Atlantic Ave.

Home run

Girls, Sports and Sportsmanship

If there already weren’t enough reasons to get your child involved in sports, the story of Sara Tucholsky will give you another one.

Flower then fuzz

Peach blossoms

Peach trees at Applecrest Orchard

There is a haze of pink along Route 88 in Hampton Falls now. I saw it Sunday evening and went back with my camera on Tuesday.

After apples, peaches are the second largest commercial fruit crop in the United States. The New Hampshire Seacoast is pushing the northern limits of their range.

Peaches come from China by way of Persia then Rome. They made it to the Americas with the conquistadors. In China the gods live forever because they eat the peaches of immortality every six thousand years, and the juice runs down their chins.

What peaches and what penumbras!

– Allen Ginsberg, shopping for images at A Supermarket in California

Can you hear me now?

We put a man on the moon. Why can't we make machine-washable cell phones?

My recent return to a career as a full-time domestic goddess is off to a rocky start. Though I did vacuum the whole house, clean one bathroom, weed and de-thatch the front garden, and make some very tasty biscuits to go with the seafood chowder I picked up from Petey's for dinner last night.

All good works cancelled out, financially and emotionally, when I didn't check the pockets of my husband's pants before doing the darks this morning.

Anyway, the dinner was good. John was just home from a three-day with layovers in Venezuela and New York City and Laura got home from a lacrosse victory in Merrimack. I think it is nice to come home to a clean house and good, warm food. Their pleasure is mine. In a weird vicarious way.

I thought about going to watch Laura's game, but it was pretty far away and it just seemed like excessive effort. I want to be a supportive mom, but not a stalker mom.

Laura scored the first two goals, she said, then assisted several others – a repeating pattern of achievement.

I love to watch her go to goal – dodging, adjusting vs. the defense, thinking, setting herself up for a good, well-placed shot. She is not quick, but neither is she slow. She is not unpredictable, nor is she completely predictable. She is simply, when moving in the direction of the goal, with the thought balloon over her head that reads "it's time for me to score," inexorable.

ADJECTIVE: Firmly, often unreasonably immovable in purpose or will: adamant, adamantine, brassbound, die-hard, grim, implacable, incompliant, inflexible, intransigent, iron, obdurate, relentless, remorseless, rigid, stubborn, unbendable, unbending, uncompliant, uncompromising, unrelenting, unyielding. Idioms: stubborn as a mule (or ox) . See RESIST.

Hm. Her personality, actually.

I do plan to stalk on over to UNH this Sunday for Anna's last concert choir performance of the year. They are too good to miss. The conductor is a bit of a mad genius, from Australia.

At dinner I tried another riesling. Lately I've been sampling. I thought I only liked red wine, but suddenly I'm in a May mood for the cool, aromatic, Northern white. So far my favorite: J. Lohr White Riesling Monterey County Bay Mist 2006.

Aromas are like a blossoming peach tree and the stone fruit and mineral flavors are easygoing and lively.

Bonus: it is mildly effervescent.

A favorite writer and domestic goddess just won three National Magazine Awards. Go read anything by Caitlin Flanagan.

Parents, got some kid piano recitals coming up this month? Watch this first and imagine how much fun it could be: Monty Python Tchaikovsky's Piano Concerto No. 1.

Here, fishy

It's a fish eat fish world.

CASCO, Maine (AP) — Eliot Stanley caught a 13-inch salmon in Sebago Lake on Saturday. But he didn’t even know it because it was inside a 17½-pound, 41-inch northern pike.

It's like turducken, but with fish.

Sebago's landlocked salmon

Bluets

Bluets

They are small and grow wild in part-shade grass. Members of the Rubiaceae family of flowering plants, also known as the bedstraw, madder or coffee family. They can be colored blue, white, rose or lavender.

I like their four-petals and seeming delicacy but actual resilience as they spring back up after being walked on.

This morning I discovered a new secretish place to walk the dog off the leash, in marsh and woods, and I was feeling pleased with myself. Until at home I discovered 5 or 6 big ticks crawling ticklishly up the insides of my pants legs.

Wadadli

English and Falmouth Harbors as seen from Shirley Heights, Antigua

The thing to do (and we did) is go to the old fort on Shirley Heights on Sunday evening for the sunset, music, barbecue and mingling of sailboat people, tourists and Antiguans.

