Scenes from a bog

The scene: I am following the Bird Expert through the bog on the way back from the study site, when suddenly he stops to pick something up.

"Ooh, a berry!" (pops it in his mouth) "Mmm, tasty."

We keep going. Three steps later, again he suddenly stops to pick something up.

"Aww, it's only a brown leaf. I thought it was a rodent dropping."

Yep, this guy was disappointed to not pick up poo. Mmm-hmm, he's told me all about his precious dung collection before, including the time he found his first caribou feces and put it in his (then future, now ex) in-laws' lunch cooler (turns out the sample wasn't as dry as he thought, and in the warm day it melted into their lunch...go figure, they were not impressed).

Have I mentioned I'm happy to be home?

The Slack-ass Naturalist Chronicles 4: Bird Calls

Well, the husband's decided that watching a double-feature of horrendous Japanese vampire movies is better than watching nothing. I beg to differ, but hey, to each his own. Gives me time to compose a rare blog entry.

So, in an effort to become a passable "bird expert" for work, I've been trying to learn to identify birds by their songs. There are loads of tapes and computer programs out there, and field guides often give a written description of bird songs (yeah, like that's helpful.) It's not easy to learn this stuff...frustratingly, a lot of warblers sound a hell of a lot alike. But it has been interesting.

Birders have come up with some rather hilarious mnemonics to remember calls by. For example, the Barred Owl has a rather shrill call which sounds vaguely like, "Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you all?". The Olive-sided Flycatcher has a whistled call that, if you use your imagination, sounds like, "Quick! Three beers!" (That's not to be confused with the Common Nighthawk, which just says "Beer" in a rather nasally tone.) The Common Eider call is written as "oooooOOOOOOooooo," and sounds remarkably like a pleasantly surprised cartoon duck. It cracks me up.

Sometimes, you just make up your own mnemonic devices as you go. For example, to me, the Nelson's Sharp-tailed Sparrow is "that bird that sounds like a door opening on the USS Enterprise". The Black-throated Green Warbler is the "Hockey Night in Canada bird" because its call reminds me of that ubiquitous "DUH DUH duh duh DUH!" organ refrain played during NHL games. And the Leach's Storm Petrel sounds exactly like a mouse making fake motorcycle noises. Seriously, it's too cute. I wish I knew how to link sounds onto this blog thingy. You should do a search for these bird calls if you're bored.

Okay, ass-stupid vampire movies are over, and so is this nerdy little musing. Cheers!

Well, if I was losing my religion before....

Recently, the bishop of my local Roman Catholic Diocese of Antigonish announced a groundbreaking $15 million compensation package to victims of sexual abuse in the church. Though I haven't considered myself a Catholic for many years (I'm a firm agnostic, if there's such a thing), I was brought up by a very Catholic mom, and was kind of glad to see the local RCs actually taking some positive action on this issue.

Last week, this same bishop announced his resignation, saying he needed time for "personal renewal." Some speculated it was related to the compensation package; indeed, I kind of wondered whether he was muscled out by higher-level officials in the church for making such a grand gesture to abuse victims.

But no.

Today, it was announced that the ex-bishop has been arrested for distributing and selling child pornography. His laptop was randomly searched at Customs two weeks ago, and that's when they found the evidence.

Ugh. My poor mom must be heartbroken. I'm sure she'll keep her faith in the Church, and in a way I'm glad for her that she finds comfort in it, but I'm more than a little disgusted with them right now. How does this keep on happening? Can it even be fixed?

Saturday morning, coming down....

Argh, I've been up since 6:00 after a measly 5 hours' sleep. Don't know how I managed to get any sleep at all, actually, because I'm still feeling all twitchy and caffeinated after yesterday's binge. But after a long day of fairly strenuous work, I didn't want to take any chances--getting jacked up on Double Blast coffee from Irving, plus (my latest long-distance driving vice) a couple of coffee-flavoured energy drinks, seemed like a better option than getting drowsy while driving the moose-infested roads of New Brunswick. Goddamned moose.

