Messes

Lately, I've been gathering more and more evidence that seems to suggest that life is really just a series of messes. Some of these messes are the result of copious amounts of fun-- the kind of mess you don't actually mind cleaning up because you're still smiling and perhaps you're even still in good company. Some messes are sort of inevitable-- a part of life to which you can't quite object, like the baby spit-up I intermittently sport on my shirt (and jeans, and tote bag, and, etc). Other messes are infuriating because they are the result of flat-out defiance, a la the toddler tantrum-induced cup of milk on the kitchen floor. And then, there's this:



Bird seed. It's scattered around our back deck. I suppose I was asking for it when we hung a bird feeder over the deck, but in my defense let me say that I wanted the feeder to hang outside a window we would pass by frequently so that we could actually see the birds. Come on, birds! At least one of you could swoop down peck at the deck so I don't have to track bird seed all over town every time I walk outside. Ah, never mind. We our really enjoying the birds for now. (Now there is a sentence I never thought I'd write! I've never been a bird-watcher.) We've been seeing a pair of Steller's Jays every day and they're quite striking. Everyone thinks so, including this guy:



Be vigilant, birds. Meet Spyder (our pseudo-pet cat who apparently belongs to the family across the street-- along with his kitty sister Gypsy and two dogs who bark like maniacs at anyone who dares to use the sidewalk in front of their house). He is watching.