One of the things about being a wildlife rehabilitator is having to be eternally flexible. Good thing I don't have a real job, because this morning I had to dedicate my day to transporting a broken bird to Columbus, a mere 2 1/2 hrs. away. I'd tell you its story, but I want to make sure there's a happy ending first. See, I protect you from a lot of the heartbreak that dogs wildlife rehabilitators. Last evening I had a blog entry all prepped about this amazingly sweet baby bird, that I was already completely in love with, and then an hour later it fell and broke its leg, and my world turned upside down. Things look fairly good for it right now, but I don't even want to introduce you in case things go south.
So I had some time in the car, five hours in fact, alone with this bird, and I listened to my favorite songs and thought about NPR commentaries I might write. I was cooking them in my head. I haven't been on the air since May. There was one just minutes from being aired in June, about something that happened to my kids in school, and then my editor found out that my kids were already out of school, so the commentary wasn't "true," and it was pulled. It hurts to break a streak like I've had the past two years, being on All Things Considered monthly and sometimes twice a month. My commentary mojo just slipped away. I've been groping around for it, but it's like feeling under a bed for a scared cat. You don't connect with the cat, or the mojo, by grabbing for it.
So I scrawled some things in my notebook, and I'm hoping a few of them turn into commentaries. Maybe when we're in Chautauqua I'll have some peaceful time to write.
I pulled off in Easton and ogled new Mac PowerBook Pro's at the Apple Store. I can dream, can't I? I have this mad vision of being able to blog on the road. I went back to Origins and bought some more pots of scrubby creamy things that make me feel fabulous and look somewhat less wizened. I stopped at Zanesville Pottery and bought some pots for my bonsais to grow into, and some more ceramic pedestals for displaying orchids. On the way back home from Columbus the Explorer slogged through a bitchin' electrical storm with blinding rain and bolts of lightning and thunder that shook the car. Loved it, loved it. After being bathed in a 90-degree sauna for the last week, it was truly a gift from heaven. The storm chased me all the way home; it hit here as I was pulling into the garage. I figure it must have been doing about 50 mph to my 65.
And I saw this new tourist sign, and I have to say it is one of my favorites ever. I know what a Big Muskie Bucket is; do you? Hint: It has nothing to do with BOTB's boxers.
Guess away! I'll give you useful hints if you beg nicely. Or you could send in your guesses on the backs of $20 bills that I could go and stuff down the shirt of the skinny pale pierced Apple Store Genius who made me lust for something I can't afford and don't actually need.
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