Anyway, frustrating sleep deprivation aside, I'm pretty psyched. Had an awesome week of work, electrofishing with a couple of colleagues from one of our New Brunswick offices. I was a little nervous about this project, because although I really enjoy electrofishing, I'd never worked with these guys in the field. I had met one of them before, and he seemed nice in an office setting, but that's no guarantee. But damned if they weren't among the most easy-going, hard-working, actually-know-what-they're-doing couple of people I've ever worked with.

And they felt the same way about me and told me so, which was really lovely to hear (especially considering that I managed to get horribly lost on my way to meet them at the work site one day, delaying our start by almost an hour. I kind of figured they'd be a little annoyed with me after that, but they were super understanding.) Whew.

Got to see a very good friend and former receptionist from our office (who left to pursue a motherfreakin' PhD in mathematics--amazing gal!). We had a lovely evening--she fed me the first homecooked meal that I'd had all week (yay!), I got to see her adorable kiddies, and we had a really nice catching up session. Also had a visit with my little cousin Steve (OK, he's 28...I guess I should stop calling him my "little cousin") who is stationed at the nearby military base, and who is so much like my father it's kind of funny--right down to the crazy-ass sense of humour and somewhat excessive fondness for drinking.

And this weekend, I'm staying in Halifax where I'm visiting my cousin and favourite fellow biology geek Beth, *and* meeting up with a certain temporary Nova Scotian Pajiban! Possibly even more than one temporary Nova Scotian Pajiban, actually--lordhelmet and I are definitely hanging out (look out, used bookstores of downtown Halifax!), and if Celery's around town, we may manage to meet up with her too. *psst* Hey Eyvi, you're next, lady!

Then it's off to do more shorebird surveys with my least favourite bird person. Ah well, it's only two days.

And then, finally, back home to see my lovely husband. Actually, I may see him sooner, because he wants to come visit me here in Halifax tonight. Argh, it just seems ridiculous to me for him to drive all the way here (five hours from home) just to be together for one night, then turn around and drive back tomorrow. I'm going to be home in less than a week, it's not like we're going to be apart for an eternity! Besides, I'm going to want to do stuff here in Halifax that he won't want to do--Beth wants us to go plant shopping, and I want to visit some relatives that I know he doesn't particularly enjoy visiting...I explained all of this to him, but I'm still not sure whether or not he's coming. Dammit, I'm kind of liking my solo adventure. Oh well, it will be nice to see him. *sigh* Silly, silly boy.

Okay, it's too late to try to go back to sleep, so I'm off to freshen up for the exciting day ahead. Maybe a nice shower will clear my buzzing brain....

Well, if I survive this, I guess I can work with anybody.

So, I survived the first round of surveys with the bird expert, and am very grateful to be back with my lovely office-mates. Bird guy wasn't too creepy this time around, just tedious. In fact, if I hadn't had such a bad first encounter with him, I mightn't have minded him at all this time, but you know how once a person gets so firmly on your bad side, they can do or say nothing without it grating on your nerves? Yeah, it's like that. And I'm going to be working with him on at least six more surveys. *sigh*

Anyway, apparently I hid my distaste fairly well, because at the end of our last day, he casually remarked that I "didn't seem as put off by him as I did the first time we worked together," as though he thought it was entirely my problem that I didn't get his sense of humour back then.

My terse response: "Uhh...well, sometimes it just takes a while to figure out how to take a person, I guess."

What I was screaming in my mind while visualizing throttling him with his binocular straps: "THAT'S BECAUSE YOU DIDN'T TALK ABOUT THE SIZE OF YOUR PENIS THIS TIME! OR YOUR FATHER'S PENIS! OR DEAD, PUTREFYING CORPSES BOBBING ALONG MERRILY IN THE GODDAMNED BROOK! YOU BIG, STUPID FUCKING OAF!!!"

