Balmy weather returned once again today and I admit to reveling in it. It’s amazing what an additional ten degrees can do to turn a chilly day into one that rivals perfection. And to top it off, I even encountered a turkey ‘crossing the road’ on Route 202 right in front of me. Given that she made it across four lanes of traffic and a concrete median unscathed, I’d give the day a solid 10 out of 10 on the Auspicious Scale.
The appearance of Turkey (capitalized because I am referencing it as an archetype, not just a single bird that happened to be crossing the road) tends to signify a gift or the act of giving to others selflessly (sometimes even of one’s self). Naturally, Karl and I felt especially lucky to have encountered a wild turkey hen in Doylestown of all places (including a gobbling commentary) as she trotted across the median and into oncoming lanes of traffic. Thankfully, she managed to get to the other side of those lanes of traffic before any too aggressively approached her.
I just wish you could hear the audio on the photo I’ve posted, above. It almost sounds like she’s talking to herself. She’s not engaging in indignant gobblings. It actually sounds more like she’s just mumbling to herself. Probably providing a commentary on stupid human drivers.
Even Fit In a Walk
We also managed to fit in a walk after our auspicious Turkey encounter. I’m pretty sure the stunning beauty of the evening was a big part of the ‘gift’ that this particular turkey was announcing in our lives.
I’m trying to figure out how to do justice to the pitched excitement of witnessing a battle between Crow nations that unfolded before our eyes on our walk this evening.
The photos just don’t do it justice.
So I’m going to end this post tonight with the gift of the sunset that graced us just as the policeman who investigated our smashed mailbox pulled up to us.
I baked a cake today and I’m brimming with frustration. For the life of me, I don’t know why it turned into this monstrosity resembling a chocolate milk-colored lava flow slowly inundating a toppled pile of walnuts.
I know why it looks like a toppled pile of walnuts, though. Because each layer of the cake resisted removal from its pan, that’s why. One layer left a strip of itself along the edge in the pan. I retrieved it. But did it want to rehabilitate itself back into the society of the rest of the cake? No, it did not.
Another layer left a chunk of its very center in the pan. It was fully cooked. Don’t fall for that play for sympathy. You know: “Oh, I wasn’t ready to come out of the oven yet! It wasn’t time for my debut and she forced me on stage without reading me my lines!”
No. That’s baloney. It was time.
And then there was the third layer. Or I should say the first layer, for it was the one I placed at the bottom, giving it the responsibility of being the foundation upon which the integrity of the entire confection rested. Well, that trust was certainly misplaced. While it could be noted that this particular layer perhaps did not leave as much of itself in the pan initially, it more than failed to meet its pathetic attempt at mediocrity by just leaning over and succumbing to the weight of its self-loathing.
Then Came the Icing
Was it something in the air? Was it a sign from above that it’s time to dramatically cut back on the sugar intake, Lisa?
I don’t know what it was, but to add insult to injury, the icing was simply a mess. It never got firm. It’s not firm now and it’s been in the refrigerator since late this afternoon. And while the icing tastes ok…it is not the near mouth-gasm I know this recipe is capable of creating.
Something’s off about it and – just as I have no clue what the hell happened to the cake, I am equally flummoxed by the implosion of the icing.
With respect to integrity of the ingredients, there is the possibility that this effort went to hell in a hand-basket because I allowed the butter, which I’d placed on top of the stove to soften – just two simple sticks of butter still wrapped in their paper cloaks, hanging out on the oven while it warmed up – to sort of melt.
In my defense, I got sidetracked by a visitor – and forgot what I was doing, as we chatted outside in the sunshine while maintaining appropriate social distancing. Nevertheless, Karl made a valiant attempt to salvage the effort by sort of scooping them up onto a plate. They struggled to maintain their structural integrity, but only superficially succeeded. I do think the partial melting may have contributed to the creation of lava.
Other Variables
Beyond these slight snafus, other variables did come into play. I attempted to use my mother-in-law’s vintage standing mixer from the ‘50s. Mind you, I’ve never used one of these ever in my life – always having been a hand-held mixer girl up to this point.