My perfect beach

Map: Darkwood Beach. There are no hotels or resorts, just a beach bar, smooth white sand, warm clear water, and the distant volcano on Montserrat.

"Save our earth," says the sign in the middle of nowhere

Goats: not a rare species on the island.

On the grounds of the St. James's Club

The resort was clean and comfortable, and the people friendly. A slight majority of vacationers were from Great Britain. Satellite.

Flowers

House plants grew outdoors! The birds were bold and would visit briefly unattended breakfasts in the open air restaurants, or steal bits of our scones at tea under the fig tree.

Spinnakers up

"It looks like science fiction," said John on the beach.

The view from our beach

Warmed by the sun, cooled by the tradewinds, and waiting for the drink cart.

Warm water

We heard from some fellow vacationers that the big boat in this photo won a lot of races in its class. We sailed only the resort Hobie cats.

A reef protected our ocean beach and provided good snorkeling.

Wadadli moment

Wadadli is a locally brewed beer as well as the Antiguans' name for their island.

Azaleas

My father has a green thumb.

More photos of his azaleas.

Village idiot

Busy with laundry and catch up today, but not too busy for a laugh:

Monty Python's Village Idiots

Getting home

Azaleas in Swarthmore, Pennsylvania

It was nice to visit family and a more advanced spring, even if by accident. Adventures in standby travel out of Antigua landed us in Philadelphia last night before the final leg to Boston this morning.

We spent the night at my father and stepmother's house. Taylor pork roll and pancakes for breakfast, mmm, and a visit out back to see the new bees (will blog 'em later).

There's no place like home, the old one and the new one. And there's no place like an awesome tropical vacation. But the in-between of airports I could do without. I will myself into a sort of suspended animation. I imagine I am Glinda the good witch traveling in a pink bubble. Reading a book. Waiting in line. Tucking myself into a small seat for four hours or so and trying to have no needs.

My bubble was almost busted when the three of us – airline pilot/ father, wife/ mother, and 14-year-old daughter with new freckles and mildly peeling sunburned shoulders – were pulled aside in airport security for a full search. In socks, with our possessions left on the belt, John was taken to one side and Laura and I to another. A stocky woman with a tight permanent wearing a uniform and rubber gloves patted down my daughter and I from our necks to our ankles. Then our carry on bags were pawed by the rubber gloves. I think I was making a very angry face.

Afterwards I swore and said to my husband, "Why isn't there any intelligence in airport security?"

"I know, I have to deal with this all the time," he said. "But you have to just do what they say. They're just trying to do their jobs."

I can think of plenty of examples when that excuse also didn't make it right.

Other than that, it was a great trip, which is I guess one of the reasons we all keep putting up with it. (More Antigua pics coming soon.)

Island cat

A slender, tiger-striped, charming, slightly cross-eyed beggar at a waterfront grill on Marmora Bay, at the St. James Club in Antigua, yesterday. We gave in and fed him a tiny piece of a fish sandwich.

(Submitted to the Friday Ark.)

Antigua

I thought I might actually DIE laughing when we played ping pong. Marmora Bay in the background.

At Long Bay we had lunch. I liked the colors.

"Life's a beach" in Long Bay, on our car rental day in Antigua. We had lunch near here. More colors.

I like the serendipitous moments best, when traveling. Like when we had to stop the car because 150 goats were diagonally crossing the (small, we-might-have-lost-our-way) road.

At Long Bay, a small gregarious friend. She wanted to see what she looked like in my camera.

He was diving all morning for the conch shells he is now selling on our beach and telling us why his are the best.

Approaching Darkwood Beach yesterday.

We are flying home tomorrow, standby. We have tried to fill ourselves up (like empty cups) with images like this.

Egret or small heron, English Harbour.

It's Antigua Sailing Week and we can just loll on the beach watching wings on water.

Darkwood Beach.

Darkwood

Darkwood Beach with distant Montserrat and its volcanic plume

Yesterday we rented a car at our hotel, the St. James Club, and circumnavigated the island of Antigua. Last time we visited Antigua was 17 years ago.

I discovered that Darkwood Beach is still my favorite beach on the island and maybe the planet. A most beautiful place.

Aweigh

The blogger is away from her desk. Until May 4. She has a date with a cavalier.

(Comments are closed until then.)

ANZAC Day

Yesterday our friends down under celebrated ANZAC Day, commemorating the landing of Australian and New Zealand troops at Gallipoli on April 25, 1915.