Godtopus give me strength....

(Although, speaking of strength, I do think the 3 hours of walking in a bog every time we do these surveys is going to do wonders for my legs. Oh, and the walking is so tough that the bird expert doesn't talk much while we're walking to and from the study site. There, a silver lining.)

From the Captain’s Quarters

Another week, another business trip! Tonight, I’m coming to you live from the Seawind Landing Country Inn on the shores of Guysborough County, Nova Scotia. Okay, not “live,” actually—there’s no internet in my room, so I’m typing this to upload sometime tomorrow. There is internet in the common room, if you sit within about 3 metres of the wireless unit. I had to climb over a Bernese Mountain Dog to get to a seat with wireless. They’re a well-named breed; it was almost like scaling a small mountain! But Beaufort was a great sport about it, barely blinking as I hauled myself into the chair and tried to resist the urge to use him as a footrest. What a sweetheart! I’m a cat person, but I still want to take him home with me!

Frankly, I was grateful to have any wireless access at all, seeing as there’s no cell service here. And we can only make land line calls from the front desk phone, ‘cause the room phones are on a party line, so anyone can listen in. I was starting to feel very isolated! But I did have a chance to pop on briefly, inform Mr. meaux that I’d arrived in one piece (after a 4-hour drive on dark country roads I’d never been on before), and make some tentative plans for a mini-Pajibacon after work tomorrow (lordhelmet and meaux 2: Electric Boogaloo. Yay!). [Update: due to long field day, Minibacon ain't happening tonight. Wednesday it is!]

So, communication issues aside, I rather like these digs. It’s a lovely old inn; the rooms have tons of personality, and they have names, too! I was supposed to get one of the cheap rooms (though even the “cheap” rooms here are more expensive than the project manager would have liked—lucky for me, it was the only place to stay that was reasonably close to the study site. Score!). But because it was more convenient for the innkeepers, instead of the cheap room, I’ve been put in “The Captain’s Quarters.” Freakin’ sweet! Whirlpool tub? Check. Ocean view? (listens to the sound of waves gently crashing on rocks) Mm-hmm. The smell of something amazing baking, possibly some kind of herby/cheesy bread? Oh my, yes. Super comfy bed and cushy loveseat for sitting in and typing a blog entry? Check and double check!

Yes, the accommodations are lovely. The work…well, the work’s not bad—I like doing bird surveys just fine, especially when it’s along a nice scenic coastline. However, do you happen to recall from my previous post, the bird expert who liked to overshare? Yeah…I’m working with him again. *sigh* Ah well, I can deal. I have actually worked with him since that first time, and discovered that if you know what to expect (and how to avoid letting the conversation steer into awkward territory), he’s manageable.

I’d love some better company, but meanwhile, I’ll take what I can from the experience—the more I learn from this dude, the closer I become to being an adequate bird surveyor myself. However, I must admit that the thought of becoming a bird expert scares me a little, as most of the really skilled birders I know are, quite frankly, more than a little bit odd in one way or another. Do I want to be "one of them"??

Well, it's closing in on midnight, and I’d best wrap this up and try to get some sleep. I don’t know if that's going to happen any time soon, as I'm a little overcaffeinated…I just couldn't NOT try that damned Starbucks energy drink concoction I saw in the gas station refrigerator, in addition to the two large coffees I had on the journey, and two more large coffees earlier in the day. GAH!!! No wonder this entry is so rambly. Beg pardon. Okay, I’m cutting myself off now. (Dammit, this is exactly how I get when I'm leaving a phone message…oh, how I hate leaving messages….) OKAY! Say good night, Maureen!

'Til next time, folks.

