Almost a month since writing here.  Computer disaster.  Lost everything, including my novel, as I didn't back up (lesson learned!).  With hours of phone calls and a visit from Dell tech support (the first time), I got back online with a computer system as new as a recently unpacked computer.  Have learned alot which is a good thing. 

Missed entering a couple of drawings into the local exhibition  as I couldn't get the photos from camera onto computer.  I thought at the time that maybe that was a good thing as the drawing should be an end in itself rather than a competition.  I can be optimistic about most anything!  Anyway, since then I've done a couple of paintings with oil pastel.  One is finished and so colourful.  Beautiful vivid colours.  Not complicated but I like looking at it which is the point of the exercise.  The second one is almost finished.  They are learning exercises.  Oil pastels are different than chalk pastels and require a different approach.

Have started sugar soaping the walls in the living room.  The quarry court case has been delayed until September.  Either way the living room will be repainted.  A safe blue-grey if we sell and a deep dark red if we stay.  R is a bit worried about the red but I don't feel like playing safe anymore.  Yes, it might make us feel hotter in summer but it will help us feel warmer in winter.  With a worm hole skylight in the living room (another thing we'll do if we stay) the space won't look like a puncture wound.  Big plans if we stay and rather exciting to think about.  New aviaries for the birds, skylights, new decks, a safe outdoor cat area in the fernery, insulation; these are just a few things that spring to mind.  But if the quarry goes ahead, it's full steam ahead to move.  Either way life will be busy. 

Meditating after yoga.  Although I don't get to do it every day I do notice a subtle change.  Practice, although not making perfect, does help.  Of course the more I do it the more I am amazed at how easily I am distracted.  The trick is realising quickly that I'm thinking.  I am better at catching myself.  Maybe that's the only true improvement of these past few months.  Amazing that yoga has made such a difference to my life.  I notice the days that I miss the mat.  My health is better, my flexibility vastly improved, my breathing, despite still being a smoker, improved.  Yes, I know, terrible thing to do yada yada yada.  Believe me, I have the entire non smoking dialogue on repeat in my head.  Nevertheless, I smoke and I like it.

Amy Winehouse died yesterday.  Prayed for her to be at peace.  Everything in her favour, talent, quirky beauty, great jazz voice, youth and lost it all in a vein.  Got a residual feeling like I did at eight years old when Marilyn Monroe was found dead, thinking, arrogantly no doubt, that if only she'd had a friend who could help.  But that is an arrogant attitude for someone  has to want to be helped and  Amy and MM didn't.  Must be a terrible burden to have all this fame and feel, deep in your innermost self, that you're a fraud.  Don't we all feel that way sometimes?  I know I do.  Alcoholics and addicts beat their disease all the time but they have to love themselves enough to feel they deserve to be well. 

The people in Norway didn't have a choice.   Such a good looking young man, with opportunity and education, the world as his oyster and he threw it away along with 92 others.  He may have couched his murdering spree in rhetoric but he is just mad.  And famous.  Was that his point?  Fame at any price?  He was eager to confess.  Norway's maximum sentence is 25 years.  Perhaps that's a small price to pay for notoriety.

Dimitri is now taking seed and corn segments from my hand through the penthouse cage (his safe perch reached via a ladder through an old compost bin).  He's also taking seed from my fingers while I'm seated on the floor.  Plan to use the target stick to get him to step up onto my hand.  Not that I can ever stand with him.  He takes fright too easily and would plummet to the ground but it would be nice to have him perched on my arm while I feed him treats.  Would like to train him to allow me to scratch his head but as that is a 'dead man' behaviour it would be difficult.  Just know that once he was comfortable with head scritches he'd love it, especially when he's got those new porcupine feathers in.

Started a new drawing, a nude this time. Couldn't work on it last night because we were inundated with flying termites. Light attracted them and as it was hot and humid and my skin was sticky it was annoying and uncomfortable to have a light on. Miserable night, actually. So couldn't work on the drawing.

Rained hard all day today, well over an inch already and the creek is down once again (yippee!). But rather than work on the drawing I explored a virtual world after seeing a documentary on them. Second life. No news to most people I suppose but news to me. Downloaded the software and joined and then proceeded to run into every tree, wall and solid object possible - or *fly* into the sea, fly up into ceilings, overfly, underfly, overwalk, underwalk - damn hard to walk around places. Tried to go to certain landmarks, failed, tried to find art inspired spots, failed until found one which was beautifully done with flowers and birds and rabbits, kittens, crashing waves and idyllic waterfalls and pillow filled pavilions and a bathtub and oh, what's this? A naked lady floating onto a wicker bed, oops I might just take my accident prone avatar self and go elsewhere. Then I met the designer of the place. Very inspired but very airy fairy; muse and all that and may peace be with you and no I can't use it as my landmark home space because I'd have to join a group and I was afraid to ask what that group was. Was it not a place of peace and tranquility but a rendezvous for cybersex? She was provocatively dressed in a split-sided blue tunic with longer than long legs and breasts out to here and blonde Rastafarian locks and she kept twirling one leg around the other and all I wanted to do was get out of there and stop making polite conversation. So I did.

But it IS addictive. Got in there to look at artwork - and found some great stuff created by a university (Texas). Really good stuff. Was it all created on the computer or was it painted and then transferred. Really original stuff. So it's worth exploring but there is a big accent on buying things; land and just 'stuff' which doesn't interest me. If I can't view it, explore it for free than I'm not interested.

At the way station for beginners I could hear conversations between other avatars. Not very enlightening. Was really out of my depth age wise there. My first contact was with a spanish speaking gentleman which was nice except I wanted to explore and learn how to operate so I bid him a polite good-bye. Not that I'm any better at it now but I did copy down some instructions. Must be careful. Let me repeat that, must be careful. It could suck me in to the detriment of real life if I let it.

Big day for Dimitri. As it was raining and I'd read that it was easier to introduce birds to bathing when it was raining thought I'd give it a try. I also read that for shy birds it often helped to hide the bottle in your shirt. So I did. Went out there with the bottle set on fine mist and wrapped in my shirt. He was initially hesitant but I was so happy to see he didn't panic that I kept praising him in a very very happy voice. As it was mist it was difficult to saturate him but he did fluff his feathers and raise his one wing. He preened for a long time afterward. I'm encouraged to try again when it's raining, maybe even have the setting on slightly harder than mist. It's been well over a year since he's had a bath. Bet he felt wonderful.

Viewing the world through the runny eyes of a cold. Frustrating how the cold defeats me. I do believe in the power of seeing oneself healthy and well yet come undone at the first sign of a sore throat. It's as though I give up believing I am in charge of my own well-being, throw up my hands and succumb to this little packet of energy designed for miserableness. Haven't figured out how to circumvent it so blow and cough in a welter of phlegm and handkerchiefs.

Stayed up to watch The Matrix just so that I could see the ending, which has implications far deeper than a computer program. It is as though it is a message sent from our deepest knowing if we only choose to see. I mean, we all know that we are but varying arrangements of energy packets. Quantum physics has sifted down to the common man, but we don't act as if it is true. That's the bugger. We choose to believe in this world of Maya - and perhaps that's as it should be. Why else come unless you're going to play?

Speaking of playing. I love my birds. I am so grateful to them. My heart swells with joy when I am with them. And these are some of the reasons:
1) Dimitri: He is learning to put the plastic ring in the bowl. I can see the light dawning and it is with a happy heart that I witness the increased bravery because it's all fun! No force, no fear, no failing.
2) Tony: Is eating and eating and eating. He looks better, he's in better feather. When he comes out he wants to give and get some affection before he has a fly around. I am very proud of him. He is so tiny yet his being is enormous.
3) Jake: I accept that Jake is a cranky poop in the morning. If he is on the ground I don't put his food in. Yesterday I couldn't put his food in even though he was on the branch as he had a go and tried to bite. That's all right. I've got plenty of time. Later he is pleasant and I suspect he even nurtures a sneaking affection for these odd people who carry him around on a branch crying 'Flying Bird' in funny voices while swooping him high and low.
4) Suki: Suki has chosen to come out voluntarily to forage for tasty blossoms or to hide under my hair in the evening or just to sit quietly on my shoulder and preen my neck. She is a brave and funny little soul who is growing tail feathers!
5) Marvin: Marvin is cock of the walk. He marches everywhere in unquestioning self-importance. The other galahs give him a wide berth due to his bad temper. He guards me sometimes, chasing Fern and Grevillea, who only want to say hello, away. We've been weeding bindi-eyes for weeks. The galahs, wild and domestic, love them. Marvin 'helps' by standing on the plant I'm trying to get out and tugging. He only wants to be the first to have the fresh picked weed and even stoops to raiding the bowl of plucked bindi-eyes that is bound for the verandah birds. Have to keep switching from plant to plant, working each one free a little at a time so that Marvin gets to help and I actually get some weeding done without hurting his feelings. Marvin can be very demanding of affection, standing on my foot when he wants to be picked up, cuddling in close to my chest while I preen his head. He makes little clucking whistling noises and closes his eyes while tilting his head back. When he's feeling playful he attacks my shoe and flips himself upside down. I see the wild galahs play like this. I can give him a poinciana seed to play with - he's too excited to be trusted with fingers - and he screams and chews and boxes with his feet. I can pick him up by a handful of tail feathers and he doesn't care. He screams in delight. If I right him he'll flip himself over again - but only when he's in this playful mood. I would never try and force him to play. He has to initiate it.

