September 12-13-14, 2009

The past three days have held a significant placemark in my life:

• Friday, my nephew Jesse was graduated from Temple University in Philadelphia.
  
  
  Jesse "towers" over his mother (Janice, my sister)
  and grandmother (Dora, my mother) during
  a family reunion. Photo by Joan E. Phelps, 2008.
  
  
• Sunday was my 65th birthday. Fortunately, photo-taking was prohibited, but my mother hosted a very nice birthday dinner at the Oyster Bar in Bradenton, FL.
  
  
• Today, it has been three long months since June 14, when Simon left our home.

Rudy still calls his name when we sing in the shower every morning...to the refrain of "I've been workin' on the railroad":

"Some-one's in the kit-chen with Ko-by,
Some-one's in the kit-chen, I know-bee-wan-kan-oh-bee.
Some-one's in the kit-chen with Ko-by,
And it's Si-mon Rhy-min', I know."

or, our usual Q&A:

Q: What does the duck say?
A: Quack...quack...quack.

Q: What does the doggie say?
A: Arrfff....arfff...arfff.

Q: What do I (Joan) say?
A: Me (Rudy's name for me).

Q: What does Koby say?
A: Whee-hoooo (Koby's word for peek-a-boo).

Q: What does Simon say?
A: I wuv you...hah...hah...hah.

Still no answers to my questions posted to the parrot rescue organization, and no photos of Simon in his new Pittsburgh home have come to my mailbox. For a long time, I have not sobbed when I talk about him; but, writing about him is a tearful event.

• Koby, Rudy, and I have moved to Florida!
  The birds have their big cages on the lanai, with a full-blown view of a lake and the many creatures (including several avian species) calling it home. They watch birds diving for fish and ducks guiding their babies around the protected coves. They've met the little dog living next door, and have noticed the mailman wears shorts here. Koby can tell the milk and water taste different here than in Ohio, and Rudy still likes to perch in the shower.

Late last year, I made a proposal to Joann Crafts to teach a collage course. As a sample, I created a collage with the theme of a person or pet who was loved. My work featured Simon. The frame was silver colored with birds and feathers on it. A photo I took of Simon was in the lower corner of the frame, along with some decorative touches.

At the time I made the collage, I realized it was a little strange that I had selected this subject (a memorial...a bird...and a bird who was living with us). When my packed boxes arrived in Florida last month and I searched for a place to put the art featuring Simon, I realized that he was no longer with us. So, when I look at this piece of artwork, I think of this big, strong, temperamental bird who spoke in a little-person's voice and pronounced "Ls" like "Ws."

Simon's "memorial."
(C) Joan E. Phelps, 2008

Saying goodbye to Simon

"Goodbye, Simon," I wept. As the SUV with Simon's cage and toys in the back, and the big green guy upfront in a carrier on the passenger seat, pulled away, I was overcome with profound sadness. Weeks later, I still cry in my sleep: tears of guilt, of questioning, of release, of missing.

Simon was 400+ grams of loud noises, a huge appetite, strong mating urges, patches of feather destruction, and a bite that could destroy ligaments and fingernails. After four years of consulting, researching, trying, learning, scheming, and expending thousands of dollars, I knew I had to make a decision that would result in a new home for Simon.

My choice narrowed to a parrot adoption/rescue organization. The head of the organization promised me that I would be able to receive information about Simon's new home and family through her, and that his new family could ask me questions and give me updates. This was the deciding factor in my choosing her group versus other parrot rescue groups.

Unfortunately, not everyone in the business of finding homes for parrots is ethical, and I was lied to about receiving information about Simon once he was with his new people. My questions go unanswered; in fact, his new family wishes not to provide any communication to me about Simon.

Before surrending your parrot to a 501(c)3 parrot rescue/adoption organization, please ask to have feedback from a few people who have donated birds to the organization, as there is at least one rescue organization where the only goal is to "sell" an expensive, much-loved parrot for an extremely low price and ego-satisfaction.

1st photo: Simon taking his last shower with Rudy (African grey, not in picture).

2nd photo: Simon and I say goodbye. I'm sad, but my fears have been allayed because I know I'll be able to send and receive information about him as he adjusts to living in his new home.

3rd photo: Simon in a happier time.

Essay on the new-found country life

As I signed the listing contract to sell my 100+-year-old house, I thought it would be interesting to gather thoughts about what it was like for me to move from a city of nearly one million, to a small, hilly, town in southern Ohio.

