So all in one day, a whistleblower engineer from Boeing was set to give Congressional testimony about a particular plane, while said plane model went down in India, killing hundreds. Meantime, one of my Senators was being briefed and heard that Kristi Noem was speaking to the press down the hall, so he went there to ask her questions.

Congressional oversight of the Executive being in his job description. A member of the Senate actually doing what he signed up for.

But he was Hispanic.

He said who he was and started asking his questions–and was immediately manhandled, shoved out of the room by quite a few people in uniforms, pushed to his knees and then the floor and handcuffed behind his back. Noem blamed him for not identifying himself, which, of course, was the first thing he had done.

It is a requirement in this Administration that one be as quick with a lie as 47 himself. Because it is always the underlings who go to jail before the boss does and he wants them guilty as sin in every way so they’ll support him in hopes they don’t take the fall. But they will.

You definitely wouldn’t want to vote for Noem for so much as dogcatcher now. Just ask her kids.

Meantime, Israel flew over Iraq and attacked Iran, saying it was taking out its nuclear capabilities and personnel.

Meantime, Gavin Newsom rewrote his original plea to the court, upon which–praise be–it sided with the State of California and found Trump’s orders spurious and in violation of the Constitution and ordered the National Guard, which Trump had deployed without food nor lodging orders because who cares about them anyway, to be returned to Newsom’s control. So, among other tasks, they can be free to monitor–wait for it–the border.

But not today. Tomorrow at noon. Hey–we’ll take it.

I think the protesters need to bring them pizzas and pillows.

And Saturday, if the troops are somehow not yet gone, we need to celebrate No Kings Day with flowers to put in their gun barrels. (Wincing at the National Guardsman who took aim and shot an Australian reporter in the back with a rubber bullet yesterday as she stood in the middle of the street with no protesters immediately around her: shot for telling the camera what was happening.)

Remember when those flowers and sweet entreaties to join the protesters’ more righteous side helped overthrow Ferdinand Marcos in the Philippines?

Oh, and one more thing: in Ukraine someone’s cat took out a Russian drone. I just hope the cat was okay.

Part two.

We got to see Janna and her husband. We walked into the presence of such an immense sense of love.

She was joyful, she was exhausted, and I hope at just under an hour we didn’t stay too long. I have more experience than most at how wonderful and tiring it is to see people even when you love them so much when you’re so ill and we were all trying to be mindful of that, though I’m not quite sure we were mindful enough. But man, it was good to see her and to meet her prince of a husband. (Her first one died years ago.) He is so good to her.

I had four more hats ready (Richard says five), including one begun in the airport, and two balls of yarn to ask if she’d like those colors next. She said sure. She had one on that I’d mailed earlier.

But she gently let me know that all of these were really more than she could wear.

Not knowing that I had thought of her beloved as I packed this thick warm greens-etc Mecha one and that earlier one and was thinking of her granddaughter and her two older sons and the son I’d knit the Christmas stocking for years ago: her mom had knit one with the name knitted in for each of her grandchildren–but he hadn’t been born yet when she died.

When Janna told me that of course I made him one.

I had never knitted such a thing before and I couldn’t find a pattern for one with the kind of cabling I wanted, so I just winged it. I can do socks, right?

Um. Sometimes letting the object be its own size swatch has its idiosyncrasies, not to mention Malabrigo Rios is not sock yarn.

So I asked her if he wishes he had one that weren’t so big and she exclaimed, He LOVES his big stocking! You can fit anything in it!

We all laughed.

He’s in his mid-20s now. We sat there a moment with the unspoken thought between us that his future children likely won’t know their grandmother, either.

An experimental med in ’03 snatched me back at the edge of life. If only. You never know.

I will have my work cut out for me. I’ll let him and his future love decide what size to aim for.

But meantime, any of her family who want to wear a Malabrigo hat in solidarity with her in this beautiful month of June, maybe when the hot sun dips below the mountains? I think with these last two coming along, if she wants, we’ve pretty much got them covered.

And I can always knit more.

Part One.