Started a blog then a cracking great thunderstorm came through and I lost it. Not that it matters. Only 5mm of rain but gunshot claps of thunder and some hail. The dogs were shivering and shaking with fear. I don't know whether it's better to reassure them and therefore confirm in their minds that something is indeed wrong or talk to them in a hail and hearty manner as if nothing untoward is happening. Even the horses came into the yards and raced around. There was a little hail, not much, just enough to make one worry about the possibility of more.

Retire in 5 weeks and have begun to put in train a project to keep the brain from freezing up. French. Yup, finally got the first 4 lessons on the ipod. Not paying $25 to download the pdf files to go with it but have found a good free site where I can get the basics. And oh, how my tiny little mind is overcome. It's frightening. My memory is complete faecal material. The first phrase, the very first phrase is je m'appelle (my name is). I listened to it on the ipod half a dozen times and could I remember it? No. This is very scary. I know I've got a case of menopausal mind wherein the short memory is so short it's actually gone in reverse but I didn't realise it was this bad. All the more reason to undertake this, for me, daunting task.

Some people have a natural facility to learn languages. I am not one of them. Even in high school, when all my brain cells were operating at maximum capacity (doesn't the death of brain cells begin at 25?), I had to struggle to scrape by in Spanish. Not that it matters. There will not be a test at the end of the semester. This is strictly for my own amusement. Still, it will be helpful to try and learn something new and will perhaps help me when I watch the French films on SBS. Of course I'll always read the subtitles.

Am thisclose to finishing latest drawing. I like it. It's got more drama in it than the previous one even though the previous one has subject matter which is more fantasy and should be the more striking of the two. I've no inkling what my next project will be. That I need one is obvious.

Books have palled of late. I have about 4 going and none of them grab me. I think I'm just using them to distract me from what's really going on. I continuously look elsewhere rather than at what's really bothering me. So do I know what's really bothering me? Yes, and it's the same old story so I'm not going to repeat it here.

I have had 2 days where Dimitri has dropped the peg in the bowl. Lucky accident but hey, who cares? Made a big fuss, gave him heaps of treats and left. I wonder if he'll remember and get the idea. I stopped propping the peg on the end of the bowl each time he moved it. Allowed him to sometimes throw it far away and started c/t-ing when it moved even a millimeter closer. Poor fellow. It was confusing for him as he'd throw, chew and hold it in his foot and I wouldn't click as it wasn't going any closer to the bowl. He's such a dear boy.

Jake is a bit of a lad. He's so fierce and protective of his 'nests'. He'll even chase me when he's out when he's in a particularly 'bad' mood. But he loves his 'flying bird' trips when he stands on a branch and I run him around the yard gently waving the stick up and down. He isn't flapping his wings yet but he will raise and lower them. He keeps his comb up and he does have this look in his eye that makes me think he is having fun. He never hesitates to climb on the stick even though he knows ultimately it will lead back to his cage.

I am being quite tough on him and not giving him his big feed of seed in the afternoon. Only a teaspoon. There are lots of pellets however. I am hoping he will 'crack' and finally deign to eat them. This bit of seed in the morning and lots in the afternoon isn't getting us any nearer to converting him.

Why is it I sleep well on days off and badly on days I've worked? I'm tired enough. I hit the pillow and think sweet oblivion will wrap me in slumber. I can feel it happening; the thoughts that are like flights of birds, birds that are without a compass and dive and sweep just for the sheer enjoyment. Then suddenly, without reason, I am yanked back into every day alertness and sleep has disappeared over some far horizon.

I stuck it out for an hour then decided to get up and do yoga. After forty minutes I was relaxed with that nice unobtrusive tingle which comes from yoga and still sleep eluded me. When I awoke it was nearly seven and the day felt like it had started for the train without me. I still feel that way. I've done the housework and the big push to get through the verandah (birds can do a lot of pooping in two days and that pooping takes alot of hands and knees scrubbing!) but I am without energy and have a tangible lassitude in my thinking, like cheesecloth makes a curtain between what I am capable of thinking and what I actually am thinking.

Had a great session with Dimitri on Sunday. We've just been working on targeting with him taking seeed from a small coop cup (he's so clever. I used to fill the coop cup but before taking it away he'd take a huge mouthfull of seed which would take minutes to eat. Now I use a shallow layer and he has to be content with a few seeds at a time). Anyway, we'd been working on that for awhile and I decided to try the retrieve again. I'm back chaining which means I put the wooden peg into the bowl and try and click when he picks it upand and drops it back in. He doesn't understand yet but just the fact that I wasn't clicking for when he dropped it out of the bowl and there was so much activity going on with clicks and treats and hands and movement he got quite (for him) blase with the exercise. I was very proud of him.

Even today while I was on hands and knees scrubbing the floor and he was in his 'penthouse' (a narrow 3' tall ex-compost bin with light and entrance holes cut in the sides with a ladder leading to a cocky cage with an entrance hole cut out the bottom) he didn't mind me being so close. He even preened himself! (His penthouse, now that he's learned to use it, has been very nice for him. He's up high and can see out and about yet he cannot fall and hurt himself. He had high perches before but if he got a fright he'd attempt to fly and would of course crash to the ground so this creation of R's has been a nice safe compromise).

There's a little budgie at work, handraised by K from the featherless stage. He's called Tony and is now old enough to fly. I was thinking about him on the way home the other day. I don't think his life at the vet surgery is ideal as he can get lost in the busy-ness of the day and not get time out for flying and one on one attention. Tonys valiant forgiving little heart brought tears to my eyes. Here's this bird, one of tens of thousands baby budgies bred and sold every day, often not regarded as more than a passing fancy, who is so sweet, so smart and so much a big BIG being it seems criminal the he and others like him are not lauded and loved more than they are. I know there are exceptions, many exceptions but they are out-numbered by the 'it's just a budgie' majority. But Tony is not 'just a budgie'. Neither is Cornelius. They are truly incredible creatures. I've love to 'rescue' Tony but of course I can't - and his life isn't bad. He's fed and watered. I brought him tree branches and showed how his cage could be lined with multiple papers on TOP of the wires so that a set could be removed each day and he would always have a sort of clean cage (budgies fossick on the ground like galahs and cockatiels). Still, for the most part he lives in the windowless tea room and only gets attention when someone has time - and in a busy vet surgery there isn't much.

The Search for the Divine in Spider Solitaire

Watched Oprah yesterday (why is that coloured with faint shamefacedness as though watching her is a secret but somewhat depraved pleasure?). Anyway on it she had a woman touting a book called Women Food and God. Yeah, interesting, I thought. I'm not obese but I'd like to shed a few kilos (as I suppose 98% of women would). Anyway, the book was not about diet. It was about why women turn to food when they aren't hungry in the first place. Bingo! Because they are searching for that something, that sense of wonder, that sense of something more which if they can just eat enough they might feel. Although I do have a problem with food (barely controlled...there's a 300lb woman inside me screaming to get out) I could relate that directly to my problem with Spider Solitaire. Oh, how trivial, how trite, how totally uninteresting I hear my ever present critic say. Who the hell would waste good blog space on a minute matter such as a Solitaire addiction.

Well, me.

It's serious to me. Who knows what other hidden addictions people contend with. There are the biggies; alcohol, drugs, food, gambling - but couldn't obsessive compulsives be tarred with the same brush. Playing SS for an hour or more, wasting time, could be seen as an addiction. Hell, it IS an addiction. So why devote so much time to this foolish game? Because, as for food, drug and gambling addicts, it NUMBS me. I don't have to think. Some part of my brain is totally absorbed with the game allowing another part (the real part?) to participate as an observer and to therefore not to have to reflect? I don't know. Perhaps it prevents me from thinking of how I do not treasure this life, this Breath, as it should be treasured. I waste time. I lose time...and time is running out. I'll be 55 in a few months. How much longer do I think I have? Yet I waste time by playing the mind-emotion numbing SS?

