Turkeys Don’t Like Shadowfax?

Imagine our chagrin!

There we were, enjoying a little music during lunch, only to learn some people…well…harrumph!

Okay, so it was Turkeys, not people.

I’m not sure when I first encountered Shadowfax. I suspect it was early-mid 1980s. A radio station out of nearby Peterborough, NH, played progressive rock, progressive jazz, and fusion all under the title of “new age.” I learned of Clannad, Peter Gabriel, and many others through them.

Every Friday they did a “Be the nth caller…” thing. They offered all sorts of things from coffee mugs at a local Gas-n-Go to Peter Frampton tickets (back when he started touring again).

For whatever reason, I was the only person who ever called in. I’m not talking “I was always the nth call,” I mean “I was the only person who ever called in.

And I won all sorts of things. The DJs and I got to know each other over the phone (it was the 1980s, remember?) and it got to the point that I would call, give the answer, we’d chat, and I’d tell them to hold the prize for some other giveaway.

Then one day I entered my office, turned on the stereo, and country-western came out of the speakers. I spun the dial. Did another station walk all over them? I called. They completely changed format. None of the DJs I knew were there anymore. All in one day’s time.

I asked what caused the change. New owners. I talked with a tech I knew. Nobody knew it was coming. Everybody came in and were handed a two-week’s severance plus any accrued vacation time.

Life can suck at times. If you let it.

And by the way, Turkeys, it seems, don’t like Shadowfax.

Go figure.



Earlier this year we met Felicity, a young mother-to-be.

She’s a cutie (as are they all) and stopped by for a little gnosh.

The night before we were entertained by a few females rebuffing one male, Rosco, whose belligerence increased as more and more womens decried, “Hit the road, clown!”

Rosco was not amused.

But what fascinated us (and sorry, we didn’t get any pics) was the females grouping together so Rosco had no opportunities with any of them.

Kind of a “Girls Night Out,” that.

You Go, Girls! You Go!



Susan‘s been at it again.

Her day isn’t complete unless she sees her rabbits – whom she calls “bunnies.” They don’t seem to mind when she says it. I say it, though, and …! – and see them she does.


And at all times of day and night.

I take Boo out for his late night easement and there’s a rabbit sitting on our front steps.

We walk around the block in the early hours and most lawns are bunnied.

Susan leaves swaths of lawn unmowed so the bunnies will have fresh green grass for their nibbling.

Except now, one bunny, is eating seeds. The ones that fall from the birdfeeders.

They’re not suppose to do that.

Susan, of course, wants to put out seed for the bunnies.

I suggested carrot seeds.

Ever hear a bunny laugh?


Baby mantis feeding on my hand (courtesy of Brother Joe Della Rosa)

Brother Joe Della Rosa shared another garden video.

Don’t worry about the title of this post. The mantis is using the back of Joe’s hand as a dining table. It’s not eating Joe’s hand.

Mantis are lovely and loving creatures. In my experience, anyway.

And quite talkative.

I once walked quite a ways following a railroad line through NH, a mantis on my shoulder the entire time.

And oh, the things she shared!


Snowberry Clearwing moth, aka Hummingbird Moth (courtesy of Brother Joe Della Rosa)

Brother Joe Della Rosa and his daughter walked through their backyard and received a blessing for their time; a Snowberry Clearwing moth, sometimes known as “hummingbird” moths.

I shared a local hummingbird moth’s visit in Velda, the Hummingbird Moth just about this time two years back.

Snowberry Humming Clearwing Bird moth territory has increased largely over the past few years. Perhaps due to the reasons sited in Velda, the Hummingbird Moth, perhaps not.

One can never have enough beauty in one’s world.

And still, best be careful where beauty originates.

And why.