Last night, around 1 in the morning, I snuck out of my house in my bare feet and tip toed around the sycamore tree to record Brown Thrasher singing.
This is what it sounded like based on some of my recordings:
Roo roo roo roo rooooo
twit twit twit twit twit
roo roo roo
zzzit zzzit zzzit
tick, tick, tick, tick,
root root root
tick, root, root
tick-tee, tick-tee, tick-tee,
tick, tick, tick
twit, twit, twit
roo roo rooo
Alright, I don't do it justice, but trust me when I say it was the most exquisite sound. It never ceases to amaze me the intricacy and variety of song this one bird has. The company of this bird alone is enough to make this old sweet bungalow, and all its old trees, worth it's hefty price. I wish I knew what Brown Thrasher was saying keeping me up at night like that. It must be something incredibly important.
So, I had the oddest experience yesterday. While walking downtown, I harvested an old table out of the garbage. It is dark brown and etched with flowers and with curly legs and a glass top. I figured I could clean it off and maybe use it for my plants when I start my container garden. (Oh, I should not forget to discuss the article I read on the importance using the proper "fillers" for container gardens.) Anyway..that's not the odd part...so, with Keith's help I carry the table over to my friends house so I don't have to carry it all the way home, and I knock on her door and this unknown person answers the door from behind a white metal screen which cannot be seen through, and this is what happens next....
Me: Hi, is Betty home?
The door opens and the smell of old alcohol emerges. Without ever seeing his face a low, trembling, creepy troll voice with a slightly muddled English accent comes out from behind the metal screen and literally sounds like something out of the underworld. He says to me in this thunderous voice:
My name is not Betty..............my name is LAAAAAAARS........I... live... in the back. (but he might as well of said that he lived underground with hobbits and unicorns)
Me: Oh. So is Betty here?
Troll: No.... I do not know where she is...NOOOOOOR do I ask those questions.
Me: Oh.. well... I am Betty's friend and I just harvested this table you see here and...
Troll in creepy english accent: OOOOOoooooooooooo, what a beaUtiful table....why would someone ever throw that out?
Me: Uhhh, so can you tell Betty that I am dropping this off and I'll come back for it later today?
Troll says: I just came over to pet the dooooooooog.
Me: Okay, well I'll come back for the table in a few hours. Can you tell her I came by?
Troll: Unfortunately nooooo, I must go back the read the newspaper now. But I came over to pet the dooooooog.
Troll says: Who should I say I have met today?
Me: Oh I'm Kate, Betty's best friend.
Troll: Oh yes, Kate. And you? (turning to Keith)
Troll: Ahhhh yes… Kate and Keith. Keith and Kate.
Me: Alright. Thanks!
Seriously, I don't fucking know, but when I finally got ahold Betty she said, "Oh yeah that's Lars. He always smells like alcohol, but he's great with the kids!"...yes. Lars. Great with kids. Lord of the Rings. Dog sitter.
So I had chilaquiles for dinner at Zocolo. It was delicious. I give them an A across the board for the atmosphere (giant open air doors instead of windows and a great patio), for food-mmmm yeah, and for service. The bean dip and salsa was not bad either.
I don’t have any plans tonight. I haven’t slept well lately. I’ve had the most horrendous dreams. After the one about the 1950’s housewife that when on attack with a turkey dinner in fast motion, I had one the following night where I was this person who performed autopsies in some ancient ritual which helped release spirits from dead bodies. At one point I was in an underground burial parade and there was a choir singing the phrase, “It’s alright, it won't be long, you’ll soon be dead” Totally creepy. So, basically sleeping doesn’t provide me with the restful sleep I need these days, therefore I prefer to stay up real late doing things like painting or other such things some might consider counterproductive. If I can tiptoe around my neighborhood recording bird songs long enough I will likely work off enough energy to sleep without dreaming (which is exactly what happened).
Posted by Catharina