So that was a good revelation - and because of it (thank you Oprah and Geneen whatever your name was) I avoided playing SS yesterday and have had only one game today (while waiting for the screen to load). Perhaps it won't cure me of it but at least I'll have this small voice in my head asking, what are you avoiding? Or, more to the point, what am I missing? Geneen likened this addiction to food to the persons search for something that would 'fill' them; that sense of wonder, that sense of the divine. Perhaps, as she and Oprah said, the 'problem' is an invitation to search for that which is real, which has meaning, the Divine, the Soul.

On to more mundane matters. Jack the Lad, or the Earl of Jack, came out of his aviary for only the second time yesterday (and the third today). He wants to attack R, which is how we tempted him out yesterday. Today he knew what it was about and was waiting at the door. At first he concentrated on attacking R's feet. Gave R a rake to hold in front as a shield. When he got bored with that he started to explore a little. Algernon was present in the poinciana tree but didn't show much interest. When it was time to return Jack to the aviary he stepped onto the branch without too much trouble.

It's difficult as at the same time as Jack is out we're trying to keep an eye on five galahs who are very adept in spreading out in as many directions.

Took Marvin for a walk with us when we checked and repaired fence in a paddock the horses were moved into today. He was very brave, very good. I think he enjoys these little excursions - about as much as he enjoys being returned to his aviary at the end. It's a big adventure for such a little bird.

Targeting with Dimitri continues to go well. Sat in a different spot on the verandah which put him off a bit but he came around in the end. One day he'll run to the target without hesitation.

The Great Escape, Jack and Dimitri

Three whistling ducks are padding across the paddock. I can often hear them in the middle of the night as they fly over. Flying ducks are quite extraordinary. They are heavy creatures with comparatively short wings which they flap hard yet they are fast, strong and fly long distances in the dark. Aeronautical design seems somewhat deficient yet they overcome this with ease.

I was driving home after dark a few weeks ago and saw a large flock of ducks flying swiftly across the night sky. What did they see from up there? How did it feel with the cold wind of their speed fresh in their nostrils? There was moonlight and I imagine the paddocks and fields and trees and black square blocks with amber lights shining was a thrilling sight in that swift silver silence.

Our whippets, Jamaica and Radar, had a view of the night last night. Sometime around three they sighted a wallaby (we suspect as wallabies have been coming down to feed on the verges now that winter frosts have killed the grass elsewhere). They must have bolted after it and being so fast hardly felt the jolt from the radio collars they wear. We got in the truck and drove the roads but they were no where in sight. They didn't come home at dark. R went to a party we'd committed to while I stayed home and listened for the sound of the sleigh bells they wear on their collars. We'd turned the fence off so if they did come home they wouldn't be zapped on the way in. R got home at 9:30 and they still hadn't returned By eleven, with frost on the ground, they were back, curled tightly in their beds as both had lost their coats. I was so relieved to see them. When I went out Radar did the oddest thing. He got out of his bed, came over with his tail scrunched between his legs and pressed his forehead against my legs. I wasn't mad at him. I wasn't mad at either of them. Disappointed yes, as now we have to chain them at 3 when the wallabies start to wander in, but not angry. Was it contrition on Radar's part, or relief at being home. It wasn't gladness at seeing me as his tail was tucked so hard. I gave him a cuddle. Smelled him. He smelled like wallaby so I can only hope the gamey smell was only because he'd gone bush and not for some more sinister reason. No blood on either of them. Radar has a sore dew claw pad and a ding on his hock. Other than that they both seem fine. Exhausted but fine.

Jack the cockatoo has improved physically. We put him on antibiotics for a week because despite there not appearing to be infection in his foot it was still sore. He's also still on coccivet. Once a poo sample has been examined this week a decision will be made whether to continue with it or not. Psychologically he's a different bird too; far more territorial and aggressive. He was on the ground last week and I went in to give him his breakfast. He wasted no time and went for me, head lowered and running fast. I caught him with my ugh boot and lifted/tossed him backwards, very gently of course but enough to thwart his advances. I had to do it five times, never violently but then again I couldn't let his challenge go unmet either. This morning when I took his breakfast in, wearing my tall ugh boots, he was on the ground. He watched but he did not challenge.

I read in the bird click files about how one woman who had a very aggressive parrot clicked every movement (lifting of the head and neck, etc) that was not aggressive. I am working on that with Jack. There is a small but significant problem; he isn't very enthusiastic about the treats. I'm using almond which seems, by a small margin, to be the most popular, sunflower seeds (which I've just started leaving out of his food bowl altogether) and pumpkin seeds. I break the almonds up into pieces and serve them on a long wooden spoon to keep fingers safe.

Just went outside and he was on the front perch. It's lovely to see him using the entire aviary. When he was unwell he pretty much stayed in one or two spots. Now he's on the ground excavating holes and using all the perches as well as climbing the cage. Losing his second toenail hasn't seemed to make a difference. Anyway, I offered almond treats and he took them but without enthusiasm. Am going to check the bird click files to see what others have used.

As for Dimitri, he's going well. He's been taking millet from my fingers as I sit on the floor. There are incremental improvements in his confidence. Each time I go onto the verandah I toss him some millet so even though he always hops down from his perch and takes off he is quicker to turn around and approach me. He has also let me come closer when cleaning the floor (on hands and knees) before he moves away. These are small things but still encouraging.

A month or so ago R built him a penthouse. Because Dimitri was falling off perches alot we grounded him. None of his perches are more than a foot off the ground. It keeps him safe but is quite sad to keep this bird of the air anchored to earth. I was trying to think of some way we could allow him some height yet keep him safe. The result was The Penthouse. We took an old compost bin, tall, black and narrow, but a wide hole in the base and smaller holes around the sides to let in light. Inside we put in a wooden ladder, cut off the top of the bin and placed a cocky cage on top. Unfortunately Dimitri disdained to use it. Yesterday we updated it; made another large hole opposite the entrance and replaced the ladder, which had a solid light blocking first 2 rungs, with another lighter one. This morning Dimitri had an explore. Was wonderful to see him up high where he could see out, yet safe. With the bottom of the cocky cage intact, save for the entrance hole, even if he jumps in fear from a perch he is not going to fall.

The Grand Illusion and Progress with Dimitri!

16.5.10. My last post unsettled me. Whether it's the voice of instilled conscience speaking I don't know but it seems as though by accepting evil I say I condone it. If the world is illusion, a moving tapestry of thought and emotion woven by consciousness then none of it is real - yet I do think we have, are born with, an innate sense of right and wrong. We are a reflection of Consciousness yet are flawed by our belief and participation in this grand illusion. What is the purpose of evil? Are those that commit it (and that's all of us) still learning the rules of the Great Game? The game being you can be and do anything you want, pretend anything you want and its only purpose is to keep you from remembering who you really are? The only rule of life is to participate. Once you stop breathing, you stop playing. But if you've played through many many lives and tire of the illusion you can go home - if you remember who you Are. The more evil committed the less you remember and the farther away you are from the source of all things. I suspect that someone who is very evil is very lonely. Not in the not having companions sense but in the isolation of the self. He has cut himself off from humanity and also from Self.

I just finished reading Out of Africa by Karen Blixen. I was struck by how knowledgeable she was. Her education was phenomenal. And she read. Widely and deeply. Immediately after closing the book I turned on the television and saw some music video clip. It was all glitz and glamour and sex and as brittle as glass - not one iota of beauty in it despite the perfection of the carefully made up and coiffed girls and the colourful barely there outfits. It was like drinking deeply of spring water and then moistening my lips with salt. But the comparisons weren't all bad. Although many of the references she made to other writers and their works were totally unfamiliar and there was a grace and dignity in her writing which seems to be a result of a kind of innocence that we, who see all, do all, know all, lack - there has been a change for the better in some way. When she arrived she was determined to shoot and kill one of each kind of game. She writes of the joy of killing lions, of the kill in general - and the blase attitude to clearing of the land for coffee. Toward the end of her stay in Africa her bloodlust abated and she only killed lions when they threatened the lifestock of the Natives.

I know people still hunt, still have that bloodlust. Still have that love affair with prey as she termed it. The courtship of the hunt and the consummation of the kill. But we are more aware of the finite nature of the planet and all the things on it.