Well, because I burned out my hand-held over Christmas and had to buy a crappy 3 speed whose fastest speed barely musters enough power to beat an egg, I thought I’d give the standing mixer a try. The indicator on the side of the contraption hinted at lightning speeds achievable. I dreamed of whipping all the ingredients into a quivering frenzy.
Dormeyer Standing Mixer – Photo: L. Weikel
Yeah, well, I guess it worked. Technically at least, I guess it did what stand-ups do? But I did not have the control I craved (and have always wielded) while using a hand-held. Call me crazy, but it felt like a variable that may have influenced the final outcome. It just didn’t feel…right.
Another factor – at least in the failed creation of the layers of walnut torte – was a potential aging or impotence factor in the baking powder I used. Frankly, I sense that blaming the baking powder is less than optimum and definitely doubtful – although my recent attempt to make Carol’s Chocolate Cake resulted in a density to the cake that also was unnerving. Where oh where was the light and airy fluffiness of my cakes? Am I losing my touch?
A Bummer
I just don’t know. But having one’s ‘face fixed’ for exquisite confections only to have them turn out not only to look like natural disasters but also taste just ‘OK’ – when they should, by all rights, send one’s mouth and senses into ecstatic overload – is, in a word, inauspicious – especially if considered to be a harbinger of the year to come. In another word: a BUMMER.
Finally, as the accompanying photo shows, I am capable of baking this cake like a champ. Not this year, though. Nope. <<sigh>> Maybe next time.
A Better Rendition of Aunt Grace’s Cake – Photo: L. Weikel
It’s almost midnight and the towering pine trees across the road from our front door are leaning away from the surging wind, bending and hoping they can withstand the relentless onslaught coming at them from the west. If I didn’t know better, the sound of the wind punishing those trees make me think of angry surf pounding the beach during a Nor’easter.
We already lost our electricity once this evening. I’m grateful it was restored within fifteen minutes. We’re lucky; I know. As I listen to our windows rattle and the air bombarding us literally causing a “Wooooon-oooo” that sounds like a stereotypical ghost, I just hope the trees in our area can stand firm.
Our walk this afternoon revealed lots of broken limbs shattered on the roadway. Probably not unrelated, we also found at least three different chunks of plastic trim from automobiles near these smashed branches. I’m not sure if they were there last night when we walked. It was too dark for us to notice. But it’s a fact that we scour our roadways daily, so I’m thinking these trees did some damage to passing vehicles yesterday.
Sky Fire Sunset 1 – Photo: L. Weikel
What a Difference a Day Makes
Just yesterday, before we took our walk, we were initiating our porch to the 2021 spring season. We knew we needed to get some porch time in as expeditiously as possible because the forecast for today was precisely how it played out: dark, wet, and dreary early, with a dramatic shift in temperature and temperament late this afternoon.
The sun and light yesterday kept shifting and changing in every moment, to the point where we were practically on sunset overload. We were so enchanted by the ‘sky fire’ that we ended up taking our walk later than usual. I was thus relegated to taking most of the photos of the sunset from our porch – all but the final shot, which I took as we walked ‘widdershins’ – counterclockwise – around our usual circuit.
Sunset Sky Fire 2 – Photo: L. Weikel
Lion or…?
March may still have an opportunity to go out like a lamb this month. We have a couple more days left for it to change its mind and tame its ways. But between trees that have been ravaged by the Emerald Ash Borer and the soft ground left even more juicy by all the rain we’ve had, I think the chances of us remaining unscathed by the temperamental attitude of this month is slim. It feels like a potential Lion in/Lion out this year. But we’ll see.
A couple weeks ago (or maybe it was only days, time’s been so skewed for me lately), I mused over the possibility of taking photos of the buds coming up out of the ground. I’m pretty sure I specifically made reference to documenting the progression of either the crocuses (croci? crocae?) or daffodils, or maybe even both.
But instead of either of these traditional harbingers of spring, I’m choosing a more unique and perhaps slightly less stereotypical spring blossom to track: Lamprocapnos spectabilis (aka Dicentra spectabilis) or Bleeding Heart.
I’ve been surprised the past couple of years by how this plant seems to almost magically appear, fully formed, overnight. I’m certain my surprise at its dramatic arrival into my awareness is a result of my lack of attention. So I’m seeking to bring more attention to my Bleeding Heart plant this year, and part of my efforts will include documenting the progression of its growth.
