DON'T FORGET TO VOTE!

I have been having a whole lot of problems with the book now due at my publisher December 1. I have fought and struggled with it, and grumbled and complained about it (sometimes on this blog) to no avail. Every sentence seemed to have to be dragged out kicking and screaming. It was almost as if I’d forgotten how to write creative fiction. Then, all of a sudden, as I neared what I hope will be the next to last chapter, it suddenly unfolded. I can see the story now as coherent and workable. It needs polishing, it needs those final two chapters, but I’m going to send a viable version of it to Berkley by the end of this month. Whew!

Unless you caught me right as I was posting this, then while you read it I am serving as an Election Judge in Minneapolis. This year I am anticipating a turnout probably close to the turnout we get in a year we elect a President. This has been an important campaign, possibly one that will mark a turning point in the whole history of our nation. Since I am working as a judge in a precinct not my own, I voted by absentee ballot several weeks ago. It sure made all the campaign commercials tedious since then. Not that they weren’t getting tedious in any case. I will be interested in seeing the results Wednesday morning.

I once owned a Scottish terrier named Piper. He was a bold and adventurous dog, playful and endearing. But not the sharpest knife in the drawer. Every morning I’d take him for a walk, during which he kept a sharp eye out for squirrels. His one big goal in life was to catch a squirrel. Now there was a squirrel that lived in a big tree in our back yard. It was to one side of the lot, facing a narrow walkway to the sidewalk in front of our house. The walkway ran between the house and a tall plank wall that bordered the parking lot of the apartment building next door. One morning Piper saw the squirrel about halfway up that walk and went after it, yanking the leash out of my hand. The squirrel dashed madly for the tree, barely scooting up it in time to escape Piper’s snapping jaws. Piper came trotting back to me, very pleased with himself – he’d shown that squirrel! Oddly enough, the next morning, there was that squirrel on the walkway again. This time I dropped the leash and Piper went racing after the squirrel, who again swept up the tree just ahead of Piper’s shiny white teeth. It became a routine, the squirrel waiting for Piper, Piper charging madly, the squirrel going up the tree. After a week or so, I realized the squirrel was edging closer to our end of the walkway, and barely escaping up its tree. Piper, now anticipating the squirrel’s presence, would bounce out our front door ready to show that squirrel he was not to be trifled with. I stopped being afraid the stupid squirrel was going to be torn to pieces as I realized that squirrel was playing a game with Piper. He cut his retreat so increasingly fine that I was amazed he never lost the end of his tail. Piper would not slow down as he reached the tree, but actually ran up the trunk a yard or so before falling back to the ground. His proud prance as he came trotting back to continue our walk seemed to indicate he never caught on that he was in fact being trifled with. Poor old fellow, being gamed by a squirrel!

It's for the Birds

You just never know where your next story idea is going to come from. One evening a week, I drive for a local volunteer group called Wildlife Rehab and Release (WRR). Tuesday is my day and I was advised that I had to deliver two baby squirrels to an address in Minneapolis. This is still April, so I expected to find two naked, blind creatures cuddled next to a latex glove filled with warm water in a plastic ice cream bucket. I opened the bucket to check on the creatures and one immediately tried to climb up my arm – she was about half grown, with big open eyes and a determined look on her face. It seems she had somehow got a piece of string or fishing line around one hind leg and it cut off the circulation to the point where gangrene set in. The leg from the hock down had to be amputated. But the creature is otherwise healthy and seems to get around quite well. If it turns out she cannot move swiftly enough to be released, they are going to try to find a place for her in an educational program – she loves people and is fearless around them. Her companion is more like a proper wild squirrel, shy and suspicious. I only got a glimpse of her trying to hide under a piece of towling. That one’s only problem was being washed out of her nest in a thunderstorm. A couple of weeks in protective custody is all she (he?) needs.

Anyway, the rehabber I took her to was in a mood to talk, so we gabbed for awhile. Elyn used to rehab birds and for awhile her house was full of – what’s the word? It means parrots and their kin and cousins. She also had some of her own, and was recently asked to take back a cockatiel she used to baby-sit for over a dozen years ago. The man who owned it has had to move into an assisted-living complex and is unable to care for the bird anymore. Elyn had another bird in the house at the same time, but for just a few months. It was named Cooler (an unusual name) and its owner had taught it to shout, “Hi, Cooler! Hi, Cooler.” Now, to Elyn’s amazement, the cockatiel has started shouting, “Hi, Cooler! Hi, Cooler!” She’s not sure if the bird is remembering the house or Elyn. It can’t be seeing Cooler and remembering him; Cooler died long ago. I’m sure there’s a mystery story in there somewhere. The problem would be making it believable. Maybe it’s just a nice story to be written for one of the bird magazines.

This past weekend we were in Little Falls, MN, at an event called an “author’s tea.” Held two or three times a year, it’s a collaboration among a tea shop (Ambience), a bookstore (Bookin’ It) and a city landmark called Linden Hills, which is a park and two big old mansions (built around 1900). There are endless bedrooms on the second and third floors, several porches, and the woodwork is gorgeous – one mansion was built by the Weyerhauser family. You can rent a room in either mansion for the night and have a continental breakfast the next morning. At the tea, a catering company serves a salad, a soup, and then little sandwiches and crackers with interesting spreads on them. And people come around with different kinds of tea throughout the meal. Books are sold in the living room and the author is invited to speak briefly (but loudly, as guests are in three adjoining rooms). Most of the women attending wore hats, some even wore gloves. The Mississippi River flows by within sight of the mansions, and a bald eagle and a pair of ospreys were in nearby trees. It was lovely!