But I didn't start this blog today to write about my opinions but to wave the flag for Dimitri. I have been trying to teach him to put a chewed wooden clothes peg in a bowl. I've been back chaining - having the peg in the bowl and clicking him for targeting it. When he picks it up and throws it out of the bowl I don't click. Today, for the first time I think he got a glimmer of what we've been trying to accomplish (it's quite difficult to type as I have Matisse, the Siamese cat, sitting on my lap and laying across my right arm). Anyway, he threw the peg out of the bowl and then, by accident or design, got it back in. I gave him a jackpot. (BTW, I'm also using sunflower seeds rather than millet - he likes them and they're quicker for him to consume therefore we get more training done. The downside is he's consuming quite a few sunflower seeds). Then he did it again. And again. So I removed the peg from the bowl - and after a few false tries he got it in again. Oh Happy Day!

I'm also clicking him when he looks me in the eye. Each time I go onto the verandah he scurries away. That's okay as he does turn around and, with encouragement, starts retracing his steps. He knows he'll get a millet spray when I come onto the verandah but now I'm waiting until he cocks his head and looks at me with that warm brown eye. Slowly slowly, agonizingly so but still. I keep in mind how K's corella, after some mysterious event while she was away on holiday, took an entire year to trust again - and he was a velcro bird, cuddling under her neck, trusting her to do anything. So with Dimitri, a wild caught Corella, nine months is nothing.

Nidji, accidentally released two weeks ago, is thriving. He hangs around with a pair of lorikeets, quite scruffy looking compared to him. Smaller too. I suspect one is Silda. They only tolerate him on the periphery and chase him away from the feeding stations. He's getting quite wily however, picking his time for feeding and even pushing the boundaries a bit with how close they allow him. He flies extremely well now. Landings and take-offs are second nature. And, as he's with the other two, his chances of survival have increased as there are two other sets of eyes watching the skies.

Dmitri (always) Odds and Sods

It's true. When I paint I don't write. When I write I don't paint. At least I'm doing something which is grand. Have finished the Triumvirate of Crows which actually looks more like the Triumvirate of Gannets but who's judging. It's okay. It's a little weird, I've morphed one of the wings into a hand and the birds flying over the sea play tricks with perspective a bit (intentional) but it works. At least for me and I'm the only one who has to be pleased.

The current work is a face made of feathers with very large eyes. Large staring eyes. It's eerie as I drew the eyes first and have been working outward so this face emerges from the page without an outline as such. I've considered attempting a tromp d' loeil of the face being framed by torn paper. Saw an example somewhere. Really brilliant. Then again, the original idea was having this face transmogrifying from bird into woman or woman into bird. No, that's not quite true. I wanted to work on feathers. Unfortunately although I've the patience to do a sort of overlapping shell I haven't the patience to do individual feathers. While I was preening Marvin's head last night I studied his feathers. They are so complicated yet simpler than what I've been drawing but as I've drawn 3/4 of the face I'll continue with the effect I've started with. It will turn out to be something. No art work I've completed has ever turned out the way I envisioned it. I wonder if that's true for all artists. It's because I haven't the technique but also because the vision is always more complete yet more ephemeral than the actualization.

Rearranged the verandah and Dimitri's abode yet again. A few nights ago, with no provocation that I knew of, Dimitri fell off his perch 3 times. It was dark. We hadn't gone onto the verandah. I heard no unusual noises outside, yet he fell. That was it. Despite the pillows and padding surrounding his perch falling off three times is just too much. Even if he wasn't hurt, and he wasn't, it's a blow to his confidence to keep falling and heaven knows the boy lacks confidence. The next day I removed the tree perch, the food table, the chair and all the pillows, blankets and padding. He has two large and chewable branches, one about 7 feet long, the other probably about 5 feet. The shorter one is before the screen doors to outside propped on a short log with another slimmer branch stuck inside it. This morning I sawed off about 6" of that one because he was launching himself from it and landing awkwardly. He's most disappointed because although he can climb the branches and run along them he is now a floor ornament. But an unbreakable floor ornament.

This morning, for the first time in months, I did some clicker training with him but without the clicker which he doesn't like. Not the noise but the association as I used it when I was pressuring him to 'be friends'. I'm only using my voice. I suppose I'm clicker training each time I reward him with a millet sprig when he steps nearer but this morning I reintroduced the clicker for target training. First with Tachimedes, who remembered what he was supposed to do almost instantly. I ignored Dimitri while working with Tach which had the desired effect of bringing him over to investigate. He beaked it the first time and hung on for the next two times, trying to pull it away. That was good enough for a start. Our worktable will be the floor. I'm quite excited again. Naturally once he was confined to the floor he became worried again. We've taken a few steps backwards. No way would he take anything from my fingers. Yet this morning, as he came within inches of my leg while I worked with Tach, and ignored him, illustrated conclusively that he will come around. Perhaps we'll even get to the point where we can learn parlor tricks together (retrieve, ring on a post etc.)

As much as I'd like this to be a true repository for thoughts, feelings and observations it isn't. There is no way that I can write in here like I do in a handwritten journal. I cleaned this office a couple of days ago and found empty journals of all shapes and sizes, journals I'd collected over the years for future use. They seemed somewhat sad as they are like friends I'll never meet. I may go back to handwriting for awhile as I miss the intimacy and the freedom of journal writing. Even though I have no followers nor am I likely to get any I write in here as though someone was looking over my shoulder - which keeps it inane and boring. Odd at my age to fear the opinion of others but I am still that well brought up girl who was chastised for saying the word 'guts'. And the words of mom still ring in my ears, 'don't ever write down what the whole world can't read'. Words of wisdom she may have learned the hard way. She burned reams and reams of paper in the front of the Sparta house. What were they? fledgling novels, journals, letters, essays? I'll never know but I have a feeling that something she'd written was used against her somehow as she was always very secretive about her writings. I only found bits and pieces after she'd died. I know she was an inveterate writer of something, sometimes had The Writer magazine, had a few books on writing plus Strunk and White but I think her own teacher was her constant practice and inherent talent. The bits I've read have always intrigued me as they were unfinished and I wanted to know what happened to the characters I'd come to know. But the characters died with Mom.

The Moroccan House

There is a house, a magnificent breath-taking house for sale near the coast. I've been looking at houses and properties for about two years because we don't know whether the quarry is in or out. It is before the Environmental and Planning Court but hasn't been heard yet. Because I don't want to live here if a quarry begins, with the accompanying traffic, noise and destruction, I've searched for another place to live. And I look at houses that are completely out of our price range. Why? Well, who knows, we might win the lottery. Stranger things have happened.

So, while R sleeps and the morning chores are finished I got online to check the weather (raining) and mail and there, there was this Moroccan inspired house near Lennox Head. Built on a hill (no danger of flooding or beach erosion) on a large block (large enough for the aviaries) and it simply took my breath away. My heart beat faster and I felt this lump in my chest. Oh, I could live in this house (offers over $2 million). It is mysterious and warm, exotic and comfortable, green and red and blue; green tropical foliage, red sandstone and blue ocean and pool.

What a good idea to move the cages. Tachimedes and Cornelius have gone into Corni's cage for breakfast but still want nothing to do with Tach's. I've taken the black sheet off the top of Tach's cage. It's never been a worry before but with the cage up so high it does look somewhat large and ominous looming over the rest of the verandah like some Twilight Zone alien. Have replaced it with a cream sheet which is light and airy and hopefully not so frightening to one tiny little cockatiel.

R is mowing the lawn. We take precautions before R mows as Dimitri has leapt from great heights because of fear. The padding around the tree perch extends out about 4'. Even Dimitri can't leap beyond the padding (I hope!). If he does leap he'll still scare himself but he shouldn't be injured. The other perches are laid down on the ground so that he can't climb them only to jump in panic. Otherwise I'd have to pad the entire verandah and that's just not logical. Couldn't clean it and I'd be doing bird laundry all the time.

Was quite chuffed this morning as Dimitri took the millet with less fuss and far more bravery. One day....

Went to the gym, bought groceries and and winning lotto ticket. How I wish. I know why I don't win. Not because of the odds against it. That's nothing. It's because I am torn between wanting material things and knowing in the scheme of things, ie reality, I don't need them and everything I need I already have. It's guilt. I have so much, why should I expect or ask for more. Where we live is a little piece of paradise. How dare I ask for frosting when I've got cake? Yet I do. There's another part of me that knows there is no want in the world. Having The Moroccan doesn't mean someone else does without. (It also has a studio over the garage, perfect for peace and quiet - painting, yoga and meditation - I love R to bits but it is difficult sometimes to have that little area of my own. He comes looking for me, just to touch base, not because he wants me to do something but...I don't know, he just comes and says hello, hovers a bit sometimes. I need a room of my own (Oh, Virginia how right you were!).

