Sighting a New Hawk

Went to the Saturday bird walk at Nisqually, today led by an actual [sort of] ranger, with tons of information. Every time I go, I see more things and learn more, building on the bits of information gleaned from previous expeditions. I learned that the closer areas of the estuary fill with more like 5% salinity instead of completely sea water, at high tide, due to the fact that fresh water floats on salt water. Huh. 

I learned that, not only do certain fields flood in the early spring, but that various fields are flooded on purpose at different times [by the Refuge] so that birds feeding on the new grass shoots and arriving at different times can be attracted and can graze. I learned that eagles eat herons, who, although they have pretty good beaks, don't try to defend themselves. And that herons are so dumb they can die from swallowing fish too big for their throats. But I still like herons!

At first our fearless leader was disappointed because, although we could hear birds, it was pretty still and we didn't see many to begin with. We saw the lump of an eagle perched on the favorite eagle tree, who later flew home [the eagle, not the tree.] We heard and later saw waxwings--yay. We learned that expert birders don't use coloration so much as bird calls, habitat and behavior to identify birds.

A few weeks ago on the regular Wednesday walk we saw a merlin perched in a tree. Today the Raptor Special was a Harriot [I don't even know how to spell it.] Characteristic of this medium-sized hawk is that it circles fairly near the ground, hunting for small mammals, as well as having a white bar across the back. That was my high point. We saw it on the way out the dike towards the boardwalk, and later again on the way back.

The tide was out, so we saw one lone heron, and that was about it for shore birds.

Walking back down the near boardwalk towards the center, the temperature dropped, and with a smattering of rain, the forest woke up. We saw a lot of flycatchers of various types, heard and [maybe?] saw Western Warblers and a Downy Woodpecker, and something very rare, which I would have mistaken for any ordinary [i.e. Mallard] duck: a ring-neck duck. Despite the name, it does not have a ring at the neck.

For the mammals, we watched a small family of fat raccoons waddle across the algae surface at the far shore of the pond, and two fawns--but no sign of the mother. On the drive home I saw the shattered body of a doe next to the freeway in the area, and hoped that she was not the mama.

Sequelae

I have resolved that my recent conflict, experienced on initially meeting Mick at WorkSource, is a golden opportunity to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civiliza--oops, wrong sound track. An opportunity to learn new skills in building relationships with people, especially when one of us in the past has displayed results-oriented, my-way-or-the-highway attitudes. Especially when the topic for today's Job Club was reputed to be about "Attitudes."

Boy, does that topic bring up memories of such consistent and helpful feedback from teachers and other adults, that I have a bad "attitude." What it always seemed to mean, in retrospect, was that I was capable of thinking for myself, came to a differing conclusion from the powers that be, and honest in sharing my opinions at any time and place that I felt like it.

So I was concerned because of the Great High Heel episode, anticipating being reamed out [either personally or as part of the collective] for having a bad attitude, and ready to don war paint for today. However, I reasoned that if I don a spiritual perspective, with the motivation of service, I can attain an attitude beyond the reproach of anyone.

Up late yesterday evening due to caffeine, I memorized the quotation from 'Abdu'l-Baha in Paris Talks which has been turned into a song. It was either memorize, or die from the aggravation of jumbled and missing lyrics:

Strive that your actions day by day may be beautiful prayers. Turn towards God, and seek always to do that which is right and noble. Enrich the poor, raise the fallen, comfort the sorrowful, bring healing to the sick, reassure the fearful, rescue the oppressed, bring hope to the hopeless, shelter the destitute!

I figured that is the attitude with which few can find fault, so I strengthened it by donning a little make up [for me, a little goes a long way] in lieu of war paint, a matching silk shirt and tie, praying mighty prayers and singing songs all my way in to the Job Club this morning, and marching in with a smile on my face to forge a new friendship with Mick.

It was a productive meeting, devoid of criticism, full of encouragement, with full participation, and before Mick left I gave him my "handout" on high heels, cited in the last post for those stalwart souls with the fortitude to read it. I feel myself turning a corner in my intentions.

After lunch at home, my husband drove from Eatonville and met me in Puyallup and I drove him to a doctor's appointment in Auburn, which would have been beyond his level of endurance and would have stretched his coping skills. We had a lovely afternoon and dinner together.

The Warrior

Last week at the WorkSource Job Club, we had a wonderful, detailed presentation by the human resources director from the City of Tacoma, on effectively applying for work there. She was down to earth, humorous and practical. Listening, I felt somewhat motivated in my work search, although the chances that I would find a position with the City, or wish to, are slim. I began to feel somewhat challenged in my sense of autonomy as the talk progressed, when she began to stress the level of competition for jobs, and the expectation that people "hit the ground running" on beginning a job.