Field Tales

Ahh, a successful and enjoyable field experience has come to an end. Well, "enjoyable" is a relative term--I could've done without the pain and exhaustion and wet, soggy feet every single day--but the company was great. Never underestimate the value of a good field partner in making any job seem bearable. This particular chap was a fellow bird geek, smart and knowledgeable (but not a know-it-all), and interested to learn the few things I was able to teach him. Also, relentlessly cheerful and able to maintain a sense of humour even as we were slogging through the dampest, dewiest chest-high vegetation. Couldn't have asked for better! I tend to worry when I'm asked to work with someone I've never met before, because I've had some...interesting luck in that department.

Exhibit A: a chap from Ontario, sent down to do stream habitat surveys with me. Buddy would not stop talking, making himself sound like an expert on every freakin' subject, not listening to anything I might have to contribute. I actually bought his know-it-all schtick for a while, until the day he commented that "You sure have a lot of sickly yellow conifers here in Nova Scotia. Something must be wrong with them." This was in November--our "sickly yellow" conifers were perfectly healthy tamarack trees. Their needles turn yellow prior to falling off in the fall. Every year. Same as they do in Ontario. Argh--nothing worse than an insufferable know-it-all who doesn't! But wait, there's....

Exhibit B: a guy from New Brunswick who was actually rather nice, but a complete and utter downer. Nothing I could say would lighten his mood. Mind you, we started on the wrong foot--thanks to some miscommunication, he had the impression we only needed him for a few days, when it was actually about 2 weeks. Okay, I couldn't begrudge him feeling a bit bummed about that. But two solid weeks of being stuck with a cheerless, mopey Eeyore? Well, I ran out of sympathy for him awfully fast, as I was using all my available pity on myself. Try maintaining a positive attitude when the only person you interact with all day long won't acknowledge the up side of anything. It ain't easy. But still, it beats the hell out of....

Exhibit C: the hired bird expert whom I was assisting. When we met for the first time, at the start of our field expedition, we started off talking about mutual friends and acquaintances in the local birdwatching community. Then, small talk: seen any good movies lately? What TV shows do you like? He expressed a dislike of Family Guy, on account of the raunchy humour...I thought to myself, "okay, he's maybe a bit of a prude, but that's fine."

Cut to that evening, over dinner. The teenagers at the next table led the birder to talk about his own puberty 35 or so years ago...and how it was especially difficult for him, because (oh jeebus, I cringe to type it) any time he'd get a boner in class, he had a hard time hiding it 'cause it was so large.

Oh, and later during that same dinner...and I have NO recollection of how the conversation went here...he told me about when he was a kid and saw his father's penis for the first time, he thought it was huge--"like an elephant's," to be exact. Of course, he was quick to add that he later learned that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

Sooo, that was the first day of a two-week stint working with this person. Alone. In the woods. Cue uncontrollable shuddering....Oddly, though, I didn't have the impression that any of this talk was intended to shock (or entice) me. I honestly think something in his mind-to-mouth filter mechanism is just broken. His social interaction system seems off, as further evidenced by the time that we happened upon an oddly tied garbage bag in a stream several days into the field program.

Birder dude decided that the bag almost certainly contained a body--after all, he was quick to share, in his 30 years of field work he'd found a few human bodies. He proceeded to tell me in detail why he was so sure about the bag: "See how that rope's tied there, around what's got to be the neck? And judging by the size, I'd say it's a little kid. Or maybe a dog. And it probably just floated downstream recently, 'cause it's all bloated after a few days of putrefying." Meanwhile, while not convinced it was a body, I was at the same time freaked out and trying desperately to change the topic ("Hey, what's that call, a waterthrush?"), or at least to signal to him that I didn't need all the detail, but he was absolutely fixated.

By the way, we reported the garbage bag to the local police that afternoon. It turned out to contain...drumroll please...motherfucking GARBAGE.

Anyway, in the spirit of No Whining Wednesdays, I should point out that even these horror stories have a silver lining. I would never have these crazy-ass tales to tell my scandalized friends and office mates if I hadn't worked with these people!

