sharpchick_2011: (Smite)
Seems the golfers and socker moms couldn't handle the flocks of Canada geese that made Burns Park their home for the last several years. They don't like bird poop.

So the North Little Rock City Council decided to waive that pesky no-discharging-firearms-in-the-city-limits ordinance and set a slaughter party for local hunters from December 20-22.

Uh oh.

Seems there were quite a few more folks who thought that was a bad idea. (Count me in.)

Some of those opposed set up a Facebook page.

Others - a whole bunch of them - wrote in, protesting the kill as inhumane. We are having a hard time seeing the horror in wildlife being attracted to a city park.

So North Little Rock Mayor Patrick Hays had a little change of heart. Last night, the City Council voted to "discuss alternatives to the hunt."
One of those alternatives could be the one chosen by the City of Little Rock to deal the flocks of geese at Rebsamen Park.

They use a herding dog, and report that it's quite effective.

So get this. Mayor Hays' City Parks Director says that's too expensive.

From the pages of Arkansas' only daily statewide newspaper today:
Having a dog at Burns Park would cost $3,000 to $6,000 a month.

Really?!? Do tell...

I have never, ever - regardless of breed - had a dog that cost me that much money.

North Little Rock has its own animal shelter - at Burns Park.

You do the math.

And the residents of North Little Rock ought to ask the Mayor and his erstwhile City Parks Director to do the same.
The journey is good.

But this irksome government math isn't.

Namaste.
sharpchick_2011: (Moon)
I was afraid after our awful heat and drought they would poop out and just drop their leaves.

But no - they put on a brief, but glorious display.

We had a thunderstorm the other night and pretty impressive winds.

The ones in the west garden were sheltered from the storm by the lattice.

And how wonderful they are...

Photobucket

Photobucket


In a brief spot of sunshine today...
Photobucket
sharpchick_2011: (Cat with lime)
Even though I have handy-dandy Bic lighters all over the place, there are some things for which you just need a kitchen match.

I use Diamond "strike on box" wooden kitchen matches, and a box of 300 lasts me a while.

So when I opened up my new package (of 2 boxes) a few minutes ago, I noticed that the cover on these was different than the last box.

Photobucket

You can't see it real well in this photo, but the little tiny writing underneath the greenlight logo just tears me up...

Sourced from Responsible Forests

Really?

Do tell...

All this time, I have been under the apparent mis-impression that it was us humans fucking up the ecological equilibrium.

And instead, it was those damned irresponsible forests...
Somehow, I think there will be some karmic consequences for that little ditty.

And I will laugh my ass off.

From where ever I am.
sharpchick_2011: (Default)
Photobucket
Garvan Woodland Gardens, Hot Springs, Garland Co., AR October 2008



Shadow Shot Sunday is a blogging theme hosted by Hey Harriet. Take a look at her blog for other shadowy photos.
sharpchick_2011: (Cat with lime)
Hot. Fucking hot.

I don't care which town it is - it's just hot.

I can tell by the birds hanging out in the trees in the garden when the birdbaths are empty.

I'm filling them once a day during the work week, and at least twice on the weekends.

The birds thank me with song. As soon as the front door hits me in the ass, they are all over them, splashing away. (I have one on a pedestal and one on the ground...the mourning doves looked so exposed and uncomfortable perching on the elevated bowl, I gave them their own. Now the male cardinals like it, too.)

And every day or so, I stand with the nozzle for the garden hose set to that misty setting, and in about two or three minutes, the hummingbirds take me up on the offer - zipping in and out of the spray, not fighting at all.
Special delivery from the United States Post Office took on new meaning yesterday.

I had been expecting my $100 worth of DVDs from Amazon, coming priority mail.

Seasons 2 and 3 of the X Files and The Tudors.

Was glancing out of the living room window at my next door neighbor's grandkids playing in the sprinkler shortly after noon when something whizzed by the window, airborne.

Landed with a thump on the porch.

I opened the door and saw the box.

And the quickly retreating ass of my substitute mail carrier.

I'm all for economy of effort - especially in the heat - but we don't need to be hurling mah movies at mah cottage.

Postmistress and I will conference tomorrow morning.
*Do not* want to return to the office tomorrow.

But the madness at the Arkansas State Hospital continues, so I must.
The journey is good.

Namaste.
sharpchick_2011: (Troll)
Work, work, work...

I said I was not going to do office work this weekend.

Thursday, I emailed a video clip of some nastiness at the Arkansas State Hospital to the feds so they would have it for their upcoming visit on Monday.

While I was also converting incident reports for emailing to them.

And burning documents to CDs to take to a hearing to which I have been subpoenaed - on ASH.