While that expectation is by no means unreasonable, I began to feel smaller, less confident, and feel my energy and "power" leak out, when presented with the prospect of high competition. Combined with the State's expectations that we find jobs which are immediately a good fit, lest we fail and lose our unemployment compensation, my thoughts of roboticization increased, along with a snowballing sense of disempowerment. I began to feel grumpy.

This feeling came to a peak when the powerpoint illustration of appropriate attire for job interviews was presented. Now, I haven't recently fallen off of a turnip truck, and I can tell the difference between professional attire and candidates for the Jerry Springer show. I'm confident I can dress myself appropriately. However, there was a caricature of a woman in a skirt and high heels, and [gotta love my mouthy, Inner Brat] I blurted out, "I'm not wearing pantyhose and high heels to an interview." To which the new director of the Job Club, Mick, snapped back, "then you won't get the job!"

Well, this may be true. And equally true is that, it wouldn't be the job for me. This is not sour grapes, just a realistic assessment of where I do and don't belong in the world of industry. There is a place where I no doubt will shine, and a place where a job cannot be found without wearing high heels for an interview probably is not it. However, I did at that point, feel extremely disempowered. My buttons had been pushed. Over the course of the next day, while I fumed about this exchange, and the lack of belief in the equality of women and men which was so blatantly and flippantly exposed by Mick, my warrior paint went on.

I went online and found numerous articles, posted amidst the plethora of ads for high heels, on the evils of wearing them. I intend to look for an opportunity to kindly and respectfully enlighten people at the Job Club in the morning. Enclosed for your amusement is the article I wrote based on this information:

Problems with wearing high heeled shoes are well-documented. Although popular with many people, shoes with high heels should never be considered the only choice in professional footwear for a number of reasons, including discomfort, pain, risk of injuries, and permanent anatomical changes. Risks of these complications are worsened with increased height of the heels.

The most elementary reason a person might choose to avoid heels is simple: discomfort. Walking in heels shortens calf muscles and changes the gait. Natural walkers, walking barefoot, shorten and lengthen their tendons to achieve power; people walking in heels primarily flex their quadriceps and calf muscles. Tendons are more effective springs than muscles, so more energy is required to cover the same distance wearing heels, which increases fatigue. This factor also increases the risk of strain injuries.

Mere discomfort can give way to actual pain with continued use of high-heeled shoes. A wearer may experience pain in the toes, heels, calf muscles, and back, and develop pain in the ball of the foot, referred to as "metatarsalgia."

Wearing high heels over an extended length of time may cause actual anatomical changes in the feet, such as bunions, a shortened Achilles tendon, hammer toes, a decrease in the fat cushion in the ball of the foot, which causes increased pressure on the bones of the foot; "Morton's Neuroma," a growth and inflammation of the nerves of the foot; and "Haglund's Deformity" of the Achilles tendon, also called "pump bump."

Changes in the knees include osteoarthritis from continually adjusting for imbalance. Postural changes while wearing high heels are caused by plantar flexion of the foot, which in turn can cause muscle overuse and back pain, as well as flattening of the pelvic spine.

Women should be, and in fact are, free to use footwear of their choice when selecting professional attire, and there are many healthy and attractive alternatives. To suggest that women in particular should be devoid of choice in something as personal as footwear, with their health at stake, is truly to denigrate the station and status of women.

Professionals Cited:
John Anderson, MD, Michigan State University College of Human Medicine.
Neal M. Blitz, D.P.M.
Dr. Neil J. Cronin, postdoctoral researcher at Griffin University in Queensland, Australia.
Dr. Casey Kerrigan, Harvard Medical School, Boston Massachusetts.
Dr. Morris Morin, podiatric medicine division of Hackensack University Medical Center.
Dr. Andrew Schneider, Tanglewood Foot Specialists, Houston, Texas.
Andrew Shapiro, D.P.M., American Podiatric Association.
Terence Vanderheidon, D.P.M.

Odd Neighbors

My neighbors had lost their minds. I had been awake until about midnight and awoke, as I frequently do, about five in the morning. So I spent the last two hours trying to capture the last two or three hours of sleep the universe owes me. I had some odd dreams. But this morning I made the amazing discovery that my neighbors listen to KING FM. It was terrible. I could not get back to sleep.

I listen to KING FM, the local listener-supported classical radio station, exclusively. But some of the sort of neo-classical music is discordant and unlovely and misunderstood by my brain. I can't listen to it. From the dim sounds through the walls of my townhouse, some of this unfortunate music was playing. Not only that, but I like to be the one choosing whether to listen to music or not. This was outrageous. And it was so strange, because I rarely hear music through the walls, except for faint wisps of rock music, and always from the other bedroom, not the master bedroom.

It was my own radio downstairs, which I had forgotten to turn off when I went to bed.

I continue to walk at the Nisqually National Wildlife Refuge once or twice a week, sometimes by myself, sometimes on a Bird Walk. They have been having Bird Walks every Wednesday morning, so I went twice in a row. I learn a lot, and the birders see and hear and can identify a lot of birds [95%] that I would miss on my own. There were probably 20 or 30 people this week, and it can be kind of crowded with an entire herd of people training their binoculars in one direction in the space of a few feet of boardwalk.