Family Stories from Dirty Laundry

Huh, I’m 31 years old, and I think this is the first time I’ve ever used a Laundromat! Funny, that....

Anyway, waiting for my clothes to wash gives me a long (long!) overdue opportunity to update poor, sad little Happy Apathy. Where to start? I think I’ll take a step back in time to May of this year. The location, my hometown in western Cape Breton; the occasion, my Grandma Robie’s 90th birthday open house celebration.

Her kids and grandkids had decorated the town Arts Centre with Grandma’s own handiwork. Hand-sewn quilts were draped on walls, and any remaining free space was taken up by her paintings (mostly local landscapes), all borrowed from the family members and friends she’d so lovingly made them for. My contribution? An amazing all-white cotton quilt covered with an incredibly intricate pattern of stitches, a wedding gift made for us by my mom and grandma together. On the tables were bouquets of the wildflowers that Grandma Robie so cherished, and taught her grandkiddies so much about (is it any wonder two of us grew up to become biologists?).

Early in the afternoon, Grandma’s many friends and admirers in the community were invited to drop in and offer their best wishes. A mother of nine and a longtime nurse at the local hospital, Grandma is very well-known in our small town, so the open house was a happy blur of (mostly) familiar faces. It was especially adorable to see her with my mother-in-law’s Dutch neighbour and his wife—Pieter’s always admired my grandmother, often comparing her to the regal and much-loved late Queen Mother; likewise, Grandma has a real soft spot for the Dutch (ever since her days as a nurse working in Halifax during WW2), and for Pieter in particular.

Following the open house, the whole family gathered for dinner. The nine kids and sixteen grandkids were all gathered (for the first time ever!), along with their significant others and the church minister. My cousins came from as far as Vancouver and Toronto just for the occasion!

During dinner, we paid homage to the guest of honour, with almost everybody taking turns at the mike telling "grandma stories"--quite a feat, as we Camerons are NOT fans of the spotlight, as a rule.

Among the highlights:

My dad making wisecracks about poor Grandma’s driving habits. His favourite, the legendary time she picked up her older sister at her niece’s place, put the car in gear, and hit the gas…only to discover (after backing into a basement window) that she’d put the car in *reverse* gear. Aunt May fainted, poor Grandma thought she’d killed her…this was shortly before she gave up driving. I don’t imagine Grandma found it terribly funny at the time, but she had the grace and good humour to laugh along with the rest of us!

Grandma’s oldest son and his oldest son, the musically gifted members of the family, performing a duet on piano and guitar. No, I don’t remember what they played, but it was lovely.

My painfully shy and frustratingly self-conscious little brother getting up to speak, much to the surprise of all of us. He told the story of Grandma taking the time to teach him to paint. It didn’t spark a lifelong hobby, but with her help he created a lovely painting of an autumn scene that hangs in my parents’ place with pride even now. I don’t know if Aaron even knows how proud he made my dad that night!

Many of the older cousins reminisced about our childhood sleepovers at Grandma's. The excitement we all shared when our cousins from out of town came to visit; getting together to play earnest, rousing games of "Court" (oddly, none of us grew up to be lawyers, and very few of us have ever actually been to court); waking up to Grandma’s amazing pancakes (and, of course, partaking in pancake-eating contests)…these were things I hadn’t thought about in ages, and recalling the memory gives me the warm fuzzies even now.

And with that, my poor abused hiking boots have finished tumbling in the dryer, and I have finished rambling in the laundromat. Sorry for the long and somewhat scattered post, but I was looking for a place to record and preserve the memory of that lovely celebration of my wonderful grandmother, and this seemed like as good a place as any. 'Til next time!

Apathy Overload

Good grief, it's been a while. On the very off chance that anyone who reads this thing is not Facebook friends with me, or not on Pajiba, don't panic--I have not, repeat NOT, fallen off the face of the Earth.