All my siblings came. Mom got feted, Dad’s stuff got divided between us, and as my older brother said afterwards, “I am amazed and grateful for how well everything went.” Everybody was mindful of everybody else and trying not to be too eager about any one thing: we didn’t own it before and if we didn’t own it after, what’s the difference, right? So. Your turn.

There was a painting I loved. The others noticed the two gouges in the paint before I did, two white canvas spots showing, about the size of the inside circle when you hold thumb to forefinger.

Bryan, who along with Anne has entered juried arts shows and done well, instantly offered, “I can fix that for you.”

Two days later my sister was holding it out for me to see.

Now, I’d been expecting to have to pay to ship it to Atlanta and then to our house and to wait for however long everything took.

But, but–where were the spots? You can’t even tell! Where were they? as I bent close to see.

Bryan happened to come in the room in the middle of that, so I said again, “You can’t even tell!”

He laughed. “That’s the point!”

I just couldn’t get over how very very perfect and untouched it looked.

He was staying at a cousin’s; we were at a hotel a half hour from there.

So it was with great delight this morning that I looked up at the TSA station where you retrieve your stuff and exclaimed across the conveyor belt, “BRYAN!”

He looked over, laughed, and we got one last big hug across that metal space before he raced off to his flight while they finished patting me down. (Holding my arms above my head while circular glass walls move rapidly the way they do, close to my face, makes me fall down. So, yeah.)

So, so glad we got to go.

The eyases are flying well and their air traffic controllers have gone home.Thank goodness for those who do that work.

The blowup between Musk vs. 47: things are about to get even more interesting as they try to expose and tear each other down in order to build themselves up. As bullies do. Popcorn!

Meantime: the South Carolina legislature. A special election. A 24-year-old African-American Democrat vs the older guy who’d been county Republican chair.

The kid won his primary by eleven votes (the state required a recount, which bumped it up from ten) and then won the race 70-29%.  The voters chose the hopeful, idealistic young person wanting to do good.

The other guy said, well, G_d has other plans for me, then.

Yes, dear, He does: He didn’t want it on your eternal conscience that you would have helped deny lifesaving healthcare and emergency help to “the least of these My brethren” because He loves your soul, too. But He needed the voters to help Him out on that, because He loves them enough to let them learn from, thank heavens, their triumphs as well as their mistakes, and they totally came through.

Almost 71%. We can do this!

She said maybe brown.

It’s going to be over 90F. I’ve got some dark brown ready to go after this but for the moment I’m thinking let’s try a lighter version and see how it flies. I can always keep going.

One of the camera crew did a hatch-to-fledge four and a half minute compilation of the 2025 season so far, here.

Meantime, the three newly fledged females were immediately spotted yesterday; one was rescued from behind a glass balcony so she wouldn’t hurt herself trying to get out and was put in a box and taken to the roof of City Hall above the nest. Got her feathers sprayed so she wouldn’t panic-fly to get away from the humans as they set her down but rather wait a moment drying off while they disappeared. She’s fine.

The male, though, nobody knew where he was.

So one of the BOGs (boots on the ground during fledge watch) was looking today when she saw a homeless guy looking up. He told her there was a hawk that had a bunch of crows harassing it, so he’d been keeping watch to make sure it was okay–and there was our Chico!

When she explained that it was a peregrine falcon just learning to fly and that multitudes of people were going to be grateful to him for finding him and looking out for the little guy, you can imagine how that felt to someone who doesn’t usually find himself being looked up to.

They chatted a little and she found that the birds mattered to him, all of them, and he felt for the one being harassed and stood by him.

And so he became a hero to the falcon community.

Our little Chico got retrieved, went through being boxed and hauled upstairs like his sister the day before, and is now living happily ever after.

Meantime, chemo cap #6 got finished, #7 is started, and I have been invited to a sisters and female cousins lunch where I can get to give it to Janna in person. I can’t wait to see her.

Yesterday there were three falcon eyases huddled together at the end of the upper ledge: two steps and they’d be off. Momma Hartley again flew right to them with a meal to entice them to come for it but from eighteen floors up they went, Nope. After you. No, after you. No, I insist. Well *I’m* not gonna let go of this perfectly good gravity.

And so they got a second extra day of letting their feathers grow out more.

