Now that I’m allowed to answer prompts again for the past two days, WordPress had better be ready for me. I’m not actually going to answer this prompt, but I feel like the choice of words is incorrect. Well, that wouldn’t be the first time for WordPress, am I right?
I agree, Idris 
Let’s talk about something else. Let’s continue the theme of helping animals. In mid-April we had a really hot spell. I had no air-conditioning installed at the time, and neither did the animals outside. Earlier in the morning, I washed up a few dishes in the sink and placed them next to the sink on a cloth. I didn’t dry them. I just sort of left them there with the drops of water surrounding them. I left the kitchen and came back a bit later only to find a tiny spider on the counter. I don’t know how many of you would have squished the spider, but as you know, I had Katherine I, the orb weaver, make her nest on my porch a few years ago, so I have developed a reverence for spiders. Well, at least a tolerance. I will not kill them if I can move them outside. And yes, I do realize some spiders are house spiders, and they will die outside. So we have a deal. As long as a house spider doesn’t get in my shower, it can live in my bathroom, but in a space where I can’t see it.
Back to the counter spider, I wondered what the spider was doing, but then I understood. It was drinking the water on the counter. It was thirsty and it was hot. So I let it drink, and I told it as long as it goes back to its house outside, I would not have to use the special cup with the lid to transport it outside. I watched it for several minutes and then I left it alone. It was fascinating. I came back later and it was gone. I did put a small piece of cat food next to it in case it wanted some food with its drink at the drive-through, but it didn’t seem to eat any.
Safe travels, my tiny friend.
Even insects deserve mercy, a safe home, and not to be uprooted from all that they know.
*Except the tiny ants who are found in your kitchen by the thousands and are trying to eat one grain of sugar. I cannot rescue these individuals.*
This is Ma’am. She frequently does performative art. I’ve been feeding this squirrel for at least four years. Around Thanksgiving, she showed up with two huge masses on her face. She couldn’t eat, but she tried. I didn’t know what to do, but I knew she would die if I didn’t try to help her. I searched the internet for help and found a wildlife rehab nearby. The woman there told me to get the squirrel into a cat carrier and bring her over to her house via car.
I had the cat carrier, but I didn’t have much conviction that this would work. But I didn’t have time to think about how it would fail. I got the carrier out, put it on the porch and loaded it up with peanuts and blueberries. By this time, the squirrel had gone home and I waited on the porch to see if she would return. It was a matter of life or death. I’m not being dramatic – it really was. She came back, and got close enough to the carrier that I was able to push her in and shut the door. I called the woman and informed her that I was successful with the capture and I would be at her house within 20 minutes.
I expected the squirrel to get loose in my car and envisioned a horrific scene of torn upholstery, and a screaming driver with a squirrel on top of her head, but the squirrel was so good. She didn’t let out a peep and enjoyed the ride.
We got to the woman’s house, which is where she runs the rehab for wild animals, and I gave her my friend Ma’am.
I called the next day and inquired about my squirrel‘s face. Apparently, she had two pockets of infection. One had popped with some antibiotic treatment, but the other one needed more time. Ma’am was there nearly a month. I called every day, wanting to know how she was and if she could come home yet.
The woman was astonished that I would want to bring her home because usually people drop off wildlife and the woman releases them into the woods behind her house. But that’s not how I work. The squirrel lives here. She has a nest and a family and friends and a life here.
Remarkably, she got better. She never stopped growling at the woman who was helping her, but she became well enough to be released back to me. I was thrilled. I drove over to pick her up sometime around Christmas. She was quiet all the way home. I let her out of the box on the porch, where she usually eats, and she needed a few days to familiarize herself with her homebase. She came back in a few days, hungry and looking for snacks. I was worried she wouldn’t be as tame with me or as friendly, but I was worried for nothing. But I also didn’t want her to be as tame with me, I wanted her to have natural instincts to stay away from humans and to keep her wits about her out in the wild. 
As I compose this, it is May 9th, and I haven’t seen Ma’am in a few days, but that doesn’t really mean anything. A few times I haven’t seen her for a couple of weeks and she shows up unannounced. But once she’s here, everyone else must leave. She won’t have it any other way. (I have never seen an animal – besides my own cat, Susie – with such a will to live. I’m not sure what power charges that squirrel to keep living, but for Susie, I know it is love.)
Her face has healed up quite a bit since she got home, and although it may never be perfect, I tried my best to help an animal who badly needed it. I don’t regret anything, and I would do it all over again, even if the squirrel didn’t live.
Oh, there is a slight debate going on about whether the squirrel is a male or a female, although I’m almost 100% positive she’s a girl. I do know the squirrel growls at everyone and anything except me. She will fight off three other squirrels while she is eating walnuts (this is how a squirrel ends up with two pockets of infection on her face…). And I could swear I’ve seen her in previous summers with babies, but just in case, her name is Ma’am/Mr. Ma’am. It’s not important to me if the squirrel is a boy or a girl. What is important to me is that I help the helpless. I had to do it. She sought me out for help, and I couldn’t say no. I wouldn’t say no. So I said yes, and now I frequently have performative art on my front porch, which does include a sploot or two. May we all find kindness when we desperately need it. May we all be kindness when others need it. May we take refuge in the solace of nature when everything feels heavy and impossible. The animals are worth it. And the trees are worth it too, but that’s another post.
