The Backyard Scientist

As my friend Betty and I have mentioned earlier, it has rained more than average this summer.  "So," I thought the other day, "if it rained so much last night, why is the birdbath not full this morning?"

Did birds get up even earlier than I and drink or splash out some of the water before I saw it?  Did the rain (or hail, on some occasions*) hit the surface of the water so hard that more splashed out than was added?  Did the humidity drop rapidly after the rain, such that the water evaporated?  Then I wondered about later in the day.  How would temperature, humidity, or wind affect evaporation?  How much do birds of varying sizes drink?  How much water do birds of varying sizes splash about?  Will a birdbath in full sun evaporate more quickly than one which is shaded by a tree?  Is there a formula that can be created to calculate this phenomenon, accounting for bird number, size, and frequency?

It's too bad my brain isn't competent at processing physics because that sounds like a darn good topic for a PhD dissertation.


* When I moved to NM and started college, it hailed twice during my freshman year -- the same number of times it hailed during my entire life (18 years, at that point) growing up in NJ.  Just this summer, it has hailed four times or more.  It's too bad that college didn't teach me how to use my weather powers.  Maybe I should found a school for that:  the Fogwarts School of Witchcraft and Weather Wizardry.

Not-California Dreamin'

Many of my dreams have taken place in the house where I grew up, never in my condo, and only once so far in the house where I currently live with my mom.  I've pondered why that would be, although I'll admit I haven't pondered it very much.

I just finished Agatha Christie's autobiography, and she suggested the following reason.  It is always Ashfield, the old familiar setting where one's life first functioned, even though the people in the dream are the people of today.  How well I knew every detail there...  Now why didn't I think of that?

All in the Family

If you work for someone else, it's "nepotism".  If you work for yourself, it's "running a family business".

King of the Hive

That is to say I've been a busy bee.

On Tuesday, I worked late, so I got home late.  I had to get to the library before it closed, so I went there after letting my mom know I was home.  I picked up Chinese take-out after the library, which meant we didn't eat until after 8 p.m.  That didn't leave me time for the grocery store (since I had to pick up a prescription from the pharmacy, which closes earlier than the rest of the store), so that errand got shunted to Wednesday.

On Wednesday, I got off work and headed home on time.  We ate dinner.  Then I went to Costco to refuel my car and pick up a couple of things.  As soon as I dropped them off at home, I headed to the grocery store for the prescription and food.  After unpacking the groceries at home, I had to call the neighbor who helped my mom get in touch with the phone company about the phone line not working.  Then I prepared my lunch for the next day.  Then... how did it get to be time for the ten o'clock news already?!

It's a pity that no one I called asked why I hadn't returned their calls earlier, as I had this story all prepared to share.  My phone has been ringing like crazy since Monday.  For me, whose phone can go for a week or more without ringing, "like crazy" could be twice in one day, but considering that one woman left me three messages in less than 24 hours, you can imagine something like six or seven calls a day.

My Wednesday example caused me to ponder the dilemma faced by single parents.  They, too, have to do all the shopping and car and other adult stuff all on their own.  Even worse, they can't even leave their kids alone at the house (as I did with my mom) while they run errands.  I hate to think how long it would've taken me if I had children in tow.

A Hail of a Week

My weather wizardry appears to be active again.  It has rained every day this week, either while I'm home in Albuquerque or at work in Santa Fe -- or both.  Even worse, we had hail in Santa Fe on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday this week.  (Thankfully, my car wasn't damaged this time, as it was by the hailstorm in the Noog.)  Naturally, I shut off the irrigation system at home, and I probably won't need to turn it back on for another week.  Plus, temperatures have been chilly enough that I need to wear a jacket on my way to work in the morning -- and even on my way back home in the evening.  Yes:  jacket... New Mexico... July!

That's what you get for saying that the state I have moved to is in a drought!

Another Day at Work (Thankfully without the Tongue Twisters)

I took a message this morning from a woman named Peggy Babcock.  My mind instantly flashed back to the Pinky & the Brain episode "You Said a Mouseful".  (I couldn't post a video of it here, so you'll have to fondly reminisce on your own.)

Home (Repair) for the Holidays

It appears that someone got too exuberant during Independence Day this past weekend and smashed my mother's mailbox  like a grapefruit that has been run over by a car.  So, it was a quick trip to the hardware store to buy a replacement and mount it on the existing post.  It was a simple enough repair job for me to handle, but I would've been doomed if I had had to excavate the old post and mix some concrete to mount a new one.

What's really strange is that, from what I could tell by standing by the mailbox and looking both ways along the street, no one else's mailbox was touched.

Oh, and since I had the tools up from the basement, I also finally replaced the broken knobs on the utility room sink, which I had been too lazy to do for...  Well, let's just say that I've been lazy.

Hasta la Vista

Here's another sad example of how old I am getting:  Maria, the pretty, young, Hispanic woman on Sesame Street has reached retirement age.  You can listen to NPR's story about it here.  I suppose Gordon and Susan probably are grandparents now, but I don't want to think about it too much.

Monty Python Soup

This is a very simple modification to most soup recipes (or even soups made without a recipe).  After you cut up a root vegetable commonly found in many soups, you proclaim, "This is an ex-carrot!"