Learn Something New
I distinctly remember my mother introducing me to this particular flowering plant when we were weeding behind the stone farmhouse in which I grew up. The garden we had always felt so wild, planted as it was on a small hillside with old mortar and stone walls lining the perimeter. There were snakes and worms and voles and moles in that garden. Bees and salamanders. And among the flowers were the bleeding hearts.
I can’t remember the words my mother used but I can remember the awe I felt when looking at the blossoms and wondering how amazing it was that a plant could so obviously resemble a heart splitting and releasing a single drop of precious blood. It bordered on the magical that a plant could mimic something so human.
Ever since then, I’ve always associated these flowers with my mother. I don’t know why. She taught me the names of lots of things; why do these, as well as the scent of lilacs, always bring her back to me so vividly?
When looking these flowers up (so I could know their proper name), I discovered that the blossom, when turned upside down, resembles something quite different than a bleeding heart, and hence is the basis of its ‘other’ name.
While you can certainly look it up yourself, I’m going to wait until my little sprouts grow up and let them reveal their other name to us themselves.
Wow, did I manage to capture a magical photo of the almost full moon as she was rising this evening. It was still light enough out for my iPhone to be able to focus on the face of the moon and not get blown out by her brilliance.
There are a bunch of powerful, interesting aspects occurring this week astrologically, especially this weekend. We had a brief discussion about them at the beginning of our Wagon last night (Thursday night) and a fellow Traveler emailed me a link to this astrologer’s interpretation of how all of this is impacting us.
I’ve never read anything by this astrologer, Gahl Sasson, before, and I appreciate the opportunity to experience a new approach. While I’m not Jewish, I nevertheless find his perspective, which includes the Kabbalah, intriguing. Talk about an ancient tradition.
Rising Waxing Moon (closeup) – Photo: L. Weikel
The moon doesn’t actually reach ‘full’ until Sunday at 2:48 p.m., when it reaches exactly the opposite degree (in the sign of Libra) of the sun (in Aries). But I guarantee we’re all going to be feeling the effects of the unique configurations taking place in the sky all weekend and into Monday.
I feel like there are some significant cycles coming to an end – and as night follows day, some very exciting new ones beginning. Check it out.
This isn’t a post title I ever expected to write. But I’m writing it because I’m convinced that treatment with monoclonal antibodies is a therapeutic intervention that needs to be discussed here, there, and everywhere. We need to be talking about it so that when or if you or a loved one becomes infected with Covid-19, you know enough to: request this treatment.
I knew I’d heard the term and recognized monoclonal antibodies were somehow related to or a part of the treatment received by DT when he was stricken with the virus last year. But I assumed (wrongly) that this was probably wildly expensive treatment that in all probability would only be available to the privileged among us.
(Yes, Virginia, sad to say we live in a profoundly segregated country, with many layers of ‘haves’ and ‘have nots.’ And money – or the lack of it – plays a huge part in the quality of healthcare any of us receive.)
Money’s No Object
And that’s the first amazing aspect of this treatment that needs to be shouted from the rooftops. In this instance, with respect to this particular treatment, money’s no object – at least with respect to the people who fit within a very broad range of parameters. Indeed, one qualification is simply being over age 65. But there are a wide variety of conditions that also qualify a person to receive the treatment for free, even if they’re under age 65.
Even greater is the efficacy rate. Holy cow! An article published within the past couple of days in the New York Times reports on new data that reveals an astounding improvement in patient response when given this treatment within the first ten days of symptoms onset. We’re talking a 70% reduction in the need for hospitalization.
More Information
I had no idea that this therapeutic infusion treatment is so readily available to people before watching Rachel Maddow’s program tonight. I can’t provide a link to the segment now because it’s not yet on the website, but you might want to check it out tomorrow.
If you’re content to read articles, though, check out the links in this post. One (this one) details a program in El Centro, CA, where their healthcare system was on the verge of collapse in December due to so many Covid-19 patients. According to the report this evening on Maddow’s show, administration of monoclonal antibody therapy resulted in only 3% of 1250 symptomatic Covid-19 patients requiring hospitalization after receiving this treatment. That was a game changer for this community.
