Wildlife Invasion Number Three

Back in mid-March I mentioned finding a deceased mouse in the trap under the sink, and wondered if we were overdue for a starling invasion. We actually had more mice first—a total of five, I believe, before the end of April. I grew careless about keeping that trap set, so had the fun of starting my day by sanitizing the kitchen countertops on more than one occasion. One of these days I need to pull out the masonite half-wall partition between the under-sink cabinet and the dishwasher. I’m sure that’s where they get in. For now, I make it a point to check the baited trap under the sink every morning. So far, we’ve been mouse-free for about three weeks.

So back to the starlings. We usually get one or two in the “attic” every spring, and they eventually wind up in the vent pipe over the kitchen range. This is a manufactured house, so the gap between the ceiling and the roof isn’t accessible to big critters like humans. We couldn’t figure out how they got in the attic in the first place, nor how they went from there into a pipe that *should* run continuous and unbroken all the way through the roof.

Yesterday, brother Richard noticed the starlings were getting rather aggressive at pushing against the attic vents, trying to get to a nesting spot. Then he heard a lot of noise in one spot, but by the time he got there the bird was inside. He started prodding the overhead (soffit) vents with a pole and discovered that one was loose enough to be pushed up a little. He tried holding the loose vent up for a while, but the bird wasn’t about to come out while he was there. The trapped bird stomped and fluttered all over the attic for hours, and finally got into the vent pipe just as I was preparing to cook dinner.

I knew the drill. Spread a towel over the stove to catch dirt and feathers; take out the screws to remove the vent fan; push up the butterfly valve with a stick; keep pushing and prodding while the *stupid* bird insists on perching on top of the valve flap or jumps from one side to the other as it frantically tries to climb back up the pipe. Mumble a few unprintable words under your breath. Use two stick to hold up both sides of the valve so the $%;*# bird can’t keep jumping from side to side. Consider getting a pair of tongs to grab a leg or whatever presents itself and drag the bird out—in pieces if necessary.

The bird, of course, instinctively tries to escape by going *up*. Falling *down* is not in its repertoire. But eventually it loses its balance and falls through the hole, immediately flying toward what appears to be the nearest exit, the kitchen window. (bonk!) Then, slightly dazed, it makes a beeline for the patio door, which Richard has not managed to open yet. (bonk again!!) Knocks itself out this time. Is it dead? I don’t know, and at this point I don’t care. Richard opens the patio door and chucks it out. Either it will recover and leave on its own, or one of the neighbors’ cats that hunt on our property will find it.

In the meantime, I’m trying to clean up the mess so I can cook dinner. Throw away the shingle nail that came down the pipe with the bird. (How did *that* get in there?) Carefully gather up the towel and shake off the debris outside. Wipe everything down with disinfectant. Try to re-install the fan. Hah!! Try working close-up overhead in a dark space looking through the long-distance portion of your trifocals. I fumble a screw; it bounces as it drops and winds up behind the stove. This isn’t working, and I’m so angry and frustrated that I’m close to tears. Time to call for help.

Son Jon says he’ll be over as soon as he can—he has to wait for Patty to get home so she can watch daughter Raven. So I take few deep breaths, leave the fan dangling by its wires, and cook dinner.

Epilog: Jon arrived, bringing a beautiful flowering plant for Mother’s Day. He put the vent fan back in, did some repair work on the starling’s entry point, and even pulled the dead battery from the van and put it on the charger.

It was, all in all, a pretty good Mother’s Day. I heard from all my kids and got to spend time with granddaughter Britni who is here visiting. I’ll have delayed Mother’s Day lunch with former foster daughter Kristina next Sunday, and probably spend time with son Jeff and daughter-in-law Joyce the Sunday after that. I hope all mothers reading this had a good day, too—minus the starling.

Mother's Day Poems

For many years, I wrote a poem for my mom every Mother's Day. A lot of them wound up in a little work-for-hire gift book I put together for Barbour Publishing. I was supposed to be mostly compiling quotes, so I figured I might as well quote myself. Mom was drifting into the haze of Alzheimer's, but she still was proud of what she felt was "her" book.

