I know, I know. Who wants turkeys in their yard? No one.They are loud, messy, destructive and none too swift. But this turkey was different.

He was strange from the start. Every evening he wandered down our hill to the backyard flockless. Can turkeys be loners? He walked with nonchalance, meandering around the grass, poking and pecking. Our burgeoning vegetable garden remained untouched. Sometimes he spent his visits preening his feathers. Or, he just sat swan-like. His presence kept the Evil Squirrels away.

The turkey always ignored the woods that bordered our yard and perambulated up front to the main road. At various times, he was sighted in different neighborhood yards. Yet that would mean his unknown destination required him to walk out along wide open spaces.

The first time the turkey emitted a sound came two weeks after his first appearance. Calm as usual, he pecked the ground. In the adjacent yard, a tan-and-white hawk dropped from the sky and stood still and poised. The turkey stiffened. A moment of tension filled the air. The hawk went into a slow glide, flying close to the ground. The turkey screeched and ran into the woods. But being a a turkey, he only hid himself partially. He left his dark brown rear sticking out and shaking. The hawk’s slow return sweep propelled the turkey to move deeper into the trees but did not prevent his gobbling in alarm.

The turkey no longer comes. I think he was lost for those couple of weeks and has now found some fellow turkeys to be with. There are other alternatives but I am going with that one.

You would think that at a certain age you would stop worrying about what others think. Or get better at being assertive. I tend to err on the “be nice” side and try to avoid conflict. Yet there are times when I wonder about myself.

The dentist I go to is a true music aficionado. He routinely throws out names of groups, song titles, concert dates and lyrics. As I sat in the chair at the beginning of a long, painful appointment, this rock fan criticized the easy music stations typically found in doctors’ offices. He mocked the secretary for listening to Luther Vandross and Whitney Houston.

I sat there, uncomfortable, thinking I should say something to defend his secretary and easy music, but I didn’t. The dentist then swiveled his chair to his computer and asked what should he listen to. He wasn’t addressing me, though, but rather his assistant. He opted for 80s’ music. I breathed a sigh of relief. Oh, 80s Metallica. I groaned inwardly. But I did not speak up and say I don’t like Metallica. Nor did I say I couldn’t imagine listening to loud, thumping music while I was being drilled. I went along passive, supine and miserable.

On the way out, the secretary told me that she thought the music the dentist chose was inappropriate. I told her it was and she smiled. When I left, I knew I had told the wrong person.

A recent post by Ruth talked about place and its importance which got me thinking. I had planned on writing about finally reaching the end of the school year (June 23rd). So, both ideas came together.

The family pool
Happy, happy.
How can a pool not be?
A constant since childhood.
Races, diving.
Flying down the slide 
in creative variations;
Screaming, shouting,
Constant danger of getting tossed in
If you foolishly wandered the edge.
Raft wars; Marco Polo
Lying out with (back then)
Baby oil and tanning reflectors,
Hot creamy lotion, greased arms
coconut and banana smells.
Baking until you needed to jump
Cool, cool water. Emerge dripping.

Kiss-108 blaring and the Saturday
ritual listening of Wishing on A Star.
A pool for all the neighborhood kids
an everyone’s pool
all day, mornings, afternoons.
Popsicles and chips and tonic (not soda!)
Soggy towels, stubbed toes, burning cement.

And best of all, floating, languid, on
a raft, staring up.
Treetops, clouds, sky.
Now the pool is
taken over by the young
Nephews, nieces, their friends.
Ipods, texting.
Still Kiss-108.
Still shouts and screams.
And for me, still floating.
Looking at the sky.

In the beginning, as with all relationships, a simple gesture charmed and entranced us. A look, a turn, a sighting. We congratulated ourselves on our foresight and reveled in the wonder of it all.

And then reality raced in. Our backyard paradise, replete with robins, blue jays, cardinals, squirrels and chipmunks happily coexisting with us, the feeders, crumbled. The daily ritual of throwing out bird seed to attract wildlife had transformed our clever, fat squirrels into evil masterminds.

