Sparrow Saga - or - Bring out the Flame Throwers

Have you ever seen the movie where Rowan Atkinson house-sits for someone and encounters a bee? And goes to great lengths to destroy it, and ends up destroying the house by the end?

We have some sparrows nesting in our eavestrough. We wouldn't mind so much, except they are right outside our bedroom and are very noisy very early in the morning. The obvious solution would be to remove the gutter guard and expose the whole length of the gutter to the elements, but we can't get onto the steep roof, and we can't afford a handyman willing to attempt it. So we've tried other approaches.

We tried blocking the gutter with chicken wire, and they pulled it out and went back to nesting inside. We offered a birdhouse as alternative housing. We tried fake owls and sonic devices. The birds sat on the owl's head and sneered at us. We sprayed the entrance with chili and vinegar. We applied WD-40 to the lip of the roof to make it slippery. We wedged chicken wire into every possible crevice. We sprayed wasp poison into the cracks. We poured bleach into the gutter. Against all conceivable odds, the happy couple got back in. This morning Mr. Sparrow sat on our window sill outside our bedroom with nest-making grasses in his beak and very clearly said, "Looky what I'm doing! Nyaa nyaa nyaa!" before flying back into the eavestrough.

Maybe we tip our hats in acknowledgement of their tenacity and admit defeat. Maybe we bring out the flame throwers. Not sure how it will go yet.

Mother's Day - random memories of Mom, in no particular order

Sewing my school clothes, Easter dresses, dance outfits, swim suits...and teaching me how to sew. Brushing my hair with that wire-haired brush and No More Tangles, despite my whining. Coming home from church to the wonderful smell of Sunday roast. The best blueberry cheesecake ever. Somehow making all the flowers in the garden blossom blue at once for my sister's backyard wedding reception. The amazing homemade bread (we ate an entire loaf before Dad came in from mowing the lawn). Thick paperbacks everywhere in the house, including the bathroom. Stuffed calico birds and delicate crocheted snowflakes on the Christmas tree. Playing hymns on the organ (I was envious that she got to remove her shoes in church). Teaching me to sing alto. Reading stories to us on long drives in the car. Letting me bring a sick rabbit into the house for close care. Making me take the field mouse back when I brought it home in a Dixie cup. Playing ragtime duets with my brother on the piano. Presenting hourly surprises on long trips, too, like paint-with-water books and soy-oatie squares. Making us matching pajamas for Christmas. Making us fantastic cloth Holly Hobbie dolls and Winnie-the-Pooh bears and pig-shaped gingham pillows and---my favourite---corduroy frogs stuffed with wheat (I still have mine). Multiple kinds of homemade jam in the fridge, all open and available at once. Bags of licorice while watching Cary Grant movies. Shuttling all us kids to all of our music and dance lessons and sports events. Teaching us how to dehydrate or bottle food from the garden. Teaching me to knit and crochet. Never forgetting kids' and grandkids' birthdays. Taking care of the home front while Dad worked on his book. Mailing boxes of homemade goodies at Easter and Halloween and Valentine's Day. Putting faces, hats and earrings on the squash. Teaching us service by taking a wonderful chicken dinner to the neighbours and then giving us bread and milk for supper. Studying German and Hungarian. The magical closet full of games and puzzles. Caring for an ill neighbour's children. Painting beautiful landscapes and Victorian decorations. Rolling up her pant legs and wading in the gutter with us kids after a heavy rain. Dropping everything to go help a sick family member. Cheering when a grandkid did something notable. Cheering when a grandkid didn't do anything notable.

All this and so much more. Love you, Mom.