The spirit of ANZAC recognises the qualities of courage, mateship and sacrifice which were demonstrated at the Gallipoli landing.

It's a day that will always make me think of a certain movie from 1981.

How fast can you run?
- As fast as a leopard.

How fast will you run?
- Fast as a leopard.

Then let's see you do it.

Australian masculinity, I salute you. Trailer Gallipoli. Another trailer (remember that weird 80's electronic music by Michel Jarre? Do the time warp.)

Gentle giants

The secret to their popularity?

They make you smile.

Rube brew

It's Friday. How about a beer?

"Costly and harassing kabuki"

The View From Gate 14, by Peggy Noonan

America is in line at the airport. America has its shoes off, is carrying a rubberized bin, is going through a magnetometer. America is worried there is fungus on the floor after a million stockinged feet have walked on it. But America knows not to ask.

Lucida Grande

Font, coffee, or baby name?

Via Virginia Postrel, at her Dynamist Blog. VP on fonts: Playing to Type.

Flower power

Flowering forsythia

If I named the crayons I would call this Smack-Upside-the-Head Yellow.

In November, the last autumn colors leached out of the landscape. The fire went out. Winter's palette was pallid. We lived in a ghost world of dirty dull grays and browns. And white, white, white.

Now, after five long months, color is back. Living color. Technicolor. I feel a little stunned by it. Mesmerized. Like I might drive off the road into a forsythia bush.

Here is a bouquet of beautiful blog flowers:

Trout lilies • quince • star magnolia • narcissus • tulip magnolia • tulips • crocus • assorted Mississippi flowers • a multitude of magnolias • azaleas in Brazil • daffodils • bruised magnolia • wisteria • wild hyacinths and a zebratail

The dog and I crashed around in the White's Lane woods this morning, like the large, unstealthy, non-woods-dwellers we are. Still, I saw quite close, crossing the path ahead of us, what I believe was a marten. (Or maybe a fisher.) It was long and slender, it's fur was a rich reddish brown. It was cat-like, raccoon-like, weasel-like.

The maybe-a-marten paused halfway across the path and we gazed for a long moment at one another. (The dog was off sniffing something and never saw it.) It had a bright, alert look – like this.

I remembered an essay by Annie Dillard, Living Like Weasels. She describes an encounter with a small sleek fierce wild animal emerging from under a rose bush four feet away...

Our eyes locked, and someone threw away the key.

Something special in the air

My husband is such a good sport to endure being blogged about at home and (now) at work too...

Cockpit Chronicles: Caracas and New York

April, no showers

Quack!

Scary giant with a camera surprises duck.

"I'm fine now. See my pretty blue feather?"

Another sunny, warm, dry, breezy, beautiful day. Possibly the finest April in memory. The flip side: there's a Fire Weather Watch today.

Spring cleaning

Open the windows! Sunshine and high in the mid-70's.

Today I'm washing maybe all the windows in the upper level of our (raised ranch) house and John is complaining about, I mean washing the dirty stored-in-the-laundry-room-for-the-winter screens. Then I am putting the clean screens in the windows for the summer. This may be the earliest yet for the season.

Also redecorating the blah blog, in case you're wondering. (Work in progress.) White space is like sunshine. Thoreau said, "Simplify, simplify, simplify." But wouldn't it have been simpler to say it once?

I made the banner (in Appleworks Drawing, heh). It sort of commemorates my deceased pet goldfish Ping. After vacation next week I'm going to get a new Ping at Wal-Mart.

What I saw this morning on my walk: beach wall graffiti.

Practical cat

Zelda

Creamsicle Cats are orange and white,
Creamsicle Cats are rather small;
Creamsicle Cats are sly and bright,
And (thankfully) rarely caterwaul.
Creamsicle Cats have pretty faces,
Creamsicle Cats have hazel eyes;
They like to practise their airs and graces
And wait for the Creamsicle Sun to rise.

Creamsicle Cats develop slowly,
Creamsicle Cats are not too big;
Creamsicle Cats are roly-poly,
They know how to dance a gavotte and a jig.
Until the Creamsicle Sun appears
They lounge inside and take their repose:
Creamsicle Cats wash behind their ears,
Creamsicles dry between their toes.

(With apologies to T.S. Eliot, the Old Possum.)

The best non-fiction book about cats: Tribe of Tiger, by Elizabeth Marshall Thomas. (Excerpt.)

