Posts Tagged ‘writing’

Okay, it is the mother here, and I am getting a little bit peeved.  Back in November, Bobby informed me he was going on vacation, and, despite my protests, he packed his suitcase and left.  I can hardly blame him, as you can see what it was like here for the past few months, below.

Bobby in the backyard - photo by Kelly Mahan Jaramillo

Bobby dreaming of Cabo San Lucas - photo by Kelly Mahan Jaramillo

So, really, can you blame him?  He wanted a vacation, he went on vacation. Fine, okay, there really is no arguing with him when he gets his mind set on something.

To be fair, it was snowing and cold up until two weeks ago, but then rain started, the snow melted, and now Spring is here.  It is beautiful.  It is time for the Bird to come back!

His employer has three books lined up for him to review, his first one is a really fun science fiction romp called “Logging Off”, by Caitlin McKenna. Bobby really enjoyed it, and was looking forward to reviewing it, but he is not back, and I have no idea where he is.  However, he did send me a rough draft of his review, sent from somewhere is South America, promising to polish it up when he was home.  That was two months ago.

Since then, all I have received are these two postcards, below, showing him lounging in a pool at whatever resort he is staying.

"Sun and Sand!" Photo by Kelly Mahan Jaramillo

"Another round of Pina Coladas, please!" Photo by Kelly Mahan Jaramillo

If anyone happens to see a drunk, fat, lazy crow lying on a beach towel covered with white corn chips and hamburger meat, will you tell him he has a job, and his vacation is LONG over, and to get his tail feathers back home, pronto.

Thank you.

If he is not back in the next few days, I will take his rough draft of “Logging Off”, and post it.  Believe me, I have read it, and it has that special “Bobby D Book Review” flavor that we have all come to know and love.

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Hello my fellow crow fans and assorted others, human and higher beings,

Again, my apologies for the delay, but there was a terrible legal hassle I had to go through with my boss.  I do not consider Sarah Palin’s book, “Going Rogue, An American Life” a book.

The Bird reviews books, both fiction and nonfiction, magazines, blogs, anything that is literature, and is interesting, informative, funny, factual, emotional – everything that true writers are supposed to give to their readers.

Sarah Palin does not qualify as a writer.  I refused to review her book, and the Parents were one hundred percent behind me, but it took some serious legal arguments to back up my decision.  In the end, we won, the courts ruled that Palin’s pieces of paper do not qualify as fiction, nonfiction, literature, factual, anything.  This waste of what was once a live tree is not considered a book by the High Court of Trees. As crows, we know what is and is not a book, from all of the time we spend with the original paper source.

It qualifies as a 44 year old woman writing a “Dear Diary” with all of the ability of an angry fifteen year old.

The Bird does not review “mean little girl” diaries.

Read and see more here:

Bobby’s Bi-weekly Book Review

Although, the picture below pretty much sums it up.

[image by ‘flyinureye’ via themudflats.net]

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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.


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

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The Parents were gone for 24 hours.  They went roaring out of the house in the middle of the night on Friday, and came back after one a.m. on Saturday – I mean Sunday morning.

The bird gets confused with the humans whole “time” thing.  For me, it is morning, then it is afternoon, then it is night.  Much more simple.

So, they make all of this racket coming into the house, and I’m a-hearing snippets of ‘New York” and John and Eve” and Aminta and Michael” and “Vietnamese Food” and “The Q&A” – any other crow out there on their laptop want to tell me what might have been going on?  The cats below me were just as confused, and we did call a meeting to discuss the issue, but no light was shed.

Well, I cannot worry much about it – the Mother has been exhibiting all of the signs of guilt, and that means I can take full advantage of her.  I have been treated like a king for the last 4 days.  Still, they are waking up a little on the late side.

I think I may start screaming really loud around 6 a.m., just to get them out of bed.  After all, they are still up until midnight in the room next to mine, making all kinds of noise, which they justify as “work”.  Ha!

I would caw some more about this, but it seems to be working out quite well on the ass end of the deal, and today I am writing my first book review, so, gotta go!

But, I have some kind of clue…..these fell out of the Mothers pocket, and I quickly grabbed them.  They have been keeping secrets.  From the looks of these, those two have friends! No one ran this by us, and that is just Not. Okay.

Bobby D. The Crow


I know that is the Mother on the far left. Those other two? Hmmm


Oh, it may be blurry, but it is her, alright. And it looks like New York.



Yep, the father too, looking guilty. Those Lucy's got some 'splainin' to do...


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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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What more can be said?  We are here, the city has gone insane, I am excited, and I don’t even give a crap about sports.  But this is different.  I have never seen anything like it, and I am loving the crackle of energy in the air.  It is infectious.


Cold? What cold?

Cold? What cold?

We are going to kick John McCain's ass again!

We are going to kick John McCain's ass again!


The cherry on the cake?  Springsteen is playing at halftime, and Obama is a Steelers fan.

What more can anyone ask for?

‘Tis a mighty foine day, lads and lassies.  Mighty Foine.

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Arriving just in time for dinner.  




Could someone hit the lights, please?  It's late.

Could someone hit the lights, please? It's late.


One would not think it was possible to transport two cats and a crow across country, but I have to say, The Bob behaved better than most peoples human children.  How many crows can say they stayed in seven motels and drove through ten states in the dead heat of Summer?

Although, every once in a while he would stick his beak out of his carrier and poke Tomas in the leg. Not being bad, just reminding us that he was down on the floor and getting bored.

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Bobby has been being quite vocal lately, and a few mornings ago I woke up to find that the house was surrounded by crows in trees, on all sides, hundreds of them.  I peeked out the kitchen window down into the yard and there were about fifty of them eating the bird and squirrel food on the ground.  The minute they sensed movement, they took off.