Redecorating the Bird Verandah

Have spent most of the day rearranging the verandah. Yesterday Dimitri managed to climb atop Tachimedes cage. He stayed there all day and all night. It is so high that I didn't dare approach in case he took fright and jumped. He would've surely done himself an injury. Finally I managed to place a wooden ladder on the lip of the entrance and he came down looking for food (I couldn't feed him and he had to be content with budgie seed).

That was it. If he did it once he would do it again so things had to change. I'd been thinking about moving the littlies cages to the opposite end of the verandah anyway as I wouldn't have to pass him on his tree perch to replenish food and water. Today seemed to be the day. Unfortunately R was away and I had a heck of a time getting Tach's huge cage onto the 'art' table (a large, tall table that can be tilted up to support artwork. R built it for me while we were still in Tasmania. It took up practically all of the office and as I am using a portable board for my artwork rather than the table so it has been relegated to the verandah). Anyway, I wound up removing the seed skirt and the wheels (can't have a wheeled object on a table). Then I was confronted with the sharp table legs. How could I get this cage up without scratching everything. Ended up covering them with hankies and rubber bands. A girlie solution but effective. Leaned the cage against the table and pushed, turned it on its side and pushed again - with hip and arm - it was bloody scary as it is so heavy and unwieldy I thought I'd either drop it or have it come crashing down on me. Looking at it now I am amazed I managed to get it there.

But there it is and there it stays. The unfortunate thing is the little birds are befuddled. Where are there homes? They are sleeping rough as neither of them came to the cages for their evening feed and snooze. Tomorrow I'm sure they'll figure it out. Tach had an idea but this tall looming dark thing (half of it is covered in sheet so he feels protected) was just too much for him. Cornelius didn't even try. Corny is on the tree perch ladder and Tach is pressed against the ceiling on the old clothesline. Dimitri was the least upset. While I was trying to coax Tach and Corny into their 'new' homes, he came sidling over looking for treats. Not bad. Actually he took the upheaval quite well. I made sure I moved slowly and backed off if he showed signs of stress yet I think he's starting to realize that he will never be pushed too far by me. Or maybe that's wishful thinking. One incident tonight comes to mind. I pushed the coop cup on the floor, it made a sound, Tach panicked and flew off and Dimitri, in trying to fly off, did a complete flip!

Since writing here Dimitri and I have made tiny advances. I can sit in a chair by the feed table and he'll come and get millet sprigs. At first he'll run to the far end of the table to eat but with each treat he'll move less and less until he's only turning his body. That's a good thing. With the introduction of the chair we had to back up a bit as he was nervous (again) about taking treats from my fingers but we've done that again too so it's all good.

I am working on a pencil sketch of a Hahn's Macaw and am really pleased with its progress. It's probably about 3/4 finished. Some of it, especially the eye and beak, really 'leap' out at the viewer (methinks). I wish I could imagine that and then imagine the detail but frankly I would never be able to draw the feathering, the beak, the eye, the feet without a reference photo. Or real life but just don't think Dimitri (or anyone) would stand still long enough, with the light from the same angle, etc. for me to do it. Still, I have learned and am learning a lot about feathers, beaks, legs etc. and if I can create something from my head in the future (I really don't like copying, it seems such a cop-out) it will come in handy.

Dimitri Breakthrough and Pencils

Somehow life seems to be coming together a bit. I've taken myself in hand and decided that I didn't like not liking myself much. So much easier to live with myself when I'm being creative, taking care of myself and making progress in areas of my life that matter to me. I'd started to slide off with the yoga on my days off. Too easy to sleep in then, once I did get up, the birds and other creatures needed breakfast and then once that was done the day was off and running. Now I set the alarm and even if I sleep in for another half hour I'm still up at 5:30 which gives me 30 minutes of yoga. I've noticed that days which start with yoga are better days.

Hate to admit this but I'd backslid with the spider solitaire (like talking about heroin addiction or something). I still had it on the start menu and was occasionally playing the odd game. Then the odd game became a couple of games and so on until I was playing it with closed my eyes at night. Time to stop. I removed the game from the hard drive. The relief was and is palpable.

I've finished the Parrot LLP mini-lessons and will soon start the course. Had a huge breakthrough with Dimitri. Two breakthroughs actually. The first one was taking a treat from my hand. I've fed him treats before but it was always me going towards him with it so he could reach it. No wonder he snatched and ran. This time I'm standing at the end of the food table with the millet sprig in my outstretched hand. After a warm up period in which he came closer and closer he finally took it. His choice. Him coming to me. The first few times he ran to the end of the table to eat it but yesterday he was moving only a few inches away. I'm really happy about this as I see it as a major hurdle. His choice. It explains a little why he was so inconsistent with treat-taking before. I always had to step towards him to give it and even though he wanted the treat I was still advancing into his territory or safe space. Now it is entirely his choice to take the treat or not. Total freedom.

The other breakthrough is him eating from the seed bowl while my fingers are touching it. For quite a while now he has been eating from the seed bowl while I sit beside it. I'm only half a foot away. He's nervous at first but then relaxes and eats without raising his head from the bowl. I've even practiced moving my hands about; putting a strand of hair behind my ear, wiping my brow, scratching my leg - moving my hands slowly but making the movements big. He's coped with that very well. But he hasn't coped with my hands anywhere near the feed bowl. I can have them folded in my lap (we're on the floor) but I can't even extend a finger to the rim. Then I could. He was far more nervous to begin with but eventually settled and ate normally. Happy Day!

KL told me a story about her corella. She's had him for 18 months or so. He was always very trusting and affectionate; loved cuddles, being carried about and made a fuss of. Last Australia Day KL went away with her family. A trusted family friend fed the birds while they were gone. KL has implicit trust in this person and knows she wouldn't have done anything to the corella yet when they returned home the bird was afraid, nervous and wanted nothing to do with KL. In the intervening year KL has tried hard to win back his trust. He was like Dimitri; taking a treat then running with it. Very anxious. Then last week she held her finger up, stroked his breast and said 'up', like she always did. He hesitated then leapt onto her chest and buried his head under her chin. He cuddled for an hour and a half and again the next day.

It just goes to show how highly strung corellas can be. Dimitri is entirely different from the galahs and from S. C. Cockatoos I've known. I should do some work with Obama, teach him to step up, etc. As it is all he wants is head scratches. It wouldn't take long for him to be completely trusting and tame - but I'm not that committed to the time it would take as there are other things I'd rather do - like cuddle Marvin, Mr. Cuddle Himself. But it just illustrates how trainable and trusting galahs can be with just a little input. Dimitri is an entirely different kettle of fish. Perhaps it's because besides being wild caught he is an adult. I have no way of knowing. Yet, despite the time and setbacks and dumb moves on my part, we are making progress.

I hoot before going onto the verandah. Trying to imitate his hoot. It's a nice way to warn him I'm coming out as well as being, I hope, a contact call that reassures him. I have noticed him softly hooting a response a few times and that warms the cockles of my heart.

Have also reignited my interest in pencil drawing. I've always loved pencil drawing for its own sake. Did a little web searching and have found some absolute masters like John S. Gibb, (http://www.johnsgibb.com), who are inspiring in what can be done with the pencil. I've done alot of colour work but somehow, perhaps because I'm not technically proficient with colour and how colours relate together I seem to get into more strife. I have done some good colour work, but I do love the simplicity of pencil. Looking at Mr. Gibb's work, especially the otters, there's something more real and otterlike about those drawings than I think would be possible to convey with colour. And because I'm not always having to make colour decisions, drawing with pencil is more relaxing. I want to work and don't dread it. If I make a mistake I can erase it. With colour it's not always that easy to fix mistakes.

Hot Yoga and Hot Computer and Cool Dimitri

The computer's been down for a few days (overheated with an extra hard drive. Now the drive's been removed and it's running better than ever, especially as I've removed the side of the CPU). Wouldn't have minded so much as everything can wait but as I've started the parrot behaviour mini lessons I haven't wanted to miss anything. Finished one lesson but was doing an 'extra credit' and couldn't send that. Anyway, all good now.

With much anticipation went to yoga with a couple of friends. It was a new 10 week Hatha yoga course. Unfortunately it was a very beginner course and I feel confident that I can handle a bit more than what was on offer. Overheard the instructor say that at the end we'd be doing real postures. Ack! The other thing that didn't sit well with me was the meditation. I've just got a thing, unreasonable as it is, about starting a class with a meditation and then having another at the end. I'd rather have one at the end, when the body has been warmed up, stretched and then cooled down. The postures themselves, with the focus on breathing, are a kind of meditation. They still the mind and bring me into the present. So the search continues.