It's not that I've been exceptionally busy; I've just been thoroughly uninspired. Couple of post-worthy items, I just haven't had the time or energy to write them up. However, I found out in the last week that I have a lot of travel time coming up in my job between now and October (spanning three of the four Atlantic provinces, plus some time offshore!), so in my boring motel-room evenings, you can expect to hear from me a bit more frequently.

Yes, mark your calendars and send the children to momma's place, meaux will probably be back in action this summer! Whooo, yeah!

Lazy Sunday....

Not much to report, really. Just a lovely, quiet day. The sun's just starting to emerge, I have spent most of my day relaxing on the couch with Quidi Vidi sitting on or beside my lap, and it's just been so relaxing after a fairly hectic week.

Last Saturday began with a field trip led by a lovely, but almost zealously enthusiastic birder. It was fun, although I'm not a morning person and we started the day at 6:30 in order to get to the meeting place on time. After that? "Easter" dinner at the in-laws', complete with the niece and nephew (ages 8 and 7), as well as the brother-in-law's friends' two kids (4 and 2). Cute bunch, but I'm just not used to hanging around so many small people--even when they're perfectly well behaved, which they were 97% of the time (seriously great job, parents!), it ain't quiet.

Next day, we embarked on the 5-hour drive to Halifax, for my long-awaited visiting/shopping trip to Halifax. Sadly, because of the ill-timed Easter dinner, we didn't get to leave 'til Sunday. And because Allan apparently didn't understand my plans, he only booked Mon and Tues off, so we didn't get to stay as long as I'd hoped either. So, the 5-day trip I'd envisioned (and booked vacation time for) became a 3-day rush job, I didn't get to visit any of my university friends. Argh. However, I did get to spend some time with my favourite fellow biology geek (my cousin Beth), and got to see Allan's brother and his wife's new place, so that was nice.

Drove home Tuesday and arrived to find that my mother had landed at my place a day early. Thought we'd have Tuesday night to relax, show Allan some of my...um...more intimate clothing purchases, and finish tidying the house (seriously, I cannot stand the thought of my mom knowing how messy our house really is when she's not around), but *surprise*, there she was. Ah well, c'est la vie. So, mom was down from Tuesday 'til yesterday night, and I haven't had a chance to really relax all week. Don't get me wrong, it was a nice visit--we went out for pedicures, did some shopping--but it's impossible to relax when at any moment, you might be faced with the two hot-button issues: babies ("Are you ever going to have them?") or church ("Do you think you'll ever go back to the church?"). Not only that, Allan and my mother are such different people that whenever I'm in a room with them, I feel like I have to act as a sort of a social lubricant to keep things from getting awkward. I'm on edge the whole time.

*sigh* I guess I shouldn't let it stress me out so much--really, I'm not usually a "stressy" kind of person! Does every gal have such a weird relationship with their mom?

Stork City

Huh, wow. Two of my husband's long-time best friends have just announced they're expecting their first babies. How exciting for them! And yet...I...uh...I really hope this doesn't cause Allan to start thinking about babies.

Ah, I don't think it will; he's pretty adamant.

As for me, parenthood is a big, scary prospect and I don't think I'll ever be ready for it. My life is full and busy enough as it is, and I treasure my stolen moments of lazy time. I am seriously in awe of people who have kids and work outside the home (or not, even). How in the hell are there enough hours in the day for you people?!

*sigh* I know, being a parent is apparently tremendously rewarding, and I certainly see glimpses of why people do it, like when my co-workers bring their beautiful, funny, full-of-personality little kiddies into the office. But it's still not something I want--and having hit the big 3-1, with still no signs of biological clock tick-age, I don't think I ever will.

