Sublet in the Backyard

I'd written before about Sam and Sally, the two Sand Hill Cranes living in the backyard. They sublet their cozy apartment and flew the coop to parts unknown. A new couple has moved in and show no signs of flying back to Nebraska anytime soon.

Big Guy is huge. He's almost as tall as me. His wife, Little Girl barely comes up to my hip. They come each morning and stare at the patio. As soon as they see us moving around inside the house, Big Guy flaps his wings and does a dance. Breakfast is on its way! Little Girl hangs back until I'm safely back inside again. Big Guy wastes no time in digging in.

Even Ginger can't scare these two off. She barks her fool head off at them and they just ignore her. I tell her that they get fed her the same way she does. She barks anyway.

Little Girl didn't come by for a couple days. I feared she'd been eaten by an alligator. Big Guy came right on time all by himself. One morning I could hear his squawking. Their call is very distinctive but I swear I recognize his voice. I looked out and couldn't see him. He called again. Finally I spotted him on the far side of the lake.

"Hey Big Guy. You're a good bird," I yelled over to him. He squawked and then flew off. A few minutes later he's in the backyard accompanied by Little Girl.

"Phew." I wiped my brow in relief and threw more seed in her direction. I wonder if she's been sitting on an egg. Or maybe she'd gone on a girls only weekend with some friends. I'm not too well versed in the ways of Sand Hill cranes other than they mate for life. Obviously she was hungry and told him to check to see if we were home before she flew all the way over here. He did and we were.

I hope that some day soon a third little one will join us for meals. Ginger might have something to say about that but life doesn't get any better than renting out the backyard to a pair of grateful birds.

Again

As of yesterday I'm officially unemployed. Again. Now that tax season is over I can no longer use work as an excuse for not having enough time to do all the things I'm supposed to do. Like exercise, clean the house, pay the bills, look for a job, write. Doing tax returns was fun and fulfilling. I enjoyed stress free work for a change. Never a dull moment in the tax office that's for sure. I looked forward to going to work every day. Now what am I going to do?

I tweeted that I was unemployed and now someone called 'Career Finder' is following me on Twitter. A new job is right around the corner, I can feel it. It will tweet me.

Now mind you, my pay preparing taxes was paltry compared to my past employment. I didn't mind. The new book material I gathered is going to knock your socks off! Yesterday my sister-in-law posed a tax question on Facebook.

"If a stripper has a boob job, can she deduct it as a business expense?"
I commented, "No she can't. But she can deduct her pasties since they are considered clothing that can only be worn for business." Then I added, "And don't call them strippers. They call themselves entertainers."
She's now so impressed with my tax knowledge, she put dibs on the first copy of my new book. Whatever that turns out to be.

Maybe I'll start tweeting little known tax tips. Maybe I'll write the next great American novel. Maybe I'll just relax and wait for that perfect new job to be my friend on Facebook. Something good is right around the corner. I can feel it. It's out there circling around in the big black hole called the Internet.

Sweet Sweet Peas

As soon as I hit the 'publish post' button on the Sweet Peas posting, I went to the kitchen to fix lunch for Richard and me. The weather is gorgeous so we sat on the patio to enjoy our meal.

"What are we going to do with those peas and carrots?" Richard asked me.
After I finished gagging on my sandwich, I answered, "I just posted a blog about them."
After Richard practically spit out his sandwich, he answered, "Throw them out."
"Fine with me," I laughed.
"If we throw them out, it all ends up in the same place anyway. We only bypass the eating step," said Richard in his infinite wisdom.
"I'm with you. Let's throw them out."
Richard thought about it for a minute. "No, we shouldn't waste a whole dollar. Let's pick out the peas."
"You pick out the peas. That's disgusting."
"All right I will." He went to the kitchen to look for the bag of peas. He spread them on the counter. "You do this. I'll clean up the lunch dishes if you separate out all the peas." He knows I hate to do dishes. He got two bowls from the cupboard and set me to work.
Peas to the right. Corn and carrots to the left.

"If you miss a few, it won't kill us," he yelled from the living room.
"If they won't kill us, why am I picking them out?" I yelled back.
"To save a dollar," he answered.
A pea saved is a penny earned.

Sweet Peas

"Linda, look at this," said Richard as he took several bags of frozen vegetables out of his shopping bag.
"What about them?" I asked.
"Ninety-six cents. They're the same as Birds Eye aren't they?"
I stared at the white freezer bags with the store brand on them.
"I don't think so." I answered.
"Those steamer bags are three dollars. You can't tell me these vegetables aren't just as good as those." Now he wanted to argue. Usually money burns a hole in his pocket. Lately I've seen him get on savings kicks and when he does, there's no stopping him. He ends up spending more than he saves.

I picked up one of the bags with a picture of corn and carrots and peas. "Why'd you buy this one?" I asked.
"It's only ninety-six cents," he answered.
"But it's peas." I handed him his glasses so he could see.
Richard hates peas and so do I. He tells stories how as a child he hid the peas from his dinner plate on a little ledge under the dining room table only for his mother to find all shriveled up a week later. In all the years of our marriage, I've never served him a single green pea.
"No way! I hate peas." He held the bag close to his face to examine it more closely.
"I'm not going to eat them either. I guess it's not such a bargain after all, is it?" I chuckled.
"Mix it up with rice or potatoes so I can't see the peas. Trick me somehow."
"And I still won't eat them. I hate peas too, remember?" Trick him! Huh! Like that would ever happen. If I cooked them, I'd already know where the peas were hiding.

"We have to eat them. I spent a dollar on them." Richard threw the bag into the freezer.
Our investment just moved up a whole four cents.

The bag of peas will happily chill in the freezer until the end of their days. I figure we might get our money out of them when one of us pulls a muscle and we need an ice pack. I guess that's as frugal as we're going to get when it comes to green peas. Penny wise. Pea foolish.