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Archive for the ‘writing’ Category

It seems that a lot of people have been wondering what happened to The Bird. I count myself as one of them.

I have a stack of books for him to review, and without warning he went off on vacation and has not written one word since.

He just waltzed back in and informed me that he was no longer interested in reviewing books, he was training to be a stunt pilot.

He figures he will be a huge celebrity, as a one winged bird doing ariel tricks.

I am trying to talk him out of it, and we are reaching a compromise, I think.  If I can get a few more book reviews out of him, he can go ahead and pursue “Reality Show Crow” fame.

Sigh.  Everybody wants to be a star.

Kelly Mahan Jaramillo and Bobby D. the Crow deep in negotiations

Stunt Bird practicing

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Hello, my fellow Crows and assorted Others.  Today we are reviewing “Not By Accident: Reconstructing A Careless Life”. by author Samantha Dunn.

You can click the link below, or just pop over to the review page.  Enjoy!

Bobby’s Bi-weekly Book Review

I have to make dinner, the Humans are working late, so my apologies for rushing off.  You can see I have my hands full, below.

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Ahh, folks? Are we out of Garlic Salt? I am looking everywhere, dammit!

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I am one happy crow. My mother is finally starting to understand me when I speak.  Today is a great example – she noticed my drinking cup was a little bit low, and she threw the old water out, washed the cup, and put in nice fresh water.  For all of her flaws, and there are SO many, she is very good about making sure the Bird has plenty of fresh food and drink.

However, it has been awhile since she has taken me out onto my balcony, where my jacuzzi-bowl  is in my large black, Nouvelle French dressing room. She says it has been too cold, I keep saying I am a Bird, and we live in the cold.  Her counter argument is that I am now, after 8 years, an indoor bird, and I would catch a cold.

Puh-leeze.  I am a crow, we are invincible.

So, when she brought my little cup of fresh water, I dunked my head in it, loud.  It startled her enough to realize that I was willing to take a bath in a cup, I do not like being dirty, and I was feeling icky.

She caved.  I was taken outside to my beautiful big bowl, where I proceeded to take the longest, splashiest bath ever, and she had to keep coming out and filling the jacuzzi-bowl.  I love it when she is my slave-girl. I should make her wear the Princess Leia slave outfit. The Bird thinks that would be appropriate. I will bring it up at our next Homeowners Meeting.

So, now I am glossy and clean and gorgeous, and below I would like to share with you a few photos of my room, my three story condo, and my books.

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Leaping from the top floor to the main room

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Have I mentioned that my condo has been appraised at over $100,000? You heard right.

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Is this bulb out again? Grr, these antique lamps. Someone find the father.

Now that I am clean and relaxed, I am going to begin my next book review. Everybody over on the review page is asking what is next, but I refuse to give a teaser.  You will just have to wait until tomorrow.  The Bird is Busy, and can only do so much, you know.

Caw!

Bobby Out!

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Two days ago, maybe?

The only good thing about humidity is it makes your skin look absolutely fabulous.  All of that moisture.

Otherwise, it is a misery, but the beauty is, summer only lasts for two months around here.

The forest that is our lot is so old, the leaves are really too big to fully understand when written about, so here are a few photos to have something to compare.

It is just past a year since Bullet died, and it is coming up on two years since my cat Monkey died.  I have not been able to write about Monkey, and I just got word that my friend Tara Zucker lost her cat Blanche.

Tara writes much more eloquently than I, and her life with Blanche is a beautiful chronology of how we come to love the four-legged creatures that speak so well, if only we were smart enough to understand.

My shoe size? Six and a half.  Ahem

My shoe size? Six and a half. Ahem

Hand?  Not much bigger than foot.

Hand? Not much bigger than foot.

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There was a rabbit. He was running around in Koreatown, Los Angeles, where I was teaching English as as Second Language.

It was July 9th, ten months after my father, Bill Mahan, died.  July 9th happened to be Bill’s  birthday.

I saw all of the students, of every level, yelling in their native language and running around in circles in ninety degree heat.

It was lunchtime, so I did not want to be the bitch teacher screaming “English, people, English!” – but I was intensely curious and needed someone to have done enough of their homework  to clue me in.

(Granted, I had purchased every student a copy of Harper Lee’s “To Kill A Mockingbird” to show them that the English language did not always translate across every state).

They were chasing a rabbit.  I knew nothing of rabbits, and I was wearing the one good pair of pants I owned.

I waded in, and saw him under the ficus, loaded for bear.  He had big teeth and an attitude.

I grabbed him, and god help me, he went quiet.  The students and other teachers were in a circle, laughing.

“Now you own him!” or “You just caught dinner!”

I knew if I brought home another animal, Tomas’s patience would wear thin.

We all got through it.

Billy “The Bullet” Mahan lived with us for about 6 years. When we decided to get out of Los Angeles for good, we had a 5-week stopover in Ojai, California.   As my faithful readers know, Bobby the Crow, Billy “The Bullet” Mahan, Vito and Vinnie the cats, Tomas and myself relaxed and gathered our wits in Ojai, and began prepping for the trip one year ago this month.

The Bullet was old, and he did not make it past the first stop over in Ojai.  He enjoyed being there for a month, and had built up quite a little fan club when people would walk by and see him in his big round pen, relaxing under the trees outside, before we would bring him in for the evening.

Local Ojai folks liked to stop at the little wooden fence and talk to him.

At dusk one night, I went out to bring him in, and he was not feeling well.  He died very suddenly about an hour later, to my shock, disbelief, and tremendous sadness.

He is buried under two huge, beautiful oak trees on the land of Lisa and John Adair.  We miss him every day.

There will never be another Bullet.

Lady? I could arrest you for hitchhiking......

"Lady? I could arrest you for hitchhiking....." .photo: Kelly Mahan Jaramillo, The Bullet

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He was hopping around, when he saw this on my laptop.

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It takes a mighty storm to scare Robert.  I really have to stop with having certain politicians so easily accessible to my kids.  Hide them in the porn closet, I guess.

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When Bobby and the mom still lived under the Bush Administration

When Bobby and the mom still lived under the Bush Administration

The Bird is outraged.  We have a new home, a new administration, we go swimming on a new coast.  Tomas just got a new film, we are cutting a new trailer to last years film – – -it’s all good!

Until last night, after President Obama’s speech.  It left us with a strong sense of pride and ability and finally, an administration that seems to care about people who are or have been struggling. 

The the Up-And-Coming-Star of the GOP,  (no not Palin, try not to laugh) Bobby Jindal, gave the ‘Republican Response’ to President Obama.

Oh. My. God.

You can throw a rock and read about it, so I am not going to go into detail about how I felt that Opie was trying to tell me to trust him never to steal cupcakes again, all the while frosting is spilling out of his mouth – – no thank you, young Jindal.  Run along now.

However, I have a crow named Bobby, and he is making it quite clear that the name Bobby is no longer acceptable.

I can hardly blame him.  My crow would have had a much more interesting and forceful presence in HIS rebuttal, if he were giving one.  However, Bobby voted for President Obama, so his rebuttal would be towards Jindal, and believe me, Jindal would not know what had hit him.

 I know this, I hear it every day – over food, water, exercise, naps, whatever.

So, I agree with him, and heed his wishes.  Bobby D. the Crow will now be referred to as Robert, or Robaire if he is being particularly sexy.

And Robert and the Mom want to say, “Thanks a lot for the performance last night, Jindal. You made Sarah Palin look good, and she was almost gone.”

The Bird and the Mom and the Dad need a drink.

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