M.I.A.?

I'm not really M.I.A.

I'm here! At the lake. With my feathered friends like this little lady who looks like the love child of a wayward Bluejay and a buzzard, and with a cleavage that would give Mae West a run for her money. (Favourite Mae West quote? "I used to be Snow White, but I drifted.")

She looked at lot better a few weeks ago when she had all her head feathers, but then she had three babies who have been hounding her constantly for snacks, and I figure that's what cost her her good looks. The feathers are slowly growing back but geez Louise, she is one homely mama at the moment.

She comes to my deck several times a day. She hops and tilts her head like a coquette and if I don't jump up and throw a peanut right away, she will tap the railing with her beak or hop right up to the window. Failing that, Buddy will let me know she's there. He has a different sound for her (a little woof to say "Mother dear, please go to the peanut jar and toss my friend a treat, will you?") versus a chipmunk (bit more an excited squeal "hey look cool, can I chase that guy behind the planter again?" ) versus a red squirrel (crazy barking, and hurling his body against the patio door in a "DIE DIE DIE!" frenzy. Which I heartily endorse, nay, encourage, for I hate squirrels with the same fervor.)

Anyway, blog posts will continue to be few and far between until I'm back home behind a desk, I'm afraid. That's because when I'm at the cottage, I'm not on my computer. I'm outside, or busy entertaining guests and family members, canoodling with my husband, schmoozing with lake friends, writing, reading all my get-around-to-it books, kayaking, swimming, getting in a bit of photography and doing lots of gardening so it leaves little time for blogging.

Okay, that last one is not entirely true.

Or even partly true.

My "garden" is a result of me once (years ago) opening one of those large cans of wildflower seeds and tossing them with wild abandon like the label instructed. I thought I'd end up with a meadow resembling a French Impressionist painting. Nope. My "garden" looks like Mother Nature scarfed a bag of Skittles, went on a bender, then threw up in my yard.

I'd show you a photo, but the view of the lake is much better. See?

This was the sky last night. I wandered down the many steps through the trees to the dock (okay hobbled, as my back is a bit gimpy right now) to have a peek at the sunset. There was a fat, bright rainbow to the east. This meteorological phenomenon was not caused by the refraction and dispersion of sunlight through raindrops in the atmosphere as some might suppose, but because I didn't bring my camera down there with me.

I ran back up the ramp and stairs to the cottage, grabbed my camera and shot back down to the dock, flipping off the lens cap and adjusting the settings as I ran. (When I upload my photos to my computer, I often see shots like this one.)


Anyway, the rainbow had diminished somewhat, but there was still enough of it left to shoot, so I quickly set up the shot and pressed the shutter only to be met with a blinking "low battery" signal.

Merde tabarnouche maudit* I believe may have been uttered.

Another run, a frantic scramble through the camera bag, back to the dock to catch what was left of the rainbow. More small fat chunk than full arc, but there it is. Bear with me. A few more weeks, and I'll be home again, home again dancing a jig. Or something.

*Quebecois Swear Words. I learned these and some other choice ones when my local firefighter, who went by the improbable name of Monsieur Sainte-Coeur ("Mr. Holy Heart") installed my wood stove insert and dropped it on his foot.