My friend, Anita Donihue, recently asked for a copy of one poem, as she had misplaced it. She discovered several years ago, that the poem could be sung to the tune of "Jesus Loves Me," and uses it annually with her Sunday School class at Algona-Pacific Church of God in Washington. So I get my annual dose of "fifteen minute of fame." Actually, most of my Mother's Day poems have been read at least once in one church or another, and several have been published as well. Since I still hold the copyrights, I decided to share a few. Feel welcome to pass them on.

This is the one Anita wanted. She added as a chorus, "Yes, we love Mom (3 times) and Jesus loves her too."

Moms

Wife, companion, sweetheart, friend,
One on whom we all depend,
Chauffeur, laundress, cook and baker,
Casserole and cookie maker,
Seamstress, skilled in many arts,
Mending clothes and broken hearts,
Girl Scout leader, Sunday School teacher,
Confidante, advisor, preacher,
Bargain hunter, tutor, nurse,
Keeper of the family purse,
Neighbor, cousin, daughter, niece,
Making beds and making peace,
Always smiling, always giving,
What a busy life they're living,
Feeding children, dogs and cats,
How do they wear so many hats?

Janice Lewis Clark May, 2000

Actually, I think this one is my favorite.

Life: With Safety Net

Life is an ocean the sailor must cross
In a boat with threadbare sails:
Riding the billows from trough to crest,
Braving the fearsome gales.
And the waves roll up, and the waves roll down,
And the breakers roar and foam,
But the beacon light of a mother’s love
Will guide the sailor home.

Life is a journey to faraway lands,
On a road fraught with perils and care,
Where many a beckoning dead-end trail
Awaits, the unwary to snare.
And the road climbs up, and the road slides down,
Over rocks and through valleys gray,
But my mother set me upon the path
With a map to guide my way.

Life is an acrobat’s balancing act
On a narrow, raveling rope,
In a gusty wind, with slippery shoes,
And a tattered net for hope.
And the rope sways left, and the rope sways right,
And the watchers hoot and call,
But my mother’s waiting with open arms
To catch me if I fall.

Though the sea is wide, and the road is long,
And the dancing tightrope sways,
Still I carry inside my mother’s song,
That will last me all my days.

Janice Lewis Clark, 2001

This is my most requested, and a favorite for baby showers:

Motherhood

Smiles and dimples, sweet delights;
Diapers, teething, sleepless nights.

Creeping, crawling, growing strong;
Into everything ere long.

Toddling, tripping down the halls;
Crayon murals on the walls.

“Mama”, “Papa”, happy laughter;
“No”, “I hate you” follows after.

Bedtime stories, magic rings;
Skinned-up knees from slides and swings.

Halfway grown and off to school;
Teacher’s smart but Mom’s a fool.

Race through lessons, out the doors;
Messy room and half-done chores.

Plans and day-dreams, fits and starts;
Broken bones and broken hearts.

Hitch your wagon to a star;
Need new clothes, some cash, the car.

Graduation, running wild;
All grown up but still a child.

Taste a bit of life and then,
Funny thing, Mom’s smart again.

It’s a calling like no other;
What a joy to be a mother!

Janice Lewis Clark 1996

One more for now, another popular one:

Laundry Musings

Little boys' pockets, full of odd things:
Bubble gum wrappers and butterfly wings
Nails, screws, and washers, a Crackerjack ring,
Pencils and pebbles and pieces of string.

The whole world is changing, each day something new
Cell phones and faxes and microwave stew,
Video movies and games on the set;
Grandma sends e-mail and cruises the net.

Satellites orbit, the shuttle's routine.
Holograms shimmer from each magazine.
Lasers for surgery, robot-built cars,
Telecommuting and photos from mars.

Washers and dryers grow more automatic;
Glass fiber lines give us phones with less static.
Life is confusing, amusing but strange.
Isn't it grand that some things never change.

Little boys' pockets, full of odd things:
Bubble gum wrappers and butterfly wings
Nails, screws, and washers, a Crackerjack ring,
Pencils and pebbles and pieces of string.

Janice Lewis Clark 1998

Enough for now. It's time to tend to other chores. I finally finished my latest review for The Fix, an anthology called The Return of the Sword. I also finished tweaking the manuscript for The Door in the Sky, which is the sequel to The Mountains of the Moon for the Hall of Doors series. Now I need to write a couple of critiques for Critters and then get back to book three for the series. Maybe I'll steal a few moments to get out and enjoy the rare sunshine.