Dimitri is starting to trust me a wee bit more. If I didn't follow our interaction so intensely I probably wouldn't notice it but it is definitely happening. He's more willing to wait and see what I'm up to before he hurries away. Sometimes he doesn't move when I have to pass him to get to the cages, he just watches. He's targeting well when he's in the mood. More often now he wants to come directly to the seed dish for treats and as it's sitting very close to me on the floor I let him. Last night and this morning he was closer than he'd ever been. I decided to slowly move my hands about, nonchalantly dropping one hand to my knee or lifting it to wipe the sweat from my face (literally - very warm and humid here). Sometimes he'd walk away a step and then resume eating. Other times he didn't budge. Very happy with that. He's also more responsive to my voice. If I tell him it's all right, he does listen. I've also been c/ting him for looking me in the eye. I think part of the lack of connection was the lack of eye contact. Not the staring predator sort of eye contact but a quick look in the eye so that he sees me as ME and not some huge behemoth waiting to pounce on him.

That's the thing with cockatoos, no matter if it's a cockatiel or a sulphur crested. There is so much somebody in there when you look into their eyes. A thinking feeling being. It's humbling. They're like cats. Cats look you right in the eye, mano a mano. You can't fool a cat and you can't fool a cockatoo. You can fool dogs however. Dogs are great, but they are seduced by kind words and the hope of a pat. Cats are cynics. Hell, they've been burned at the stake. Why wouldn't they suss out our intentions before committing themselves?

Was going okay on the book until the computer cacked it, hence writing and warming up in here. Just finished reading The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo and The Time Travellers Wife. Bless those dear friends who go out and purchase the best sellers. I just wait for them to show up in some op shop. Ditto movies. I know if I wait long enough they'll be on television.

I've been kind to myself however. For years I've hung on to Isobelle Carmody's Darkfall hoping I'd find the sequel. I did. On Fishpond.com.au. Ordered it and two other books by her. They arrived this week. It's like having Christmas all over again. Then I crack open the second book and find there's actually a sequel to the sequel! Ah well, some pleasures are better after prolonged yearning.

Just a quick note about the weather. It's awful. Worst rainfall for January ever. The grass is cooked. Brown and yellow with lashings of faded khaki. I've always welcomed the heat because it brings the rain but this is ridiculous. If we don't get good rain soon we will be in trouble as we'll have nothing left in the paddocks for the horses. I can't even begin to wonder how the birds and critters will fare. This is their time to get fat for the winter. The juvenile galahs have disappeared, including Amos. Is this normal or does it mean something more sinister? We're hand feeding Silda (rainbow) who was released last week. She's still making smoochy faces through the bars to Pablo and now we find that Nidji, who was supposed to be flightless, can fly. We'll hang on to Nidji for awhile, make sure he regards this as home and then release him too which means Pablo will again be on his own. I don't wish for some rainbow to have an injury but we'll have to be on the lookout for another companion. He might be getting a complex by now. This is the third bird he's lived with.

Jackpot Dimitri and the Faf-about

Banner day today. Dimitri, after deciding to have a pellet breakfast, was still interested enough to come down from the tree perch and make straight for the ball. Jackpotted him for that. Oh happy day! He did it a few more times before wandering off to climb the T-stand. But that was enough, after he'd eaten too. What a smart bird!

Have started the PBAS mini lessons finally. Didn't want to start until after the holidays, then my monitor died, but we're up and rolling. Even the first lesson I found hard. The use of language is such a habit -to define behaviours with vague descriptions instead of what is actually happening. Made me really think about what I've observed with Dimitri and then to put those observations into a language that wasn't one of constructs (see I've learned a new word already!). Then the final question, with some observed behaviours and what our construct might be - had two different answers with opposite meanings. Thought it could either be happy or aggressive. Am sure I will be set straight.

Very hot today, sweat pouring down my face as I write. Haven't done any yoga for 2 days and feel it. Was ill day before yesterday (menopausal cluster headaches-damn things) and still a bit seedy yesterday. No excuse today however. Must get into good habits. When I'm working I'm up at 5 and into a yoga session. When I'm not, as I haven't this entire week, I sleep in and when I do get up at 6, the animals are clamouring for breakfast. Then I have breakfast with R and the day is well and truly started. Have to lift my game and get some kind of program going. Have been good and answered unanswered emails (still working on a snail mail to my aunt) and tidied up some loose ends. Haven't touched The Book.

Quite annoyed with myself too for in that halfway state between waking and sleeping I thought of some device that would move the book forward. I was excited enough with the idea that I didn't bother writing it down as I was sure I'd remember. Wrong! Been bugging me ever since. Guess the only way forward is to start writing and see where it leads.

While on holiday I've done a little backsliding re spider solitaire. Have played my last game for awhile (gosh, I hate admiting in public, and even though no one reads this but me it is still possibly public, that I'm such a slouch. Here I had a week off and I could have written another 5 to 7000 words - but nope, I just faffed around and tryed to look languorous - course the monitor died but that's no excuse as I wasn't without it for more than a couple of days). Anyway, my goal today is yoga and writing and now that I've bared my soul in here I may as well get to it.

dimitri dreaming

More than a month has elapsed since the last post. Feel it too. Miss the chance to write, like being stopped up and needing to unplug. Anyway, while I remember I want to record a dream. I was in an unfamiliar house and went upstairs. In a bare room with windows were 3 or 4 cages with birds. Some were galahs but there was also a sulphur crested cockatoo. The cages were clean and filled with fresh water and seed but I was still horrified as I either didn't know these birds lived here (who was looking after them?) or did know and hadn't bothered to check on them. The galahs were flightless, likes the ones I have; broken wings or the like but it was the S. C. cockatoo that broke my heart. He was feathered but the feathers were thin and wispy, like an old man going bald. I got him out of the cage and he was so desperate for touch that he melted into my arms, snuggling and pressing as close as he could. So I cuddled and stroked him and the love and relief he felt was almost tangible. There was something about getting him into a larger cage rather than a cocky cage, or setting him free but the details are fuzzy.

As usual I have no idea how to interpret this dream. Perhaps it relates to Dimitri. It always comes back to Dimitri. A couple of weeks ago, while in that half state between sleeping and walking I had an epiphany. We had not made any progress whatsoever. I could feed him by hand but it was the same story, sometimes he would take the treat, other times he would back away as though I was coming at him with a hatchet. That morning, however, I recognized I'd positioned his tree stand all wrong. I'm so assiduous in telling clients that birds need to have a safe place, a place where they feel protected, where they can hide if they want and I hadn't followed that most elementary of advice for Dimitri. His tree stand was positioned out in the open, the open being he had the verandah wrap around screens in front and french doors into our bedroom in the back. He was always exposed, poor thing and I was too dumb to notice.
The very next day I moved his tree stand against the wall beyond the living room french doors so he always has something at his back. I can't do anything about the wrap around screens but as he is under cover with a wall at his back I trust he feels safer. He acts as though he does. I put a perch in the place where the tree stand used to be so that he can reach his vegetable skewer and have a change of perspective if he wishes - and sometimes he does. In front of the double doors (screened) leading outside, I've placed a large bark covered and very chewable branch. He uses that too. To guard against falls I've surrounded the tree perch with pillows and saddle pads. He rarely jumps now but sometimes he misjudges (and using one wing to try and right himself just throws him more off balance) and falls.

So this has helped. I've also modified my own behaviour. I no longer try and feed him by hand except when he head bobs and shows extreme interest. Instead I just toss millet seed onto the wood table adjoining his tree perch (where his pellets and water are kept) every time I go onto the verandah. Yesterday he voluntarily came over and took some from my fingertips which was lovely. But I didn't push it. If he shows any hesitation I lower my arm or back off.

I've also been c/t'ing him to target a plastic ball with a bell inside it. It is obvious to me now that the clicker made him nervous. Not because of the noise but because of the intensity with which I attempted to *train*. The intensity of a predator. So it is taking much longer for him to target the ball because of that. I'm not worried however as I finally feel I am on the right track with him. The more I know him the more obvious it becomes that he is an extremely sensitive bird and my tramping through his life with hob-nailed boots, despite good intentions, has had a deleterious effect. This morning was the first time he intentionally touched the ball for a treat. I was chuffed.