Ma’am under the cherry treeAlmonds are hard. 1/10. Splootin’ on a hot day Living her best life
I mentioned in a post kind of recently – recently being relative – that I have a story I want to post about an ongoing project/adventure. This photo is a sneak peek (or should I say peak snack?) of that story,
I posted this reel on Instagram right after Rafa lost his match in the Davis Cup, which was essentially his last professional match and was also his moment of retirement.
I downloaded the reel, but the music wasn’t available to download so it’s silent. Sing along to whatever tune you choose.
Yes, I know a photo appears twice. I was editing quickly and missed it.
The on-court photos that appear to have been taken by amateurs have been taken by amateurs. Namely, me. The on-court photos with Rafa and Feli López wearing blue shirts and white baseball caps were not taken by me, but were taken by someone who was sitting to my left. That person also appears in this video posing with Rafa in a conference room I reserved. I snapped that photo during the second interview with Rafa which I have not mentioned until this day. You’ll see me kneeling down with my elbows on the table. No, I was not angry. I was very tired.
The closing goodbye you’ll see at the end of this video, as well as a similar variation in the previous video, is paraphrased from something Rafa signed for me all those years ago. I will never forget it.
¡Vamos, Rafa! Por siempre.
I have about a thousand photos, but obviously they wouldn’t fit here
Hey everyone! Popping in to share an update on that baby bird I found this past summer. As far as life goes, it’s been hectic. My new job is intense, the people are great and I love it. I have had no desire to write a single word, but I am enjoying this nice weather and all of the animals that visit every day.
I hope you all are doing well and I also hope to get bit by the writing bug again soon. Probably when things settle down a little bit (see what I did there?) at work. Until then, please enjoy the reappearance of Little Bit (and her friend, Plus One)! Apologies for the darkness of the video – it was hastily recorded through my window. Miss you guys! 🫶🏻
Facebook showed me this memory this morning. I didn’t realize I had such an impressive photo of Katherine and her web. (I don’t think I do have it, but I saved the photo from Facebook.)
I’ve made two other posts on this impressive and fascinating orb weaver spider who lived her life on my front porch several years ago. If you look closely, you can see the size of the web and the intricacy and precision in the details. Note: the entire web is not in the photo because it wouldn’t fit. 🕸️
Recently, Facebook reminded me of a post I made in 2014. I copied that post and saved the accompanying photo I captured out of the window of my car, and planned on publishing what I wrote and the photograph as a sort of stroll down memory lane. But I realized I didn’t have much of a memory lane to scroll down, so that led me to the Internet. With what I remembered of the house, I did a search and found a Facebook account (credit to Facebook account Abandoned Steve, and photos will be credited to their owners) and a YouTube channel featuring abandoned mansions and properties in Pennsylvania (again, all credit to Abandoned Steve). I found the house which I had always called “My House,” because as a small child, barely able to see above the door and out of the window, and down the long driveway to the terra-cotta roof tiles, I always wanted to live there. And by live there, I mean I wanted to purchase the house when I was a grown-up. My mom told me stories of “The Doctor’s Mansion,” and I had all but forgotten most of the details, which weren’t very many to begin with. I found out today it was called Bella Vista by the surgeon who owned it and helped build it. Yes, a surgeon at a local hospital was also the general contractor on the project. Can you imagine how that went? More on him later. He was quite something, in a good way.
I am still going to post my original Facebook memory about this house, but I am going to post the beginnings of the house before I post the end. I sadly still don’t have too much information, but I am still doing research and if I come up empty-handed, I’ll employ my writer’s mind to add details. Do stay tuned for this post, but please be patient as I still have to do research on the house, and my new job training continues to be my number one priority. And also my number one vehicle to exhaustion.
When that Facebook memory popped up, a small spark that had temporarily been snuffed out by new work obligations, training and an exhausted mind and body, to be quite frank, was lit again. My muse this time is a small child’s long-ago memory that I can bring back to life. I am old enough, my creative mind now developed enough to put the awe I felt into words. I can now hear the parties held at the mansion: live music, clinking glasses and uproarious laughter amid extended family and friends on sixteen acres of a beautiful view.
I just posted this on Instagram and I thought maybe you all would like to know I chased this brand new to me butterfly around and captured this excellent footage. Somebody’s gotta do the hard work down in the trenches. 😉
My first sighting ever of a gray hairstreak butterfly 
I posted this yesterday on Instagram. Unfortunately, there’s some type of copyright on the song I used, so the video downloaded without music. I will put the link to the video below. The song is Teenage Dirtbag by Wheatus, which is fitting and really added to the original video, which you can check out on my Instagram page.
“It's Amy,” I said. 