Flap unevenly and you find yourself doing the Hokey Pokey and turning yourself about.

And then–hey! Cool!

The last one hung around for awhile hoarding the prey all to herself but after three hours alone for the first time ever it got to her: if they could do it she could do it, and she, too, flapped those wings and stepped off into the air to see what would happen next.

A discussion in Sunday School and a question was asked: have you ever done something with the best of intentions that turned out badly?

One young woman raised her hand and came close to tears as she described how, while living overseas, she had encouraged a friend to come to church that week. The friend was a Mormon, her husband was not, though he came with her when she did come. But she had a serious chronic illness that made it difficult and she hadn’t in some time. She missed everybody and she was missed.

H. talked her into it. She was so looking forward to it that she made herself do it and she did, where she was surrounded by exclamations of joy at the sight of her.

But. The woman’s husband took H. aside and reamed her, telling her, You don’t understand: it took all of my wife’s energy for this whole day and probably this whole week to make it here. You don’t get it! You don’t get what it does to her physically!

H. had regretted the whole thing intensely ever since. How had she not seen. How could she have done that to her friend. And her husband, too, for that matter, poor guy.

I immediately raised my hand. I have been that very ill person with chronic disease, I told her. I know how face time with friends your illness has deprived you of, when you get to finally have it, can power you through for a long long time afterwards and you never forget how much it meant to get to see them. You did the right thing.

She looked across the room at me with what I can only describe as a sudden fierce disbelieving hope, wanting that to be true.

I said it again. You did the right thing.

As I thought of the time in ’03 when my doctor showed up to my hospital room every morning and every evening on his own time to be present with me while I was going through this and I could not let him blame himself when it wasn’t in any way his fault. I couldn’t let him down. I couldn’t do that to him, I had to live.

Yes we tried an experimental med and yes it saved my life–but that came after he already had by who he was.

And there was the friend and her daughters who came over to wash my hair over the kitchen sink when my PCC line for IV feeding still being in meant that if any water got into that incision it would channel an infection straight to my heart.

Yes finally finally finally having clean hair again after two weeks was wonderful, but their being present was everything.

Days after I got out of the hospital, so weak that I knew in my bones that if I caught a cold it would kill me and well before masks were a findable thing in the wild, one of my sons was giving a talk in church and the other was playing the organ and I was not going to miss that. I am their mom. I cheer on my kids. I insisted on being wheeled into church.

I managed to sit upright through the opening prayer and I think song but that and the shower beforehand to get ready and I simply laid down on the pew and snoozed through the rest of the whole thing whether I wanted to or not.

But I was there. To the very best of my ability, I got to be there for my kids and I got some in person time with dear friends.

And every one of those moments with other people, when there was nothing left but who we are and how we feel, helped get me through that long recovery process.

First H. went to her friend’s house to be with her.

Then she gave her the courage to try and to find in herself the willingness to take that risk of exhaustion for the love it would bring into the light.

Yes H. did the right thing, so much yes.

And had it proved the wrong time that week then her friend would have had a goal to focus on for her future, knowing that she mattered to her friends.

(Forgot to hit post last night.)

It’s been a month since some of my second rare apricot batch came up and I’d thought the last few were a lost cause and nearly tossed them. But the camera could see what happened today that I wasn’t quite sure of: we are going to have first leaves tomorrow, which just makes me all kinds of happy. To life!

Meantime, Momma falcon flew past her young dangling prey to try to induce them to fly today, but they were too well fed already and it was too hot. Naah, you eat it, Mom. Not going.

Which means their feathers will be that much longer and readier when they do start fledging. 77F Sunday? Now that sounds more reasonable!

Last one to fledge is a raw egg! Neener neener!

For the first time there was a third scrub jay begging at momma today. The other two tried to get in on it but were ignored and yet they all stayed close together, a family of four flitting around my small yard keeping all others at bay–and between them those jays have learned, for the first time since I planted this tree, that mandarins are edible. They even peeled it out by sections.

I stuck a small bird netting cage on kind of sideways over some of the untouched ones as best I could to at least make it hard to perch there. The ones that look like this, well hey, they’re welcome to come back for seconds.