 So….we thought our wild animal budget would be a little lighter with the raccoons going into semi hibernation, but no – – we have to find cheap dog food and put it somewhere away from seeds and nuts so that everyone can get a bite.  It is practically a full time job – they are eating faster than I can get the food out.

When each feeding spot has been stocked, I sit down to relax, only to have Bobby yelling at ME!  Yes, I forgot to check his food bowl.


Oh the guilt.


I feel waves of half imagined, half real guilt-trips washing over me.

In the fall it was Buddy the raccoon, staring in the kitchen, off the back door balcony tree.  Now it is the crows.  

I have a life, I keep muttering to myself.  I have a life.  


“No, mother, you don’t. You are here to serve all of us.  Please try to “get” that, as you humans are so fond of saying”.

Thank you, Bobby.  It is always good to know ones place in the world.



What's for dinner tonight?

What's for dinner?


We WILL Be Back.......

We WILL Be Back.......



Have a Happy, Healthy and Safe Thanksgiving, everyone.  

The Bird, the Dad, and the Mom are off to get ready to see the relatives and eat ourselves silly.

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Last night Tomas and I were up pretty late, working on the house, writing, etc.  I suddenly had a salt craving, but I was not hungry.  As I passed through Bobby’s room, he barked “Hello!” at me and I thought I would give him a few sunflower seeds as a treat.  Sometimes he likes one or two roasted, salted, unshelled ones.  As I doled them out, I ate a handful, which only intensified the craving.

Nothing but a pickle would do.  Thank god we had some thinly sliced dill pickles in the ‘fridge.  I dove in, holding myself over the sink so that pickle juice would not drip all over the place, when my long ago friend Lali Lugassy popped into my head.

As I had written a post on my other blog ‘What Happened’, Lali was by best friend from 6th grade until I was around 30 years old.  We did not get into a hassle, we just started drifting into different worlds.  

I received an e-mail from her daughter a few weeks ago informing me that Lali died in May.

I have been grieving in my own way, not only for her, but for whom she has left behind, and I am full of regrets for not picking up the phone when I had thought about her, which was so often, in the last ten years.

Last night, as I was chowing my pickle, I got hit with a hard jolt of memory – – and non-memory.  The non-memory part really bothered me.  I, for the life of me, cannot remember what she craved when she was pregnant.  We hung out quite a bit when she was pregnant, and I saw her daughter being born, but this particular memory eludes me.


I remember her insisting that we home dye her hair, even though pregnant women are not supposed to dye their hair – she was determined.  It was the late eighties, and we all had to hang on to our jet black punk dye job, even if a comet was hurtling towards the earth, we had to have our hair right.

I remember her sitting in a chair in the kitchen in the apartment in Venice where she and her husband Joey lived, carefully applying the dye, waiting the required 45 minutes, only to have her scalp turn jet black and her hair not take the color at all.  We were horrified, but still hysterical with laughter.  She kept screaming, “my HEAD!  My WHOLE HEAD is black!!  What are we going to do??”

There was no Google back then, so we could not just jump on the computer and type in the question, we did not have enough money to go to a professional and have them fix it, besides, it was a Friday night at about midnight.  We called Mundo, a hairdresser friend, and he was stumped, saying, “I guess you are just going to have to wash your hair alot until it fades….”


I remember coming over one day, and Lali was busy putting up a crib, or a changing table, placing all sorts of baby items around the small apartment.  She was being very efficient and bustling about, a bit of a departure from her usual laid back self.

“What are you doing?” I asked, a bit taken aback at the pregnant tornado that roared by me into the bedroom.

“I’m nesting,” she said firmly.

“You’re what?”  I looked at my seven month pregnant best friend, with whom I had cut school with, road around on a motorcycle with, raided her parents refrigerator with, sat in detention with, blazed on acid with, too many things to recount that did not fit in with, ahem, “nesting.”


I started laughing uncontrollably, and she stopped buzzing about, fixed me with her classic Lali stare, folded her arms, and snapped “What? It is what all the book say happens in the seventh month.  I can’t help it.  Since I am the one who is pregnant, would you like to shut up and help me?”

That just made it worse – I had gone to the sink to have a glass of water and stop laughing, but for some reason, her new and rather sudden mother lion attitude just killed me, and I wound up spewing water all over, out my nose and mouth.  My best friend was being possessed by hormonal nesting syndrome, and frankly, I didn’t and still don’t know nothin’ ’bout birthin’ babies, and I certainly was clueless on how to “nest”.


But, I pulled myself together, and let her be a drill sergeant, and we “nested” the day away.  A rather atypical day for two hellraisers.

When that memory surfaced, I had a physical recap of the day, started to laugh, and pickle juice spewed out of my nose.

But for the life of me, I cannot remember what she craved.

But I am going to keep trying, because when I try, memories like those above come up, and I feel Lali close to me, and we are our young fool selves, laughing until we wet our pants, all over again.

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You know, the bird and I were discussing the many different kinds of “moms” out there.  There are “working” moms, “stay-at-home” moms, and the combination of the two, the “soccer moms”.

Then there are the animal moms, I do not know what they call us.  Weirdo tree-hugging lefty commie american hating elitist bastards, I think.  Something like that.  It has to become an acronym soon because I know it is pretty long.  Even the acronym would be long.

But after watching last nights V.P. debate, and marveling at the seemingly deft, yet utterly obvious manner in which Governor Palin dodged questions, never giving a straight answer but going back to what she really wants to talk about, well, gave me no choice but to come up with a new kind of mom.

The Dodge Ball Mom.

And I bet a lot of us out there have them.

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