“I think that squirrel is up to something.” I pointed out a few weeks ago while looking out the kitchen window. “He stares right at me with a look of contempt.” Of course, my family thought I was the one with the problem. Yet, I kept track of the gray creatures as they drew closer and closer to the house with their challenging glances towards me. They were definitely plotting.

In the first attack, the ring leader chewed a hole the size of a grapefruit in the screen of our enclosed porch. He welcomed himself to the bag of seed and urinated on the furniture. Although clever enough to get in, the squirrel trapped himself inside. It took several hours to coax the intruder out.

Betrayal and outrage replaced our awe and joy. After all, what did those greedy squirrels want? They were being fed. They had to go and ruin the bucolic dream. After a second invasion via a melon-shaped hole, we appealed to the experts. Local hardware and gardening centers were amused at our distress. They shared their squirrel horror stories and offered little relief.

After a few days interruption, we resumed feeding the birds. Why should the birds suffer because some animals are selfish? Yet, it is not the same. We rattle cans and tap the windows to scare the squirrels. Our porch is immersed with vinegar to mask any enticiing smells. The bird seed has been removed to the garage. We are now hunkering down.

In Ruth’s recent post, she asked about the reasons and excuses that keep you from writing.  

Reasons

Slow, slow writing
Swallows huge blocks of time;

Terrible time management
wastes needed opportunity;

Questioning doubt
paralyzes the ideas;

The notion-belief that your
offerings are not as good as;

Illegible handwriting that
devours thoughts;

The everything that is more sparkly
to the procrastinator.

On sunny days in the 70s, it should be a perk to have lunch recess duty. By the end of the year, the younger grades know how to run pell mell and scream without the fall epidemic of bumped heads, cut legs and friends who won’t play with you. For the teachers, the supervisors, it is a snap.

Yet, we teachers are not breezy or easy. It is June, after all. As we walk the playground, we bemoan the assessments, the deadlines, and the crawling days of the calendar. Summer seems too far away to be real.

A young student runs up to us. J’s voice emanates urgency. He is highly sensitive and often overwhelmed by everyday events. We prepare for the meltdown replete with tears and cries of unfairness. “I was playing and X kicked the ball right into my stomach!”.

We wait.

“And you know what?” J screams. “I handled it.” And he runs off. We are left looking at each other.

A moment of playground clarity for us. “I handled it.”

There is only a half hour left (for me) of the 48 Hour Book Challenge. Here is my summary:

Actual Reading/Blogging Goal: 21 Hours
Projected Goal Reading:   12 Hours
Books Read:   Completed Five Whole Books, Finished One, Started One
                 Total: 7 Titles
                 Major Pettigrew's Last Stand (had already started -- completed)
                 Fabled Fourth Graders of Aesop Elementary School
                 Catherine Called Birdy
                 Diary of a Wimpy Kid: The Awful Truth
                 Kitty and the Midnight Hour
                 Winter Gardens
                 The Lost Hero (three chapters)
Blog Reading/Commenting: One Hour
Charity: $100 for Birthday Wishes (provides birthday parties for children living in homeless shelters).

My third update:

Completed Catherine Called Birdy by Karen Cushman 6:20-6:50 (30 minutes).
Completed: Kitty and the Midnight Hour by Carrie Vaughn 8-11:30 (3-1/2 hrs)
Reading Blogs: 30 minutes

Total: 4-1/2 hours

Total so far: Fourteen Hours

48 Hour Book Challenge Update: I have cobbled together four-and-1/2 hours in reading time:

Completed: The Fabled Fourth Graders of Aesop Elementary School by Candace Fleming
On page 156: Catherine Called Birdy by Karen Cushman

Completed two books (I was already halfway through one when I started the 48 Hour Challenge).

Major Pettigrew's Last Stand - by Helen Simonson
Diary of a Wimpy Kid: The Ugly Truth - by Jeff Kinney

Total Reading:  Four and 1/2  Hours
Blogging/Reading Blogs: Thirty Minutes
Total: Five Hours