The baby falcons in San Jose, meantime, with nature pressuring them to try out this flying thing they didn’t feel ready to spend the energy and risk on in the 95+ heat were not so cheerful.  That was quite the tantrum! Wow!

Finally finished the requested black cap and found a UFO that just needed the ends run in. That one’s Mecha, not Rios, so it’ll be nice and thick for June. Umm. It does get cool in the mountains there at night. And it was a fun hat. She told me yesterday that the only chemo caps she owns are the three she’s gotten from me. So off it goes.

I looked for a small box, struck out, went to the post office and decided to use one of their all-you-can-squish-in ones. It was definitely tight but it would do.

Maybe.

Trying to figure out their origami packaging, I was distracted by a short older guy I hadn’t even seen coming throwing a wad of trash hard at the other end of the table from me, and I thought, well that’s charming; making some employee have to clean up after you? The trash can is right there, dude. But I kept my mouth shut.

His face looked like, Do NOT mess with me. I have had it.

There were three clerks and a long line that did not move, and then #3 went on break. #2 went looking for someone’s stray package in the back. Clerk #1’s customer had a problem that took awhile. None of us were going anywhere anytime soon and #1 had from the time I walked in looked as angry as that guy.

Some minutes later, he suddenly appeared from the back (I’m thinking: he works here?!) and grabbed a package from next to her and threw it through the plastic-strips screen to the bin hidden behind. Hope there was nothing fragile in that.

Breathe. The only person whose behavior in this scene I could change was mine.

So I turned to the guy in a working man’s uniform behind me and asked, Are you in a hurry? You’re welcome to go ahead of me.

He was, actually, and quite grateful at the offer, even if it didn’t seem just then like it would really change a thing. We switched places.

There was one more person behind me: an older dad with a kid of about four with nothing to do. I repeated my offer. He turned me down. I offered him a finger puppet to keep his little guy amused, and it took him a moment but when I said Happy Birthday to make it clear I did not expect it back he decided why not.

Crocodile? He asked me, stating the obvious, I mean, we could quibble alligators vs caimans here but sometimes a finger puppet is just a finger puppet. ( –Oh wait, don’t let the staffs’ bad moods get to me.)

Yes.

The kid soon did what bored kids in strange places whose dads are staring at their phones do, which was to run his new pet up his dad’s leg and try to get his attention.

Clerk #2 returned. The line moved.

Finally I got called over to the one who’d looked so angry earlier. She wasn’t now. I asked for help figuring out that box, pleading bad eyesight re the tiny instructions, but she had a better idea and asked if she could put them in this padded envelope for me?

She didn’t hear me say Sure! so she repeated the question and I was amused at not being the deaf one for a moment there, but she just really thought this was a better idea so we went with it. (Maybe because it wouldn’t pop open if thrown hard, come to think of it.)

You make? She asked brightly, admiring the hats quickly and then looking up into my eyes.

Yes!

Cute! She exclaimed, looking at the address and clearly being glad for the person who was going to get to have not one but two hand knit hats! Made just for her!

She did the usual circling the tracking number on the receipt before handing it to me.

And then she waved me goodbye and wished me a nice day with the biggest, warmest, very real smile on her face, ready for the next person and utterly transformed, and I wasn’t expecting that at all, either.

One of the females jumped to the upper ledge, Chico, our little guy, did too for his first time, the mom decided to feed them there and when the food risked being gone the other two jumped up.

The eyases are at the stage where they grab the prey and try to run with it to feed themselves while playing keepaway from the others, but in that tight and new space they were a lot more meek about it. They let Hartley play the mom. Feed me!

Fledge watch officially starts tomorrow.

Chico ended his day by dropping down the back side of the nestbox onto a ledge where there is nowhere to go unless he flies at least a little bit. Coasting downwards is easy; gaining height (oops) almost never happens their first day of flight. Maybe he can flutter/jump straight up to get back into the runway area, maybe not. So we’ll see.

Meantime, in case you missed it (multiple people made sure I did not, which I very much appreciate–thank you!), there’s a young Cooper’s hawk in New Jersey that has learned to use a pedestrian crossing button for his breakfast take-out.