UPDATE 4/25/08: This post has been submitted to the Friday Ark.

Ride

When I drove past the Hampton Airfield on Saturday, on Cedar Road, I looked to see if any planes were landing or taking off. Instead I saw a couple of riders galloping their horses along the side of the grass strip runway. Pure exhilaration!

I drove around to the airfield entrance off Route 1 to see if I could get a photo, without stopping traffic. There they were, walking now.

Horses and airplanes are two of my favorite things. The riders look pretty happy too.

Reminds me of a great autobiography, West with the Night, by Beryl Markham. She was a racehorse trainer and bush pilot in Kenya in the 1920's and 30's.

The book is #8 on National Geographic's list of The 100 Greatest Adventure Books of All Time.

"I have lifted my plane from the Nairobi airport for perhaps a thousand flights and I have never felt her wheels glide from the earth into the air without knowing the uncertainty and the exhilaration of firstborn adventure."

The wind of heaven is that which blows between a horse's ears.

– Arabian proverb

Looking up

Maple blossoms

Trees have flowers.

Rose hips

Made it through the winter, a little weathered.

Pussy willows

It has been beautiful for days, with buckets of sunshine. After I dropped Laura at the Away bus at 7:45 a.m., I walked along the North Beach seawall with other walkers, joggers and roller bladers. Big waves and lots of surfers.

Carpe diem Saturday.

I'm off to Concord shortly. Must remember the fold-out lacrosse mom chair.

P.S. You might add some flavor to your Saturday – they're OPEN.

Now that's what I'm talkin' about

Now that's what I'm talkin' about

Spring vignette

Turkey in our backyard

This is the difference between 14 and 46.

"Mom, look, there's a whole big group of them!" she calls from another room.

I jump up off the couch and go to the kitchen window, thinking the turkeys are back. "I don't see any."

"No, out front."

"Turkeys in the front yard?"

"Not turkeys. Boys!"

The high school boys' track team is running by.

Welcome as the spring is to the earth

Purple is now, for this early bloom time, a favorite color.

I saw the first-of-the-year turtle in the pond this morning, paddling a little dazedly in the sun. It is going to be 61 degrees today, wowsa. The tiny cranberry-colored maple-tree flowers are blooming in blue sky fields.

In family news, John is promising me some photos from Barbados. Anna got two or three small parts in The Winter's Tale at The Players' Ring in Portsmouth this June. She is Emilia, lady to the queen, and the shepherdess Dorcas, and possibly "the Oracle," which I guess may be the character also known as Time.

In yesterday's home lacrosse game, Laura scored the first two goals artfully, aiding a win against Dover 5-3. It was nice to catch up with old friends on the sidelines. Bishop Brady next, on Saturday in Concord.

In the spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt.

– Margaret Atwood

At the beech

Through winter and early spring, beech trees stand out in bare woods because they cling to their old leaves that look almost golden in the off-season drab. See the pointy little buds? As soon as they unfurl, the tree will drop the old leaves all at once, in a golden shower.

I'm such a devoted sidelines mom I drove an hour to Nashua to watch Laura's game yesterday afternoon. It was worth it. At one point our team was down 4 points, then it was tied 8-8. One of our players was fouled inside the arc with 4 SECONDS left. And she scored on the free position. So we won 9-8. Yeah.

First home game today. Girls' lacrosse has 4 home games and 11 away games this season, including to Hanover and Lebanon, over 2 hours away.

My husband was one of the hundreds of American Airlines pilots at Logan Airport and across the system who picketed yesterday against management's asininity.

This article sums up the issues really well: American Air Pilots Protest Against Management

American is the only major U.S. carrier to avoid bankruptcy during the latest downturn, averting the move in 2003 with support from labor concessions.

Our family's concessions – 1/3 pay cut – were just about equal to our mortgage payment, ouch. (Just after we had renovated our old raised ranch, as luck would have it.) And today, April 16, top management will be divvying up millions in bonuses (just like last year) but are refusing to negotiate the overdue pilots' contract and live up to their promises of "Pull Together, Win Together."

Dude, what is going on with top executive compensation in general these days? It has completely separated itself from reality and floated up into the stratosphere.

Pilot issues in a one-page pdf nutshell: Where We Are Today and How We Got Here

Nearly 3,000 pilots have lost their jobs, 1,500 saw their pay cut in half and all the other pilots took at least 25 percent cuts while senior executives get 700 percent pay raises.