To learn more about the house for sale, please visit:
http://www.realtor.com/realestateandhomes-detail/210-Lake-St_Lancaster_OH_43130_1108307613

Never ask a professional writer to express their recollections about anything–even the experiences of moving from a large urban environment to a small town near the rolling green hills, the hiking trails of a national forest, and a small mountain visible from her front yard. For me, though, it is an opportunity to share some experiences I've had while living at 210 Lake Street.

Welcome to the country
Being a city girl, seeing a car parked in front of my house early in January 2002 caused me immediate alarm. The driver stared at the front porch; I knew he had intentions of breaking in one night soon to steal the mass of curly maple doors and trim that gave my new residence certain charm. Armed with a curtain rod I was about to hang in the living room, I stomped onto the front porch and marched down the walkway to the criminal’s vehicle.

“WHO ARE YOU AND WHY ARE YOU STARING AT MY HOUSE,” I blurted to a thin, pasty chap munching on a sandwich. Probably no threat to a 5'10" woman with an attitude, the guy’s eyes widened and jaw dropped. He explained that he worked for the city and was having breakfast before he made his meter-reading rounds. This was the same man who, later that year, limped out of the back yard when one of the parrots screamed from his cage inside the back bedroom, “GET OUT . . . GET OUT,” his usual warning for intruders.

Saying goodbye to the old "210"
A few months later, I had two huge trees removed from the front yard, surprised to find that the cost was half what I paid in Columbus for the same operation. I couldn’t afford to have the huge chunks of downed tree carted away, so a FWM (friend with muscles--who happened to be a woman) wielding a gas-powered chain saw and a rented log splitter, helped me reduce four-feet-wide tree trunk into wood stove-able logs for her winter heating.

This left mirrored blank spaces and room for plantings in the front yard. During the next two seasons, I bought mulch, flowers, and greenery in town and, one plant at a time, unloaded my jeep and carefully tucked them in the earth. In 2003, proud of newly developed biceps, I planted a new tree at the left side of the front yard. It was, then, a tiny twig with two root strings, needing to have support from tied-on Popsicle sticks. Over the years, I have trimmed errant grass, dug stubborn weeds, and maintained all the landscaping myself. Neighbors surely wondered why someone would lie on the front walk to edge the grass with scissors from Hobby Lobby when loud smelly machines could do it in a minute, but I like to get close to and learn about anything I undertake.

I planned the plantings so that every spring the flowering is spaced out so that from one week to the next, various colors and shapes emerge from winter-dulled twigs. This gives me an opportunity to collect and photograph the signs of my favorite season.

Getting into the groove
That summer I painted the front porch. Not one to under-do a project, this included scraping and two-coating the railings, ceiling, and posts, not to forget the same for the floor. This was the time I learned that Lowe’s sells a paint expressly for this purpose: PORCH FLOOR PAINT. Who knew? The downside was the fact that I had to paint the floor on breezy days because fumes are plentiful and answering client phone calls with a groggy, spaced-out voice does not translate into well-paying business projects.

Beginning to build
A family friend, Doug, built the deck in the backyard. A trip to Home Depot allowed me to learn about measurements, lumber, the preference of using screws over nails, and how to stack long heavy objects in the bed of a truck. (It was also my first ride in a truck . . . welcome to Lancaster!) Doug knows how to build just about anything, and lucky for me, I learned from him vital household repairs: replacing everything that goes inside a toilet tank except for the water; which of the three wires is hot; how to start a gas cooktop when a tornado blows out the electricity; and moving storm windows and screens up and down as the seasons pass.

New experiences
I was surprised (in a great way) by the difference between city living and country living. During the time I have lived at 210 Lake Street, I’ve learned:

When my windshield wiper blades fail and it is a cold, rainy day, the clerk at the auto supply store will offer to walk across the parking lot, remove the old wiper blades (and dispose of them!), and install the new.

Instead of tossing groceries and dismissing customers through the checkout lanes (like in the city), grocery market clerks actually remember me and my bagging preference.

Before living here, I would not have recognized neighbors if I saw them in a place other than their yards. Now neighbors I don’t know hear that I’m sick and offer to mow the grass and supply soup.

Only a few exits away from my house are the Hocking Hills. I had heard about the area while I lived in Columbus, but didn’t know that visitors from all over the U.S. visit here to enjoy the walking, hiking, over-nighting, rappelling, and canoeing. Not only did I not know there were any national forests in Ohio, Wayne National Forest is within a half hour of 210 Lake Street.

In a few minutes walk from my house, I can climb a mini-mountain, stand at the top, and try to locate my yard from the dizzying height. Prior to this adventure, other than plane rides, the only high places I had scaled were via office building elevators.

Many cool mornings, Mt. Pleasant hides from me behind a looming fog, only to pop out later in the day. When it’s chilly, drizzly, and foggy here, there is a great sense of peace.