When it sees a pedestrian approaching a particular intersection and then pushing the button, starting sounds for the blind to know how long they’ve got, the hawk is in a tree at the far end of the block, ready for it.

It is rush hour. It only waits at rush hour and only on weekdays.

Once the cars line up along the entire block–it takes ten–the hawk comes zooming fast and low using them as a cover. When he gets to where there’s a flock across the street in someone’s front yard every morning, he turns 90 degrees at the exact right spot from where he can’t see them yet and they can’t see him and bam! He gets his meal.

His staking out got staked out by a biologist.

He doesn’t bother on weekends because there won’t be enough cars.

Here’s a picture of the scene.

(Edit: Wait. There was when I googled to find it again but the photos aren’t showing via my linking to it, at least on my computer. But there’s the rest of the info and you ought to be able to bring it up.)

A scrub jay. Its favorite spot seems to be in front of my recently-planted apricot: it offers a little clearing where it can see under the bushes to the sides and anything coming from above with the young tree protecting its back from attack.

Where did it get that orange thing… What is that? Curiosity got the better of me and I went outside to see. The jay dropped it and scrammed.

In my astonishment I said quietly but quite out loud, Where did you get that?!

It looked like a tiny, ripe mango exactly like one off my tree, miniaturized. Maybe an inch and a half long. A slight wrinkle that said it was ripe, and it smelled faintly like a mango, to0, but not with those round black seeds. I tossed it back where it had been, went inside to wash my hands and before the door was even shut the mama bird had snatched it back up.

Instantly two more were right there, just as big as she was (as fledglings are), acting like babies as they begged for food: fluttering their wings with bodies lowered and heads stretching upwards, beaks gaping wide. Like teenage boys towering over me in the kitchen back in the day. (One was 128 pounds and 6’2″ at 12 when he had seven more inches to go. I am 5.5″. I totally related to that jay.)

She pecked at the loquat like a raptor going after a carcass, ripping into it with that long sharp beak, feeding them bits. Such a small amount of food to me but everything in that moment to the three of them. I knew that was a sight you wouldn’t see a day or two from now: she was already starting to fly away when they begged, but for a loquat? This was to be shared and Momma was going to make them.

I have no idea where it had come from.

I did notice that the young ones acted afterward like they owned my little yard specifically, and I checked the mango flowers they’d gone after previously to make sure it was still covered.

And then I looked up loquats.

I had tried buying them once, been unimpressed, and that was that.

There are kumquats, which are in the citrus family, but loquats are in the–rose and apple family? Huh.

And there is one particular variety, well spoken of, that looks like and tastes rather like a champagne type mango. So now I know one of my neighbors is apparently growing a Yehuda loquat. They’re so soft and fragile when ripe that you can almost never find them in grocery stores, you almost have to know someone with a tree or grow your own.

Nope, nope, nope. I am not planting one. At least not before I’ve tasted what they’re really supposed to be like. I’m not taking it on word of beak.

The mango tree April 12 after the top half of it had frozen over the winter: this was after my first attempt to cut off anything obviously dead while leaving a chance for any wood that was still alive to make a comeback. The normally dark green leaves it still had were so pale.

I took a few pictures tonight, looked at them…what was going to grow was growing. What wasn’t never would. Out with the pruning shears.

It was too dark by the time I finished to take After photos, but I just kept marveling at what an incredible flush of growth it’s doing now and how healthy it looks. No sign in the new leaves of last year’s fungal disease that had put it in survival mode with no blooming even before that frost. It had been holding its breath for so long and so had I. Look at it now!

For probably five years I haven’t been able to see nor reach through the dense growth to replace the string of incandescent Christmas lights that helped keep it warm in the winter nor to check more than a few of its sockets, and by the end of this past season it was down to a single working bulb. We were having such a mild winter that it didn’t seem to matter.

Till those two nights when it did.

But by that density, the upper half protected the lower half when I missed getting the frost covers in place.

And down here where that last little light bulb was: look at it now.

And over on the other side, too, in the new growth, and hey! A third set! And they’re actually starting to set fruit!