I know lots of people who've been married and happily childless for decades, and I'm pretty damned sure we'll be one of those couples. Don't get me wrong--if something unexpected happens, we'll deal with it--but there are no planned stork deliveries coming our way. Instead, we'll happily settle into the role of "the cool aunt and uncle," and enjoy the odd visit with our favourite kiddies (and after a while, when they're all wound up and cranky, we can just hand them back to mommy and daddy...) *evil laugh*

(pajiban group hug)

Though I didn't know her well, I admired her style. Always sweet and kind, funny as hell when she wanted to be, and such a courageous woman in her well-fought battle against leukemia. Rest in peace, AlabamaPink.

*hug* to all of my Pajiba-land friends, many of whom were close to 'Bama, and (safe to say) all of whom were admirers like me.

For the second time since December, I am sorely reminded of how very much cancer sucks. To Amanda and Audrey--you're sorely missed, and the world is a little less fun without you.

Though it hurts to lose a friend, may it help remembering / That every door that closes in, one'll open to the other side. (thank you, Ron.)

March madness

Ugh, it's the most busiest time of the year. Most of the work we do is for government clients, and they need everything done in time for fiscal year end. This means that all the work we do needs to be reported on by the end of this month. Wouldn't be so bad if I was able to focus on my own stuff exclusively, but other people need field work done, and I'm one of the few folks in the office who can do the work (not that I'm particularly talented; just that I'm not pregnant, nor am I too senior to be doing field work), so I'm expected to pitch in even though I really don't have the time. We've been working through weekends, and we brought in a guy from another office to help out for a couple of weeks, but even with him in town we didn't finish the job, so I'll probably be back out there this week assisting the lead guy.

What really drives me is the fact that the people who were organizing the job couldn't get their shit together, and so we didn't actually get to the site and get started until much later than we should have most mornings. Fucking ridiculous! If people were just a bit more organized, we'd be fucking well done, and I could be focusing on my own work by now. Argh!!!

*sigh* Rant over, for now. Just had to get that out of my system. How is that cloning research coming along, anyway....?

That's my dad....

My father's sense of humour is the stuff of legend in my family. For example, there was the time he found a dead beaver by the side of the road and brought it home so he could put it in our driveway, tucking an empty beer bottle under its limp arm so that it looked to be dead drunk when mom's sister showed up for a visit. It's become so ridiculous, my cousin Stephen was once asked, "Oh, come on--there's not really an 'Uncle Bobby', is there?"

Yup, that's my dad all right. I've been told I have his sense of humour...starting to question whether that's a good thing, as he has officially outdone himself.

Dad went in for some minor abdominal surgery today. When the doctors got started, they opened up his surgical gown and discovered a note that he had tied to his...um...er...naughty bits that read, "Dear Doctors, please be careful with this, as it's the only one I have. Signed, Linda" (yup, that's my mom's name).

Apparently the medical staff in this hospital had a sense of humour, because when dad woke up, he found a note tied to his gown that said, "Dear Linda, We gave it an extension. Hope it helps. Best wishes, the doctors."

Well, I should probably post SOMEthing this month....

Huh...wow...almost a month since my last post, eh? I feel so negligent. Gosh, what's new with me? Hmm, remarkably little.

Although...it seems my seabird past life has come back to haunt me. Within a week of posting about Crazy Bill, by sheer coincidence my old masters supervisor emailed me out to ask if I was interested in publishing another paper or two based on my research (which will be absolutely awesome if I can find the time), and I was asked by the editor of a scientific journal to review a paper on penguin parental behaviour (I've never reviewed a paper before, so was kind of excited to be asked). Oh, and I heard from one of my grad-school buddies for the first time in about five years. He's now off to the arctic for some field research. How cool is that?! (pun only slightly intended)

Meanwhile, back in my environmental consultant present life, things are starting to get super-busy. Many projects on the go, all with reports to be written that are all due at the same time. Between now and then, there's also a pile of field work to be done--starting with next week, when I will be ass-deep in a brook for much of the time. Yes, in February. Yes, in Canada. I know!