It all ties into yoga. With the intensity of my wanting to be friends I actually made it more difficult for us to be so. Now, with the mindset that we will go at his speed rather than me trying to force it it is starting to happen. Which of course means removing my ego from the equation. I could fool myself (and did) with saying that I wanted to be friends for his own good. For instance, he hasn't had a bath since he's been here. That's months. No way could I mist him yet every time it rains he gets excited and I know he wants to be out in it hanging upside down like any good cockatoo. For him to enjoy the rain I'd have to get him in the cage, which he hates, and take that outside - very stressful, or allow him outside under his own steam. But in order to get him back in again I'd have to towel him or chase him back up the steps. Disaster. So for his own happiness he had to be friends with me. Not a very successful precept.

Strange too that I am more relaxed around him as I don't have an agenda anymore. Well, that's not entirely true or I wouldn't try and shape him to touch the ball but as the ball is on the floor he can walk away if he feels it's too stressful - and he does. More and more, however, he chooses to hang around and get treats for walking in the right direction and jackpots for actually touching it even if it's only accidentally. I'm very happy for both of us.

Bats, Birds and the Golden 'Keet

Back from the gym, that delicious lethargy from muscles well used. Outside a white horse stark against the dark green shadowed grasses. But it's hot and going to get hotter. 36 the radio man says. Was thinking on the drive home how I would like to build an enclosed bird verandah on the north side of the house. The birds are on the western side and although shaded by torreliana trees it is still far too hot. The aviary birds have the benefit of the huge shady poinciana tree and are cooler there than we are in our unair-conditioned house.
The bats in the colony on the edge of town were already waving their leathery wings in an effort to cool off. They look like hundreds of black eggplants hanging from the branches. Spoke to one of the bat carers this week. Dozens die from the heat, he said. Mums leave their babies behind when they venture off to feed at dusk. Many don't return and the babies, unprotected, die. The old age home which borders the colony won't let carers in to rescue the babies. I don't see how they can deny them as the creek and creek edge is crown land. Or so I thought. It seems odd that bats which are native to Australia have so much trouble coping with the heat. But imagine being black, hanging in full sun (the trees provide very little shade as although they are tall, their leaves are sparse) with your head wrapped inside your black leather cloak.
Dimitri and I were doing really well. He was staying put when I'd walk onto the verandah and hardly moving when I offered him millet. Then disaster. When I gave him a sunflower seed he lost his balance and fell, sliding off the wide metal hooks which anchor the wood bird ladder to the tree perch. Then later, he fell off the end of the table branch when it tipped under his weight. My fault. I'd done the big clean up and untied the end so I could properly clean the table. I thought it was heavy enough on the large end not to budge under his weight. I was wrong. He slid right off. Thankfully both times he was unhurt. But he was unnerved and frightened and as I was present on both occasions I was linked with 'bad things'. He was very edgy this morning and wanted nothing to do with me. I accept that and realise we've just taken a few steps backward. We'll be fine. I gave him some millet when I got home and he was less anxious than he was earlier. R has replaced the metal hooks with sturdy wood and I've retied the branch. I want no more accidents!
I'm saying 'Millet' in a happy clear voice whenever I feed him now. Just finished reading Alex and Me, Dr. Irene Pepperburg's book on her 30 years with Alex, the famous grey parrot. Although I won't be training Dimitri to speak with the rival/model method used in the book, there's no reason I can't label everything I offer him in the hopes that one day he may make the connection. I've never been keen that any of my birds should talk. Caruso, the S. C. Cockatoo, spoke a few words but it was more a parroting of what was said to him. I'm not sure he knew what the words meant - yet when I ask Marvin, the galah, to kiss me, he does. He obviously makes the connection between the words and the action required.
Released Amos, the juvenile galah, this morning. He still favours that leg a little but he can walk, perch and, boy, can he fly. I couldn't see the advantage in keeping him any longer. If he can walk on the ground to feed (he can), and perch (on the overhead wire no less) and fly (like an expert) than he's got as good a chance as any juvenile galah - which isn't all that great. Only one out of ten make it through their first year. Terrible odds. I've put out seed and water on top of his aviary. Troppo, another released galah, stays here alot, even spending the odd night inside the aviary with the others (I think he regards it as a little holiday; food laid on and protection from predators so he doesn't have to stay hypervigilant all the time) . Maybe he will buddy up with Amos. A galah on his own doesn't have near the protection as a galah in a flock with many eyes scouring the skies for predators.
Saw something extraordinary a couple of days ago. We've had probably 70 rainbow lorikeets hanging around in the mornings interspersed with a couple of dozen scaly breasted. I was walking down the driveway when I glanced up at a commotion in the silky oak above me. There were half a dozen screaming rainbows and in their midst was a yellow one. Bright daffodil yellow from head to tail with a head the colour of the inside of a ripe guava. By the time I'd attracted R's attention it had flown. Saw it again the next day. Saw the back of it was also yellow but with a hint of khaki green. I know those people who can't leave things well enough alone have to breed colour mutations to improve on nature so the bird might be an escaped pet or aviary bird. Or it might just be a natural mutation. Unfortunately with colouring like that it is a marked bird. The dark green backs of rainbows and scaly-breasted make them almost invisible from the air. Not so a bright yellow bird. At least he's a strong flier. He's the Golden 'Keet, related in name to the elusive Golden Fleece.
We have a white throated gerygone nesting in the potted umbrella tree right next to our front door. She and her husband spent two weeks building the nest. Well, she built it and he encouraged her with song. She is all of two inches long with a white throat, yellow breast and grey brown back. We were amazed that with all our comings and going and the whippets living permanently on the deck that she would chose that as a nest site. Perhaps our proximity was part of the plan for no hawk or cuckoo (which lay eggs in their nest) would dare an assault. Yet now that she's laid her eggs and is nesting she's become quite flighty and leaves the nest when we step onto the deck. R has put up a sign, 'Bird Nesting, Go Around' with arrows to deter visitors from coming up the steps. I hope she hatches and raises them successfully.

writing and a strange coincidence...and Dimitri

Where to start. I've been writing, not much but enough to get going again. My secret? I joined a writers online group. Simple really. Reading all these posts from aspiring (and published) writers and it occurs to me sitting on my great acre complaining does not get the book written. Then too, today there were a couple of posts, sample writings from other group-ies, and well, they were bloody awful. Not that I'm good, even okay, but my fiction isn't abysmal. Really. I do believe in it and myself enough to say that. It is bad form to compare oneself with others. I'm hot, you're not. Not good I know but I admit I'm shallow enough to be encouraged by other's sad attempts.
Good writing is something I want to emulate. I read it and enjoy it then re-read it trying to figure out how they did it (and made it look so effortless). Don't re-read bad writing, that would be fruitless torture, like going to the dentist to fill in a spare hour. But bad writing serves a purpose too. Not to say bad writers don't improve. This second book of mine is better than the first. The fifth book should be better than this one.
Here's an eerie coincidence. Several xmases ago I was given a notebook with a hand tooled leather cover as a place to write ideas in. I used it once. When I was looking for something the other day to jot something down in I found it again. The only thing I had written in it was an idea about a woman who jumps from a bridge, a man who grabs her skirt and manages to hang on and a third man who assists the first man in pulling her over the parapet and onto the bridge. I was thinking of something along the lines of The Bridge Over San Luis Rey, a book about people who die when a bridge collapses. I read it so long ago I don't remember the details except it was a sort of question posed to the universe, why were these people chosen to die on this bridge on this day? In my idea I was thinking of the separate stories of the 3 people leading up to the meeting on the bridge and what happens to them afterward. The weird part is this. There is a cop show on television showing real cops being filmed going about their cop business by onboard squad car cameras. This particular segment dealt with a woman attempting to commit suicide by jumping off a bridge, the cop who grabs her skirt and keeps her from falling and another guy who helps pull her back onto the bridge. I didn't even remember writing the idea down but when I read it I certainly remembered the cop show segment.
The other thing I have done is sign up for an online course with Dr. Susan Friedman on parrot behaviour analysis for caregivers. Unfortunately there won't be an opening until 2012. Fortunately there is an online sort of mini-course which helps prepare one for the real thing. I've joined that group too. Have also ordered a couple of books, Don't Shoot the Dog by Karen Pryor (which will help me help clients at work) and Clicker Training for Birds by ... a Menopausal Moment. Can't remember her name. Have also ordered a book by Dr. Irene Pepperburg about her relationship with Alex (not the scientific tome).
As for my relationship with Dimitri. Same-o, same-o. We are no closer to being friends than we were when I wrote last. What is different is my attitude. I've stopped trying so hard. Nor am I taking it personally. We'll go at his speed. I'm sure this course and the mini-course will help immensely. But in reality it's not vitally important that we be friends at this point. As I write he's sitting on the t-stand perch just outside the office. I put it there for him. There are many other places he could choose to sit but he's chosen that one. Interesting...although as it's time for their afternoon seed (Tach is on the monitor glowering) I shouldn't feel too complimented.