The pilots don't just want some of the money they gave up back, they want management to invest in the airline itself – improve on-time performance, staff all parts of the airline, buy the spare parts they need, not get into an MD80 situation again.

Here's a blogger who believes pilots are underpaid.

They need to fly an aluminum tube into the sky at 30,000+ feet altitude and then have to land that same contraption without burrowing it into the ground. Add Mother Nature to the mix with her bouquets of rain, snow, sleet, wind, and overweight tourists and the fact that this is a safer mode of transportation than most options speaks volumes to the integrity of their profession. Unlike a bus driver, who may be able to divert a bus to the side of a road, pilots have no such option.

Bless you, James. And don't forget that since mid-September 2001 they have been wearing clip-on ties. Some of them have become Federal Air Marshals. And it's not over yet.

Video in this Logan story: Pilots picket at airport. Hey, I know those guys!

Being a commercial airline pilot ain't what it used to be in the golden age of aviation, but there's still a lot to love about it. AA pilot Kent Wien, of Exeter, NH, blogs the ups and downs (har) of a pilot's job at the excellent Cockpit Chronicles. My husband flew with him recently and said he is a serious Mac geek and lots of fun on a trip.

They're so cute when they're little

Marie has a new puppy, go see.

Charming Portsmouth

At the sign of the jaunty Colonial fellow

I had a filter on my lens when I shot this – the "car windshield" filter.

Laura and I were driving around in the Strawbery Banke area of Portsmouth yesterday afternoon and passed the old William Pitt Tavern (more, fine art print) after a trip to the fabric store and the seashells and minerals shop downtown.

We were killing time while Anna auditioned for "A Winter's Tale" at The Player's Ring. After the time was killed, we had three lucky polished gemstones to give her (celestite, aquamarine and ruby), to enhance her already potent powers of Anna-ness.

When we were in the gem shop, the teenage clerk with her feet up behind the counter irradiated us with boredom and scorn energy, but we were able to deflect it with our shields of cheerfulness, curiosity and silliness and get on with our idle hour of shopping.

Laura chose a white-speckled black chrysanthemum stone for herself. (Images.) It is supposed to be good for prosperity and for finding your purpose in life. It also increases luck – but does our dear four-leaf clover finder really need more?

I bought myself a chrysoprase, or "Australian jade." I had never heard of it, I just liked the way it looked and felt. It is a pale mottled green polished to a smooth egg shape. (Images.)

It sounds like something a fourth wise man might bring baby Jesus. Gold, frankincense, myrrh and chrysoprase.

My new green charm has properties, it is supposed. It speeds healing, protects on sea voyages. With the cheering color of spring (where are you?), it promotes hope and joy by banishing negative thoughts and irritability. It is a cure for restlessness and loneliness. It increases grace, and equilibrium (no more falling off the curb). It facilitates self-expression and courage, and the ability to use them wisely.

Friendships will be strengthened, broken hearts mended, 20/20 eyesight restored!

It will activate my heart chakra too, so feel the love beaming o'er the internet. Chrysoprase rhymes with bliss and craze.

A particular favourite of Frederick the Great of Prussia. It can be seen today decorating many buildings in beautiful Prague, including the Chapel of St. Wencelas.

Don't forget to visit the internationally renowned (okay, linked) North Hampton Daily Photo, well, daily. And the very cool photoblog links in the all-over-the-world sidebar.

45th Thresher Memorial

On the banks of the Piscataqua River, Kittery, Maine (here), across from the Portsmouth Naval Base

In today's Seacoast Sunday...

Memory of Thresher crew is still strong
45 years after tragedy, sub 'family' reunites

By Amy Kane

For the 45th year, submariners, veterans and families gathered Saturday to remember one of the greatest tragedies their tight-knit community has ever experienced. On April 10, 1963, a Portsmouth-built nuclear attack submarine, the USS Thresher, sank below crush depth in sea trials off the coast of Cape Cod and all 129 men on board were lost.

A memorial service was held at 1 p.m. at Traip Academy in Kittery, hosted by the Thresher Base Submarine Veterans. The ceremony opened in the auditorium with speakers and a tolling of the bells as each man's name was read aloud. It included a wreath laying on the banks of the Piscataqua River.