I used to carry some very light binoculars I cadged from my daughter, who won them in a drawing contest years ago from the Audibon Society; they are light, but rather weak. The alternative which I have adopted is a pair I inherited from my dad last year; they were among my mother's effects after she passed away. They come, dredged in memories, in a worn rawhide case with an old label maker tag: L. Elwood. The leather strap attached to the binoculars was worn out and I replaced it with a sturdy leather shoelace, doubled up.

My dad's binoculars are probably ancient, it feels as if they weigh ten pounds, and the lenses need to be individually focused for various distances, so they don't seem ideal for birding. The focus is still superior to my daughter's binoculars, so I've been carrying them anyway, dreaming of finding lighter and more powerful binoculars when I again have an income and can justify the expense.

Birders move slowly, quietly, alert to the creatures in the trees or water around them. I often hear, "there's a Western Warbler, it's on the branch of that deciduous tree just above that bare snag, just about three o'clock--whoops, there it went." A lot of time Wednesday in the Riparian forest was spent identifying an odd bird call, which no one could find on their PDA's. A few minutes later, a rare sighting was made--an escaped parakeet, which explained the bird call. Budgie was free at last.

After two hours or more of making our way to the forest we made it out to the boardwalk over the estuary, where the outer dike has been removed a few years ago to allow the salt water of Puget Sound to reclaim its place. The tide was mostly out, but there were one or two herons to be seen, and an osprey overhead. I also saw a white tern, which I would have taken for just another gull. Although the boardwalk is my favorite area, by this time my feet were bothering me. I found that the extended discussions about the particular variety of sandpipers we were looking at, and whether the scapulas were rufous or not, began to exceed my curiosity. I was lucky I could see them. So I headed home.

The Bird of the Heart

This will probably be another mishmash of reflections and events. My husband took himself to dialysis a couple of times, then changed his mind again. The frequent reversals of fortune are very wearing, and an opportunity to practice a state of detachment. The shower is a good place to cry.

Last week I applied for a nursing job in the clinic at the jail, and was basically apprehended by the detailed and extensive background check questionaire. It didn't help that the information had been sent in a Word document, and it was necessary to phone and email many times to get it sent by mail; this created a short time deadline. I discovered a limitation in myself, which is either weakness or extreme sensitivity. I have a strong resistance to inquiring to find out more phone numbers, emails, and home addresses from my friends, relatives, and professional references, than was originally shared with me.

It feels like prying. I wonder, also, if I am assuming I mean so little to people, that I am not worth the extra effort for people to participate in the background check. I ended up refusing to do it, and developing an attitude about it. When I dropped off the info at the office on Tacoma Avenue, I was beckoned into an office where I was quizzed about the missing information on my background history; then my work history was delved into with a rather unfriendly eye, and although the demeanor of the individual questioning me was not really unkind, I left feeling as if all my confidence had been shattered. It didn't take long for the tears to come on the way home, and I wasn't really operational for the next 24 hours or more.

Later, I thought--what did I expect? I was talking with a cop.

That Saturday I had the bounty of a prayer session with two Persian ladies for the Intensive Program of Growth. We sat upstairs in the prayer room of the "base" apartment and took turns reading or chanting prayers in English, Farsi and Arabic. My favorite part was hearing the Fire Tablet, which has a repeating refrain, recited in Arabic, and recognizing it. I felt as if I were soaring as a bird.

I continue to search for work, ambivalent in my intent. I have to look for work, so I apply to nursing jobs, but I tend to doubt how well I'll continue to function as a nurse. I'm feeling out of date and leary of the industry; my main thrust really needs to be finding an alternative, a next step. I've often wished I'd gone into counseling, but the level of education required is daunting. It feels as if I'm treading water from week to week, carrying a massive load of sadness and fear, which drains the energy I need for thinking, planning, operating.

I had lunch with my nurse friends, where we share our tales of woe, and one of them asked me how I can come across so cheerful. I told her that the most important thing that gets me through is prayer. "And," I added, "knowing I have people like you that will listen to me bellyache."

Nisqually Wildlife Refuge has become one of my favorite haunts, whether exploring on my own, or learning from a birding expedition. Recently I've seen herons while the tide was out, but not too far out, and usually see an eagle fly over from the evergreen-covered hill across the way. It often perches on a deciduous tree, sometimes soaring over the mudflats and the river, hunting/fishing.

Today I stopped to read on a bench in the shade at DeCoursey Park in Puyallup, pausing to say some prayers. When I looked up from my prayers I saw a kingfisher fly in across the river, pause on a branch and then fly on. I recognized it from the description from the first nature walk I took at Swan Creek, and I was grateful to finally see one.