The trick is knowledge. Knowing it’s available. Knowing enough to ask for it.
Know What’s Out There
The main focus in this country presently is to get everyone vaccinated. We know that not everyone will choose to go that route. We also know that even though great strides are being made in getting ‘shots in arms,’ something like 50,000 people a day are still becoming infected.
I personally know of someone who lives nearby who contracted the virus three days after receiving his second vaccination. He was, luckily for him, immediate treated with monoclonal antibody therapy upon diagnosis and has pulled through remarkably well and quickly.
Knowledge is power. If you or someone you love is unlucky enough to come down with Covid-19, get on top of it. Have the information about this remarkably effective treatment at the ready so you can ask for it. And take heart – it should be free, or close to it. Depending upon your insurance coverage, there may be some charge for actually administering the infusion. But no matter what, it’s better than hospitalization. And it’s a damn sight better than a ventilator – or death.
I recently had a chance to spend some time near a tributary to Lake Nockamixon, and – shock of all shocks – it wasn’t my favorite creek in the whole world, the Tohickon. I forget the name of the one I visited, and I apologize for not researching it before settling in to write this post. Despite not knowing its name, however – I do want to pay homage to its soothing, rippling presence and spark to my imagination.
Even though the photos I’m including in this post aren’t capable of conveying the ‘live’ feature that I so enjoy on my iPhone photos, I hope you can sense the gentle rolling waves (if you can even call them waves) that I saw. They were so mellow, they created no sound as they rolled to shore.
Perhaps it was the reflection of the blue sky on the surface of the dark water; I don’t know. It just felt…different.
Photo: L. Weikel
A Magical Tree
There was a tree nearby that seemingly grew out of the water – yet also seemed to be hovering above the rolling undulations of the lake. Long, sinewy roots grew parallel to the water’s surface, yet were protected by the grass above them. Darkness was the only thing visible between the roots and my imagination conjured turtles, snakes, and perhaps even an errant duck’s nest.
But in the crook of the tree was a dimple that called to me. It looked like a perfect potential portal – an opening that could be a viable entry point into another realm of reality. (You never know until you try.)
For whatever reason, the placement of this tree on land coupled with its hovering relationship to the water beneath it beckoned even more seductively than many other potential portals I’ve noticed recently. I’ve not yet had a chance to give it a try and see if it takes me somewhere…fecund.
Journeying
Of course, when I talk of portals and traveling to other realms of reality, I’m speaking of the practice of shamanic journeying. If you’ve ever journeyed and would like to become more disciplined, join me – and kindred spirits – and hop on a ‘Wagon’ in my Shamanic Caravan.
Oh my goodness, I was visited or buzzed by, or simply graced with a sighting of, so many different creatures today! Some days I find myself wondering how I could possibly be so lucky as to live where I come into contact with these wild beings every single day. Today – well, today I just received gifts galore.
There were the usual suspects: squirrels (am I really counting them as gifts? Hmmm), cardinals, wrens, sparrows, mourning doves, chickadees, and nuthatches.
But then I took a walk with a friend and – weren’t we not only buzzed by a hawk, which clearly was a Red-tail, but must have been a juvenile because its red tail feathers were not red when viewed from underneath. And this raptor definitely flew directly above us.
They then called in their friends because within a few moments, we were graced with at least five hawks and a couple of peace eagles (vultures) to boot.
Circled directly overhead several times – Photo: L. Weikel
A Murder, Too
A true murder of crows (there had to have been at least a dozen) flew overhead at one point, and several took up a variety of perspectives from nearby trees and simply hurled epithets at us. Perhaps they were loving messages, I suppose. It’s hard to tell sometimes when a crow groks at you.
Shortly thereafter, I was driving home and what did I see in the field beside road? Only a bazillion turkeys. Such a gift! Indeed, as I stated at the beginning of this short post, today I was showered with gifts galore.
Spring Cleaning. What a trite title for a post. But there you have it; a comprehensive recitation of the focus of my day. Perhaps it’s because we’re marking the completion of an entire year of spending 99.98% of our time in and around our home, but the urge to engage in spring cleaning this year is both palpable and urgent.