Elizabeth DiBella grew up in Portsmouth and was 11 years old when she lost her big brother, Peter DiBella, a 1961 graduate of Portsmouth High School and a seaman aboard the Thresher. She traveled from her home in Los Angeles to attend the memorial.

Peter DiBella wrote letters to his family when he was away in training. He was excited at the possibility he might serve aboard a submarine based in his hometown that was considered one of the best of its day.

"It was his first assignment and a young man's dream," said DiBella. "He was 19."

DiBella said her mother got the news about the sinking of the Thresher while watching television. Her father was away on a trip and traveled home as quickly as possible.

"I remember I was standing on the stairs when he came in," said DiBella. "My mother was on the sofa. He went straight to her and they just held each other."

DiBella's father died in 1981 and her mother in 2001; they attended all the Thresher memorials while they were alive.

The Thresher was the Navy's best sub of the day, and the nation was counting on it to take up its station in the underwater front of the Cold War, said keynote speaker Rear Admiral Kevin McCoy, a former commander of Portsmouth Naval Shipyard now serving at the Naval Sea Systems Command in Washington, D.C.

"We pushed technology to the limit. Tragically that day The Silent Service went especially silent. It ripped the sub force and the nation as a whole," said McCoy.

A Court of Inquiry determined the Thresher probably sank due to a piping failure, subsequent loss of power and inability to blow ballast tanks rapidly enough to avoid sinking.

McCoy said program improvements led to the Navy's SUBSAFE program.

"We were able to prevent a similar tragedy for 45 years," he said.

Lori Arsenault is a classical guitarist and administrator at the School of Applied Science, Engineering and Technology at the University of Southern Maine. She was the third of five children of crewmember Tilmon Arsenault. She spoke on behalf of the families who had lost loved ones. She said her father instilled a love of music and tinkering in her, teaching her to play the organ and accordion, splice film and operate a HAM radio by the time she was 8 years old.

"The good news is that the size of the hole in our hearts when we lose someone is directly proportionate to our capacity to love," she said.

Arsenault said she and other members of "the Thresher family" come back year after year for several reasons. Families have no cemetery to visit other than the Atlantic Ocean, she said.

"Some come for patriotism and duty, but mostly we come because they made a difference and we understand it's important to remember that," said Arsenault.

Outside, as observers waited for the memorial wreath to float past on the river, Keith Johnson of Philadelphia stood in sunshine with his wife, Rosemary, and the others.

By a twist of fate, five men with the last name of Johnson were on board the Thresher the day it was lost. Keith Johnson might have made six except that he got out of the Navy six weeks before the accident, at the age of 21, after four years of service. He knew 119 of the 129 men who died.

"We lived in a tiny space. We got to know each other very well," he said. "They were like brothers to me." This was the third time he had attended a Thresher memorial.

"It took me till the 30th anniversary before I could come to terms with it," he said. "It's still hard."

Peter DiBella yearbook photo and handwritten letter, provided courtesy of Elizabeth DiBella

Fast Attacks and Boomers: Submarines in the Cold War

Thresher Base

On Eternal Patrol

Ship's Roster
Peter DiBella

For those in peril on the sea: Navy hymn

In other newspapers today...

Foster's: Kittery ceremony marks USS Thresher's tragic end

Union Leader: Thresher disaster recalled

Maine Sunday Telegram: USS Thresher service helps families heal, honor those on sub

Boston Globe: 129 victims remembered

Consumer alert: weird but true

Rawhide!

Something bizarre happened to my dog today.

Besides taking him for a short walk in the White's Lane woods this morning – among the teenage litter of empty crushed Bud Light cans, rusted shopping carts and gunshot old vans – I was planning on ignoring him for the rest of the day and much of the weekend, due to human schedule. So I bought him a delicious, time consuming, flavorful and mucho chewy rawhide bone to occupy him.

He has an oral fixation.

He got right started on the bone before I even walked out the door to go cover something for the paper (see tomorrow). And 10 minutes before I was to leave, Laura (about to be picked up to go to the mall) said, "Something's wrong with the dog."

I went to the dog and found him standing with his head low and a chipmunk bulge in one cheek. Upon closer inspection (lifting his left lip side), I saw a crescent (a bit off piece shaped like a C) of rawhide around the back part of his lower jaw, over his teeth, tightly gripping the tender flesh of his jaw on one side and the middle of his tongue on the other.

I tried to pull it off and it was stuck, really really stuck.

First thought: it's the weekend so that means the far away, expensive emergency vet.

