 18, and look; here we are! May 1!

I've barely thawed out from winter (Ok, it wasn't as cold here in Southern California as it had been on the east coast, but I hate it just the same), and summer's already coming? So I get a few more weeks before 100+ degrees isn't just a temperature on the oven.

And I've also got a few weeks now, just this month really, before the County of Los Angeles's transfer of the Santa Clarita libraries to the City of Santa Clarita begins with the libraries closing for nearly all of June. With that facing me, I haven't even begun to work as hard on my research as I should now, in order to make sure I cover the major books before I have to return everything, including Joseph Ellis's book on George Washington, and American Lion, about Andrew Jackson.

Well, I've got to get back to work. Hanukkah presents later today, and then I've got to express my annoyance that the neighbors haven't figured out something else to put up for Christmas besides the reindeer that keeps turning its head.

Here's a Pinch

Among the many things gotten at Ralphs today, I decided to try those Werther's Original hard candies again. Nothing genuinely harmful to a diet, and I wanted to see if my tastes have changed in the many years since I had them. I didn't like them so much back then.

The copy on the back of the bag says that the creator of the candy, Gustav Nebel, "used the best ingredients--real butter, fresh cream, white and brown sugars, a pinch of salt, and a lot of time..."

According to the "Nutrition Facts", there's 45 mg of sodium in three pieces. So 45 divided by 3, and it's determined that a pinch of salt is 15 mg. For the pedant, calling it "15 mg of salt" may suffice. I'll stick with "pinch."

What a Great Name!

I finished reading a short biography of Jimmy Carter by Julian E. Zelizer, part of the "American Presidents" series published by Times Books, an offshoot of Henry Holt and Company, and I've moved on to Grover Cleveland by Henry F. Graff. It's likely that all you might know about Cleveland is that he was the only president to serve two non-consecutive terms, as our 22nd and 24th president.

After I transcribe what I need from each book in this series of books (and so far, I'm on the third book, though not in any particular order), I find the "selected bibliography" to be incredibly valuable. I open up a new Word file and save it as, say, "Jimmy Carter - Books" and enter into it whatever books the author used to write that book, those books that would be useful to me. I could use Amazon for the same purpose, but it's better for me this way to get a sense of the books that authors relied on, and also I don't always have to scroll through personally uncharted territory.

Instead of waiting until I'm done with this Grover Cleveland biography to make the "Grover Cleveland - Books" file, I decided to do it now since there's not a lot of books in the "selected bibliography" section, being that Cleveland wasn't as widely written about as, say, Lincoln or Kennedy or Clinton. There's another book titled Grover Cleveland that was published in 1968, and I love the name of the author: Rexford Guy Tugwell. It should be the name of a character in some whimsical novel.

Shoddy Music Choices at Westminster Abbey

I get that "God Save the Queen" is reserved for Queen Elizabeth II. Fine. But I'm disappointed that when Elton John walked into Westminster Abbey, the musicians didn't start playing "The Bitch is Back." There are some moments when decorum should be chucked temporarily, and that was one of them.

Oh, and Prince William for King. Not Charles. Yay.