Saturday, December 15, 2012

Burgundy... for the birds.

Brooch: garage sale. Hat: from Barefoot Contessa.
Feeling well-dressed and overly optimistic about my back, I set off across town, on transit, a.k.a. torture for my injury, in search of the perfect, starling proof, suet feeder for all the little birds I feed on my tiny balcony. The hat was new, so 1950s, and its colour was my day's inspiration. Indeed, it contributed to my physical optimism.

It was my first visit to Wild Birds Unlimited, a kind of mecca for bird lovers. It was all very exciting and I did get the perfect feeder, but oi, my back!

When I got home, I had to lie on ice for quite a while. I was really very demoralized. Beau, as usual, was a brick, carrying things that were too heavy, letting me lean heavily on him on the bus, making me a snack when we got home. I'm much more courageous about my pain when he's around. I take more risks and push myself a little harder (which my doctor recommends) because I know I'm not alone; I have sympathy and I have practical help.
Scarves (Beau's and mine): thrift gifts from a friend. Coat and jeans: Reitmans. Boots: Ecco.
I love to see photos of myself in motion, especially walking, because it wasn't long ago that I could not walk more than a few agonizing steps, and those with a cane. It helps me remember how far I've come, in the midst of feeling down about how far I still have to go.

This winter rose reminded me of me: a little beaten up but still not devoid of beauty.

The top middle photo is moss -- very close up. It is these small beauties, these sublime mercies, that give me small balms for my pain and big joys in my life.

 Just what is that tree behind us? I really don't know.

See? Now wasn't it all worth it to make these little bushtits happy and safe? Even as I write this, they're back yet again.

A home without a cat is no home at all.

Beau the man should not be confused with Bo the bear. The house is here just because it's too beautiful not to put in this blog somewhere. Would that it were mine!

My plushy sixteen year old cat. Softest, thickest, silkiest fur I've ever encountered, and I've loved cats all my life. At his age, he's no threat at all to my birdies.

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