Second thought: he's not bleeding and I'm in a hurry; he won't die if I just leave it on him until I get back. And his saliva might melt it enough that it comes off by itself anyway.

So I pack up notepad, camera, printed directions, etc and I'm ready to go. But feeling a little bad, like a bad pet owner. So I try again to remove the rawhide. This time I use my index finger like a tongue depressor way back in his throat, under the rawhide, and gently wiggle and waggle and wiggle and waggle the hard crescent of dead cow skin or sinew or whatever it is. And it actually comes off. And I throw it away. In the pullout kitchen trash he can't get into.

I don't know if I should actually say: don't buy one of these for your dog. Because what are the chances?

Still, I thought you should know it can happen.

UPDATE: A blog reader sends this link: The Dangers of Rawhides

Not that in your face

Thursday's Wall Street Journal was on the table and my daughter noticed a headline and grabbed the paper:

The Blogger Mom,
In Your Face

"For a second I thought they were writing about you," she said. "I need to cut this headline out."

Dabbling

Honeymoon suite

This little pond is a secret. (Well, not to ducks.) It is near a road but few humans driving along in their fast, loud machines ever look that way and see the little splash of fresh water there, quiet under the trees.

The mallard is the ancestor of nearly all domestic ducks.

She shall get a duke, my dear,
As duck do get a drake;
And she shall have a young prince,
For her own fair sake.

– Nursery Rhyme

In flight

New Englanders: Keep an eye out for the spring arrival of the first Ruby-Throated Hummingbird, last seen in NH in late September. Almost time to put out your hummingbird feeders.

Hummer migration map.

Spring migration for other species, expected arrival times in the Northeast. For other U.S. regions.

Purple martin map.

Spring = lacrosse

Going to goal

Catch

First game of the season yesterday, Winnacunnet girls' lacrosse v. Timberlane in Plaistow. Varsity lost but JV (shown here in blue) won 13-7. Two of those goals were Laura's.

A dynamic, exciting sport: Women's lacrosse

Lacrosse, considered to be America's first sport, was born of the North American Indian, christened by the French, and adapted and raised by the Canadians. Modern lacrosse has been embraced by athletes and enthusiasts of the United States and the British Commonwealth for over a century.

The sport of lacrosse is a combination of basketball, soccer and hockey. Anyone can play lacrosse--the big or the small. The game requires and rewards coordination and agility, not brawn. Quickness and speed are two highly prized qualities in lacrosse.

An exhilarating sport, lacrosse is fast-paced and full of action. Long sprints up and down the field with abrupt starts and stops, precision passes and dodges are routine in men's and women's lacrosse. Lacrosse is played with a stick, the crosse, which must be mastered by the player to throw, catch and scoop the ball.

Lacrosse is one of the fastest growing team sports in the United States. Youth participation in the sport has grown over 500% since 1999 to nearly 250,000. No sport has grown faster at the high school level over the last 10 years and there are now an estimated 200,000 high school players.

Sam Adams recall

Sam Adams beer voluntary recall.

During a routine bottle inspection at one of our breweries, we detected possible defects in a small percentage of bottles resulting in the random presence of bits of glass, most the size of grains of sand, but some small slivers in some bottles as well. Based on this sample, we quickly began testing bottles of Samuel Adams at all of our breweries and identified that the problem appeared to be isolated to a single glass plant of the five that supply us.

Daily photo

North Hampton Daily Photo today: Plaice Cove, named for a flatfish.

Armchair traveling all over the world: City Daily Photo. The original: Paris Daily Photo.

Duck!

The otter is gone but now we are duck hosts.

I think it was a male ring-necked duck that visited our small pond yesterday.

Both the common name and the scientific name "collaris" refer to one of the Ring-necked Duck's most inconspicuous field marks. Rarely visible in the field, the chestnut collar on the black neck is noticeable when the bird is in the hand.

Airborne.

The most common diving duck to be found on small ponds in migration.

Good-bye. Thanks for visiting. Stop by any time.

Diving v. dabbling ducks

The Ring-necked Duck (Aythya collaris) is a smaller diving duck from North America.

These birds feed mainly by diving. They eat aquatic plants as well as some molluscs, aquatic insects and small fish.

Ducks Unlimited, world leader in wetlands conservation...

The United States is losing more than 80,000 acres of wetland habitat annually. That's more than seven football fields every hour.