I had the experience of getting a parrot while living in this house. One of his favorite places to hang out is on the window sill in the kitchen, where he watches outdoor birds build nests in the shrubs that run along the alleyway. He has caused some of the imperfections in the house, with tiny nail marks on woodwork and a few pieces of missing wallpaper. The wood shine and paper can easily be perfected, but my memories of chasing him around the kitchen floor when he knew a shower was planned, will stay with me. (Did you know that parrots can laugh like people, bark like dogs, and hop like rabbits?)

In the short time I’ve lived here, one of my favorite places has been the front porch. There, a few years ago, I took time to relax and watch work crews making ear-splitting noise and clouds of dust while drilling, scraping, wrecking, replacing huge pipes, and paving–all a part of a huge sewer/street project undertaken by the city. One evening, three of us neighbors challenged one another to locate utility pipes serving our houses–to and from, that is. Ahhh . . . entertainment is easy to find on Lake Street! I also learned the myriad of sounds made by heavy equipment and the experience of seeing how operators unload 20-foot pipes from a truck bed and stack them onto the street with the precision of a prima ballerina. There is a rhythm to construction work, I found.

With these thoughts, and many more yet uncovered, I’ve come to the time when I’m selling 210 Lake Street, with hopes that a new owner will enjoy living in a house that has given me seven years of new experiences. Hopefully that owner will discover a little about small-town living and much about themselves.

April 2009
Copyright © 2009 Joan E. Phelps. All rights reserved. Reproduction of any content, in whole or part, without prior express written consent of Joan E. Phelps, is strictly prohibited. The content of this document is solely author’s informal recollections of living at 210 Lake Street, Lancaster, OH. The contents do not represent–either explicit or implicit--any contract, agreement, guaranty, warranty, or binding statements of the author regarding the sale of, or condition of, 210 Lake Street, Lancaster, OH.

Thanksgiving parrot soup recipe

Warning: This recipe does not call for live or at-one-time-alive parrots.*

Have a cold blustery day ahead of you? Grey outside and in? Parrots paranoid? Try our Thanksgiving parrot soup. Read on for ingredients.

1 very large, huge pot (like a stock pot). Remember not to use non-stick cookware in a home where birds live.

1 very large can of whole tomatoes
1 very large can of tomato sauce
1 can of chicken broth (unsalted or low sodium)
4 cups of water
----
1 large bag of stir-fry veggies. Remove the onions and mushrooms.
1/2 a small bag of corn
1/2 a small bag of peas
1/2 a small bag of sliced carrots (or cut fresh carrots yourself)
1/4 a small bag of baby lima beans
1/4 a small bag of green beans
4 chopped stalks of celery
3 Hot Italian sausage links chopped into small pieces (I use Johnsonville brand.)
2 cups of brown rice (not the instant kind)
--
1/2 cup of red wine**
--
Make the stuff boil. Then, reduce heat to simmer/low and lay a lid on the pot. Stir infrequently if you remember. Have someone watch to see if the liquids are boiling away. If so, add water.

At the end of an hour, you will have a lumpy, colorful soup.

* Where did that term "call for" originate? Using it gives recipes a voice. Recipes don't have voices nor can they make choices for themselves. It is humans who tell recipes what ingredients to use.

** For parrots 21 years of age and older.

King of the Cupboard: Have beak. Can climb

Koby is 6 inches tall . . . measured from his flat reptilian-looking feet to the top of his feathered head. My kitchen is 11.5 feet tall, and the tallest cupboards are 8 feet above the floor. Those are the stats. This is the puzzle:

Koby is not flighted. He can glide about 10 feet . . . just enough to wiggle from my hands and hop into another room when it's bath time. He has no lift, though.

The drawers and cupboards in the kitchen have a smooth finish, no notches or visible places for an African grey turned mountain climber to wedge a beak or a toe. Nothing but wood, stain, and a 90-degree, slippery structure.

Lately Koby, though, has been mysteriously first seen on the kitchen floor and brief minutes later, viewed hiding among cereal boxes in alpineville.

He's smart, resourceful, inventive, and sneaky, but he refuses to show me how he performs this amazing stunt. I've tried to be patient: putting him on the floor and coaxing him to cereal land by waving apple slices and lumps of peanut butter. "Let's go high, Koby," I plead to knowing eyes on a blank grey face. "Show me how," I pretend I'm climbing a ladder.

Nothing. He won't do it when I'm looking. Not even when I'm nearby, facing the monitor while stealing a glance kitchen-ward. Zero. He's fascinating and frustrating. He's the King of the Cupboard.