Rescued Baby Galah

November 7, 2009. This post was lost in the draft folder. So it actually predates the previous post. Don't know how to switch them so....Yesterday R went down to the yards to make up the evening horse feeds. I heard him calling my name, that urgent note permeating his voice that one hears only when something's amiss. Met him on the deck. "Come quickly, it's a galah." And it was, a soaking wet juvenile sitting forlornly on a stone near the horse trough. Everything but it's head was wet. When I picked it up I discovered it had an injured leg. The leg was stuck out straight and the toes, two forward, two back, seemed frozen in a forward position. It did have feeling however as when I gently pinched one of the toes it drew it back. The bird was also extremely thin, a sign of coccidiosis. When I saw its first poo later I didn't need a microscope to confirm the diagnosis. Dark vivid green and very watery.
We don't know whether the leg injury came about from a fight to survive in the water trough or is an existing one. It's obviously had the coccidiosis for awhile because it's so thin.
Don't want to call him an 'it' anymore. I've named him Amos. Of course, Amos may be an Amy but Amos will do for now. Having to crop feed him as he's so juvenile. In the wild Mum and Dad would be feeding him. I loathe crop feeding. Always fear that I will get the needle in the wrong place and kill him. As it was I overfilled his crop today and he aspirated a little formula. I felt like crap afterwards. Too much too soon and I should have known better. It's just that his thinness is a worry. If they are too thin for too long their liver is affected and there is no coming back.
The good news is he is far stronger and his poos are looking marginally better. I'm erring on the side of caution with the crop feeding so that's a good thing ... for awhile. Later on we'll have to up the ante so that he actually gains weight instead of just being maintained. It is so hard on them, however. Who would want some long steel tube thrust down their maw? Not me! Everyone stresses; Amos, me and R, who holds him while I mess around with size 8 crop needle and 20ml syringe.
Had a couple of bad days with Dimitri. Not with him. He hasn't changed. He's still as unpredictable as ever; accepting treats one minute and terrified for his life and limb the next. It was me, depressed and anxious, that was the problem. It is such a learning process about myself and the many many things I need to work on (like grow up for instance!).

Joni Mitchell's writing and Progress with Dimitri

Just went to my dashboard page and suddenly really noticed what photo I'd chosen for this blog. It's of me driving. Driving a motorhome a couple of years ago, cross country from the west coast to the east. In this case the country was the USA, not Australia.
I love Joni Mitchell. I've always loved Joni Mitchell. Her lyrics speak to me. Today I was listening (yet again, for the 1029th time, to Hejira, my favourite album). Partly I think I relate to her lyrics because she's always on the road,' travelin' travelin' travelin'. My formative years, beyond the childhood years, were when I began to discover who I really was, not what I thought I was. That interior journey came about as a result of an exterior journey. I left family, friends and familiar shores and shifted about strange Antipodean shores. I didn't settle in any locale for more than two years. I learned to rely on myself. I got into sticky situations and got myself out again. I learned I could be brave, that I was strong and resilient. I learned that I liked my own company. If I hadn't left one continent and moved to another I think I would be a very different person today.
When no one knows you or your history or your antecedents, you scent the trail which may lead you (if you're really lucky and assiduous) to who you really are. You become more iron and less froth. Joni, it seems, is always on the road. She became 'porous with travel fever' yet the 'slightest touch of a stranger could set a tingling in my bones'. These songs always resonate with me. It's not that I spent years and years and years traveling solo but enough to know the freedom - and the cost. Maybe I'm only nostalgic for the road, set as I am now with husband, home and animals. I do not wish it any other way but for every choice one makes, other choices sink into oblivion.
Joni's many layered lyrics blow you away with a minimum of words, pointed and true. When I listen to her lyrics I despair that I can ever convey such imagery with so little. For instance, in her 'Song for Sharon', is 'A woman I knew just drowned herself. The well was deep and muddy. She was just shaking off futility or punishing somebody." Unfortunately, I've met people who have suicided. One was shaking off futility and the other was punishing someone.
But enough of that. Good day today. Making steady progress with Dimitri. Was, of course, pushing him too hard, so have backed right off. Now he's following me into the office and I'm c/t'ing for him to come closer. Eventually he'll take millet from my fingers while he's on the floor and I tower over him in an office chair. His whole demeanor is different; less watchful, more trusting. I am so happy!
We've had to cut his tree perch in half. Day before yesterday I was in here and heard a loud thump. He came down to this end with blood on his beak. Found two more drops on the floor. He'd lost his balance and fallen. Now instead of his perch being head height (I'm 5'4") it is waist height. He could still lose his balance and fall but if he does it shouldn't be as bad. Have also piled towels behind the perch, between the perch and the wall. He must have somehow fallen there to have hit hard enough to bite his tongue. I thought I had the crash sites covered but obviously not. Have also put him on pellets today (will give him seed in a few minutes) and both he and Tachimedes are on coccivet as I don't like the colour of their poos. Too green and loose. Tach is having a hard time as he's been gorging on Dimitri's seed for 2 months and ignoring his pellets. It's back to the regimen today and he's not happy. But he'll come around.

Dice, Dimitri and The Deluge

I'm using the die, as in the Diceman by Luke Rhinehart, again. It seems I blither the day away and don't accomplish a whole lot. Rolling the dice after making a list of things to do is a sure way to get things done. So I made a list of six things (as I've only one die, the other die, all colours and sizes, have disappeared over time). Here it is. 1. Wash windows (always include at least one thing you definitely don't want to do). 2. Listen to The Visitor, a CD made by the Robert Monroe guys, a guided meditation to meet 'The Visitor' which I assume will be someone or something of importance to my psyche. I haven't been able to listen to it in its entirety yet so haven't met him/her/it. The friend who introduced me to it listened many many times before finally meeting his visitor. So it may be awhile. 3. Write (the book). 4. Yoga. Have already done some, trying out a new yoga CD. It was okay but a little too easy. Thought it wouldn't hurt to do some more. 5. Plants. We had 51mm or rain yesterday. Took all the plants out for a drink and a wash. Because it rained so hard, they have debris splattered up the sides. Have brought some back in already but there are more plus one palm I want to repot. and 6. Blog, hence this. It rolled a 6.
I was exhausted by 8:30 last night. Went to bed at 9:30 then couldn't sleep thinking about Dimitri. We had a good ending as I wrote yesterday for he was curious, and perhaps made nervous about the storm (10,000 lightning strikes and power outages), and hung around to the entrance to this room off the verandah. I thought this morning that I would try and get him to target a prop, in this case a plastic weave ball with a bell in it. Dismal failure. I held it and he did touch it but he was so focused on getting out he kept offering the behaviour of getting on the forward perch. When I held the ball up to him again he ignored it and bit my finger - twice. Not hard but hard enough to let me know he wasn't happy. The first rule of birdkeeping and training is don't get bitten so I didn't hold it out again. Instead I got a coop cup which hangs on the inside of the cage and put the ball in it. I clicked for him looking at it, for getting closer (in his mad rush to get onto that forward perch) but in truth it didn't click with him at all. He got cranky and went to the back of the cage. Hmmm. I left him in and went outside and did something else (and felt tears of frustration pricking my eyes - why is this so hard for me?). Overdoing it, no doubt. Should have quit while I was ahead. He got frustrated and annoyed and so did I.
When I returned we'd both calmed down. I clicked for getting near the cup, made a big fuss and then let him out. He's still running for the opposite end of the perch when I go out, unless I'm holding millet but I am backing right off and not letting it annoy me. If this is where we are, this is where we are.
He got on the floor a couple of times, even following me to the opposite end of the verandah. I knelt and offered corn and millet treats for coming nearer. He did get pretty close so that's something.
Must say everything looks so scrubbed and fresh after the rain. It has been so dry - grass the colour of a peroxide blonde. The horses were so rejuvenated they galloped back and forth in the peach paddock which is in front of the windows behind the monitor. Even Freya, nearly 30, was in the throng, sometimes leading the way. After the sixth go she veered off to refresh herself at the water trough but the others kept going. Radar, the whippet x, joined in. Even from here I could see his laughter. That dog loves to run, even more than Jamaica, the purebred whippet. He runs for sheer joy. The galahs, dusty with months of dry weather, hung upside down from the wires and shrieked. Even the aviary galahs found toeholds on the mesh and screamed and fluttered and shook their feathers. Wish Dimitri could have had a bath too but that will have to wait. One day....