Ah, who am I kidding--I'm going to enjoy the hell out of it. As long as my waders don't leak (and I just did a bitchin' patch job on them), the work isn't ridiculously strenuous (save for a little rough bog-walking at one spot, it's really not), and my field partner is fun to work with (he is), it'll be a good time and a much-needed nice break from the office.

Yes, in my mind, I know I'll like the work...and yet, looking out the window at all the snow and ice, I'm just not looking forward to it. *shiver*

The Slack-ass Naturalist Chronicles 3: Crazy Bill

My guppy is a slut. To use my new favourite insult (courtesy of Zombie Strippers), he is a pert little minxy slut. Every time I look at my fishies, I catch him doing his little guppy mating dance for a different one of the platys. Dude! That's not even the same species! What are you trying to accomplish here?!

Which reminds me of one of my seabird buddies. Back in my days as a seabird behavioural researcher, I spent my days observing a colony of Common Murres. Murres are in the auk family, a relative of the beter-known and more colourful Puffin. In the midst of our little group of study animals, there was one noticeable oddball: a lone Razorbill. Razorbills are another member of the auk family. Though they look similar at a glance (black and white, and about a foot tall), they are most definitely not Murres.

MURRES.














NOT A MURRE.

















When I first met this sole, confused Razorbill, he had been living among the Murres for at least 5 years, as long as my lab-mates had been studying these seabirds. They had named him Crazy Bill. How did we know Bill was a he? Well, during the breeding season, he had a funny habit of mounting one of his Murre neighbours. (In an interesting twist, when Crazy Bill left the colony to grab a bite to eat, his desired mate--or as I liked to call him, "Crazy Bill's Bitch"--proved his own manhood, and was often seen mounting a nearby female Murre.) Crazy Bill also seemed to enjoy preening his little buddy, and wow...I never thought animal body language could be so very clear to humans until I saw the obvious discomfort in Crazy Bill's Bitch demeanor as he was being groomed by Bill. The poor creature clearly wanted to be anywhere but on that rock having his feathers smoothed by the big, brutish Razorbill.

Crazy Bill and his Bitch (I can only assume he was the same Bitch year after year; unfortunately, we were never able to capture and band either member of this twosome) returned to the study site for the four summers I worked on Great Island. I can only assume that these two lads still spend the breeding season in the colony, and can't help but wonder if Crazy Bill's Bitch has ever summoned up the courage to leave his abusive-seeming relationship, or if he's still out there sneaking a little avian pussy on the side while Papa's out to lunch.

Wow. Much as I like spending summer here at home, with such perks as running water and electricity, there are times when I really miss those crazy seabird research summers on remote and amenity-deficient Great Island. Animal behaviour just fascinates the hell out of me. All in all, I think I'm content with just grabbing a shower and watching this foolish guppy try to get it on with the other fishies in the tank. In fact, that sounds like a plan right now....

Five Cents Please

*sigh* Did you ever get the feeling you'd missed your calling in life? I'm starting to feel like I should've been a psychiatrist. People seem to love talking to me about their problems, to the point where they're even starting to make appointments! Like the other day, I was sitting in my cube when a co-worker pops his head in and says, "I know you're busy, but when you have a sec, can you come over? I wanted to talk to you about something personal."

Some days, I wish I had walls....

It's not even conversations with these people, it's marathon therapy sessions! Relationship woes, in-law issues, detailed accounts about how some tiny innocuous comment made them feel mortally slighted--anything goes. Hell, I've even been having email sessions with a buddy in a different province! (His girlfriend doesn't like to go out--ever--and he's feeling a little stifled.) I'm starting to feel like I exist merely to be a sounding board. It's not that I don't care about these people and their problems, but it doesn't seem to work both ways. I don't spill my guts to these people, dammit--I barely get a word in edgewise! It's kind of unfair.

Ah well, why would I go to them for advice anyway? They're freakin' dysfunctional. *grumble, grumble*

P.S.: I do recognize the irony of this post--so thanks for listening to my venting, and please feel free to post your own problems in the comments!