They replied to say they had gotten the email, but their server had stripped the attachment, so could I just burn them a copy of the DVD and run out and overnight it to them?

Pissed me right off, they did. So I let them know by reply email.

That I am not their secretary and errand chick. And that I can give the surveyors the DVDs when they get here on Monday, because we ALL - ASH and I - know they will be here on Monday. It's not a secret, as much as they would like to think it is.

So now, I'll be delivering said DVDs to their hotel - tonight when they get here.

Shit. And all six other words George Carlin said you can't say on TV...
Got up to relentless heat yesterday morning - was already almost 80 degrees and very humid when I began my chores.

Along about 10 a.m., sweating like a fiend, I noticed the Sharpchick mobile had a flat on the right rear tire sitting in my driveway.

More Carlin words.

Called my handy-dandy roadside assistance folks to send someone to change the flat.

Naturally, he got lost.

And naturally, he was one of those guys who think women can't give directions.

I finally said, young man, I know where I am - you don't. This will be a whole lot easier for both of us if you will shut up and listen to me.

When he got here, he exclaimed over my essentially brand new tires and wondered how the tire went flat. Looked at me as if he expected an answer.

I suggested he change the damned thing, let me sign the invoice so he can get paid, and be done with it. My tire guys will tell me tomorrow how it came to go flat.

And look! he exclaimed. You have a real spare, not a donut...so I don't have to tell you not to drive more than 45 miles an hour.

Okay...I don't do donuts, thankyouverymuch.

And you don't have to tell me how fast to drive...
Did some major rearranging around the cottage - mostly of the piles of genealogy stuff...threw out a lot of paper because I found I had already scanned and transcribed it.

Lately, I look at the family history papers with an eye about how my son will look at them when I'm gone.

I think he'll be a whole lot more likely to hang on to the flashdrives than boxes and cartons of reams of paper.
About 7 p.m., all the windchimes in the garden began jangling.

I looked out the window. It was dark.

The patio umbrella and American flag were threatening to go airborne.

Ditto chair cushions on the front deck.

I raced outside, collapsing and securing said umbrella, and gathering chair cushions...stowed them in the cottage and went back for the flag.

Had just taken the flag off the mount when the most spectacular bolt of cloud-to-ground lightning I've seen in a while zapped close enough to me to feel it in my fillings.

I stood there amazed for a few moments.

Until I realized I was clutching a five foot metal flagpole.
The journey is good.

And you get a few more miles of it if you don't tempt Nature...

Namaste.
sharpchick_2011: (Cat with lime)
Overheard in the Barnes and Noble cafe yesterday afternoon...a wedding planner explaining to the bride that the wedding planner needs to have a seat at the $85 per plate dinner reception because of her "blood sugar issues."

I wanted to get the little fresh-faced bride aside and tell her to run like her hair was on fire...


My rain gauge had 3.6 inches in it when I dumped it earlier this morning.

We had a couple of really strong thunderstorms roar through last night and were under flash flood warnings.

The garden needed the rain.

The goldfish in the garden pond were glad to see me with their food this morning, and one did a few interesting flips and twists to get over to me.

Goldfish are like puppies with fins.


To shake off the horror that remains at the Arkansas State Hospital - yes, still - I've been spending as much time in the garden on the weekends as I can.

While I'm there, I've read three good books. All fiction.

The Best of Times, by Penny Vincenzi. Imagine a multiple car pile-up on a busy British highway, and the effect it has on the lives of not only the people involved in the wreck, but also the witnesses.

Le Mariage, by Diane Johnson. The difference in expectations of marriage across cultures - France and America - and whether it's really until death, or prison, do you part.

The Weight of Water, by Anita Shreve. I've read some of her other work, but had missed this one, published in 1997, which uses a true account of a century old murder mystery in New England to show just how far a woman can be pushed until she snaps.

Next up is daughters-in-law by Joanna Trollope. I'll probably start it inside the cottage, curled up on the couch.

Looks like more rain.


The journey is good.

Namaste.
sharpchick_2011: (Troll)
Have been coming home each evening to find both hummingbird feeders empty.

These are 16 ounce feeders.

I kept looking for the legions of hummingbirds, and not seeing them.

This afternoon I arrived at the cottage earlier than usual, and found out who was *really* swilling down all that nectar.

Squirrels.

Most likely young ones who are only about 6 to 8 weeks old.


So I rearranged the way I was hanging the feeders. Instead of on the deck rails, which made such a handy perch for the little shit I saw guzzling as I drove up, I moved the feeders to free-standing shepherd's hooks in the garden and moved the hanging plants there to the shepherd's hooks mounted on the deck rails.

And generously greased the poles with vaseline.

I hope the mama and daddy squirrels have fits with the juniors all hopped up on sugar water tonight...

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