I’ve toyed with asking a dear friend of mine who is particularly skilled (read: ruthless) at this art to come over and help me purge, but the risk of contracting Covid is still too great.
One of the hardest things about this whole process is that I’m not a shopper. So-called ‘retail therapy’ is not a thing with me. I actually loathe strongly dislike having to go to the store and buy stuff. And before you even think it, let me assure you: I hate the idea of shopping online even more. YUCK.
Aversion
The reason I’m mentioning this aversion to shopping, though, is because I (and by extension Karl and I) tend to buy solid, good quality stuff. The good part about this is that most of what we buy lasts a long time. In fact, it’s easy for us to lose track of time because our possessions tend to last a long time and we lose track of time.
The downside, of course, is that we don’t like to get rid of things when they still have life in them. Alternatively, and I know I speak mostly for myself here as opposed to Karl, I also worry that I’ll give away something of value. And before you judge me as a greedy toad, I want to clarify that the greatest value I worry about squandering is the sentimental or ancestral value.
Why, I ask myself, do I not simply embrace the flow that I know is healthy and allow others to make use of that which sits dormant here in our home? Almost all versions of stuff can be replaced. Am I really thinking I will need all the pie plates I’ve accumulated over the years (because I couldn’t bear to throw out my mother’s or my aunt’s pie plates, even though I had some of my own)?
This question becomes even more penetratingly uncomfortable when I admit to myself that I’ve not baked a homemade pie in probably 20 years. Yeah. That inner admission hurts. And oddly makes me sad.
Fungible Goods?
The greatest exception to the perspective regarding the replaceable nature of things is stuff that our ancestors sat at, worked on, used their wedding money to purchase, or always took out at Christmas/Thanksgiving/birthdays, etc. Aaaarggh! The emotional tug is strong.
And I guess the reason for that is because society is disposable. And I can’t help but feel that the cavalier manner in which so much of what we use in our lives is tossed out (often on a whim or just because of wanting something new) is a reflection on how we feel about everything in life.
Yikes. I’m getting maudlin.
I guess I’ll end this here for tonight. Phew. I was going down a rabbit hole for sure.
There were a lot of creatures on the move today. From two leggeds to four leggeds to winged ones, movement was the name of the game.
For the first time in several days, I heard the distinctive call of the Red-shouldered Hawk again today. I’m pretty sure at least one pair made their nest directly across the road from us. Probably because the missus wanted to be near the raptor equivalent of Friendly’s (aka our bird feeders). Nevertheless, it was good to hear it again and know that they are staying close.
I was also excited to hear the calls of a couple fish crows today, too. I wonder if each week we’ll be welcoming another returning champion back into the fold.
Walk-about
Because we couldn’t allow today’s perfect weather to be enjoyed on a simple walk-around, we took the long way, a walk-about. I should’ve kept track of how many fields of deer we encountered along the way. It’s funny – they’re almost as common as sparrows anymore. It’s kind of surprising to think that a field full of deer doesn’t even merit a photo. I guess I didn’t even try to take photos when we encountered fields of 8 – 15 – 30 deer because they I simply couldn’t capture them from a perspective that did them justice.
But I did manage to sneak a photo of one lone doe as she tried her very best to blend into her background. I could almost hear her in my head, “You don’t see me; you don’t see me.”
They Can’t See Me, They Can’t See Me – Photo: L. Weikel
Winning the Prize
But the species that wins the prize for most raucous and greatest number of participants this weekend definitely goes to the Canadian Geese as they played their classic hit, ‘flying due North in huge flocks,’ a perennial favorite.
The geese flying North today were outrageously vocal and seemed to be flying in shifts. They kept coming, wave after wave of honking hollerers. By the time our entire walk-about was complete, we’d seen hundreds and hundreds of geese overhead.
They were fairly high, so I felt a similar trepidation in attempting to capture the beauty (and magnitude) of their flight as I did the herds of deer. But the photo I managed that includes the quarter square (half) moon felt worth the effort.
My movement tomorrow is going to consist of engaging in some serious clutter clearing. It’s time to get the energy flowing. The movement of all the critters has inspired me!
