Call Me Snake

The former “best average handball player in America” blew into town earlier this week and I got a couple of games in with him, losing the first 21-19 and taking the second by the same score. So in the second game, at least, I’m calling my performance slightly better than average, which in this case is pretty darn good.

I was "skating" home this evening, after rollerblading along Memorial Drive, trying to catch the U.S.-Portugal World Cup game. I saw a friend and a friend of his struggling with two kayaks, and I offered to take one of the boats home for him. I had never taken a kayak while I was on rollerblades before and thought it would be an interesting challenge. I should mention that he had a wheel-type carrier for the kayak that made things easier--that is until the cart tipped over. But I quickly righted the ship, so to speak, and got his kayak safely to his driveway. You never know what the day will bring, and it's always nice to try something unexpected. And something new.  

On Tuesday, our house was besieged with wasps, not of the Anglo-Saxon variety but rather insects of the Hymenoptera order. Dozens came in during the morning from points unknown, and my daughters, understandably, were freaked out by this surprising development. I got almost all of them out the window, as they seemed keen on getting outside. But the situation was worrisome enough that I arranged for a pest management expert to come by on Wedsneday morning. But by Tuesday afternoon, the wasps were gone, and I haven’t seen another one since.

I have no idea what caused the sudden invasion, nor why it ended just as suddenly. But I’m not complaining. They’re outside where they belong, and I’m locked up inside where I belong.

Yesterday, a small bluebird was in the patio outside my office, standing patiently, it seemed. I soon realized that he (or she) must have been a fledgling that had just left the nest but was not yet able to fly. Over the course of the day, the fledgling moved around a bit, eventually making its way to the driveway. As night came on, my neighbors feared that the fledgling would be eaten by one of the many cats that roamed our neighborhood, so they created a nest with straw, grass, and leaves that they mounted on a fence to provide protection against predators. But the artificial nest was left open on top, so that the bird’s parents could still feed their offspring—or help it in other ways.

When I woke up this morning the nest was gone. I assumed that my neighbors had moved it to give the young bird shelter from the heavy rains. But they had not touched it and had no idea what had become of their nest or of the little bird it contained. It simply vanished without a trace. I hope the poor fledgling is doing well but I fear the worst. And, odds are, I’ll never know what happened to it.