I saw a familiar face today as I was watering the flowers and shrubs in our front yard.   
      Our home in Brookline is located on at the end of a small road that terminates at a park and tennis court.  This brings a fair amount of foot traffic by our house each day, especially during the summer.  So, watering the front holly hedge requires looking out for people so as not to inadvertently squirt passer-bys.   Preparing to drench the hollies, I peered over the tops and noticed a small-statured, older gentleman making his way down the sidewalk, bending over to pick up litter as he went.   Something about him seemed oddly familiar.   As his steps drew closer, the profile was unmistakable - it was Michael Dukakis!   I thought to myself, “That man was almost President!  I voted for him!”  I resisted the urge to follow after him and gush these words out loud. 

             Dukakis lost to Bush (Sr) in 1988.  I remember being the only person in my pharmacy school class who voted for him.  My bleeding heart was simply a round peg in a square hole at Auburn University.

            When we moved to Brookline, I had heard from neighbors that Michael Dukakis lived just a few blocks over on Perry Street, and that he could often be seen picking up litter when he was spotted walking in the neighborhood.  Dukakis is indeed what most people think of as the quintessential liberal, committed to the notion of "public service," in perhaps what has become an almost archaic sense.   (Couldn’t we use more of this perspective from politicians today?)

 Dukakis received a lot of flak on a variety of issues during his presidential campaign, from being soft on crime to soft on defense.  Some even say that it was Dukakis’s candidacy that solidified “liberal” as a derogatory term.  However, Michael Dukakis was an effective leader and was voted “Most Effective Governor in the U.S.” by the National Governor's Association in 1986.  He is currently a well-respected professor of political science at Northeastern University.  

If I see him again, picking up litter from my sidewalk on his way through the park, I think I’ll have to tell him that I voted for him 17 years ago.  Perhaps he doesn’t hear that so very often anymore.  Perhaps, especially not from a lone democrat from Alabama.

 

To learn more about Michael Dukakis, visit:

 

 http://www.hri.org/hri/dukakis.html

 

http://www.casdn.neu.edu/~polisci/fac/faculty/duke.htm

  I visited Foster Parrots this week, a non- profit organization devoted to providing a better life for unwanted and abused parrots, run by Marc Johnson and Karen Lee.   
   My interest in Foster Parrots was sparked after being regaled by stories of two African Grey Parrots, Monty and Carnie, at a MIT party last week.  Tulasi and Popsi Narasimhan are proud foster parents of an extraordinary duo who can talk and sing songs. 
    Monty and Carnie were residents of Foster Parents before finding their way into their new home.  We all wish that these Grey Parrots could have instead lived out their lives in Africa singing songs of the Congolese Jungle, but they became a statistic of the pet trade.  Fortunately, a caring, human couple are devoted to making the best of their lives in the human world.
     Imposing captivity on a bird is one of the cruelest things a person can do to an intelligent creature that was meant to fly free over an enormous territorial range.  Motivated by a love for animals and the desire for an exotic and intelligent pet, many people buy these animals without deeply considering the consequences of "owning" a bird.  Hundreds of "wild caught" birds (and other animals) die in order to bring a few survivors into the pet trade.  It is important to consider that "bred" birds do not thrive in captivity either.  They, like those caught from the wild, are genetically designed to roam and access an enormous area, horizontally and vertically.  Nothing that we as humans can do, can begin to simulate the lost freedom that these creatures should normally have enjoyed.  Though, once they have been placed into the "human" system, reintroduction to the wild is rarely an option.  Organizations like Foster Parrots do a superb job in providing a creative and loving environment for their residents.      
    A visit to the parrot sanctuary in Rockland, MA certainly tugs at the heart strings.  The friendly, curious, and playful residents greet you with a peppy "Hi" or "Hello", and a couple are friendly enough to perch on your shoulder and nuzzle your ear.  It was so tempting to ask for adoption papers in the hopes of being able to bring a feathered family member home relatively "guilt-free", knowing that although it's not the jungle, a loving home in Brookline is available.   Fortunately, Foster Parrots requires a volunteer stint before they allow an adoption, so that you know what you are getting yourself into (if only pet stores could require this).    It is huge commitment.  Birds require lots of attention and love - they are needy and want to be played with, want to be outside of a cage, and want someone to talk to.   I'm completely smitten, but for now, I'll will just fill out the volunteer papers and make friends with the 230 residents of Foster Parrots.  
    Yesterday, as I looked out onto my front garden (my on-going project), I was pleased to see several of my own regular winged visitors.  Sixteen little sparrows were lined up on the phone line outside the dining room window.   I was even more pleased simply knowing that they are "free". 

 

Read more about Foster Parrots at: http://www.fosterparrots.com/index.html

Our buddha cat, Shiva, whom we've decided would be more aptly named Siddhartha for his gentle soul and daily yoga routines, becomes remarkably un-zen-like during some nights.  Last night was one of those nights.

Normally, respectful of our sleeping hours, Shiva, I mean Sid, refrains from waking us until at least 8 hours have past since we've retired the prior evening.  However, occasionally, usually following the departure of a guest who was given his bedroom during their stay, Sid decides that 3 am is a great time to voice his frustrations.   Sid decidedly becomes Shiva  - his inquiring small "Me-ow ... are you up?" becomes a bellowing caterwaul, the likes of which prompts the imagination to turn to thoughts of an intruder or  the house going up into flames as our furry family member desparately trys to warn us of impending doom.  Shushing does no good.  One must simply wait until exhaustion muffles the meows.

Sid has forgotten what troubled him last night and is peacefully meditating in the living room.  Hopefully, Shiva will not be heard for many nights to come.
 

To view more photos of this incredible little creature, see my "Pets" photo albums: http://www.kirstenweb.com/Photos/Pets/tabid/1278/Default.aspx

    I was in my garden the other day, shifting a couple of plants around.  As a new gardener, it seems that every plant needs to be moved at least twice.   I noticed that the stem of a rose on my favorite rose bush, it's a delicate pink with a heavenly fragrance, had been broken.  Seeking to savor the scent in my home, I went to clip the stem and heard a sweet little voice ... "Kirsten, Kirsten!".  I walked toward my rose and heard "Kirsten, I'm here!".  It was little Charlotte, my neighbor's youngest daughter, a cute, sassy little girl of three.   I gave the rose to her and she loved it.  

    I went on with the business of deadheading plants and raking the sod in the area of my future patio.  Soon, Charlotte returned with a handful of Impatient flower heads and a Petunia flower she had pulled from her mothers plants.  She beamed and gave them to me. 

    "Thank you Charlotte"

    I placed my gift in a glass bowl filled with water.  It has been a cherished centerpiece on my dining room table for days. 

After a depressingly rainy spring, the sun and warmer weather has finally arrived.  My garden could not be happer.  Yellow, blue, purple and pink flower faces are popping up everywhere!

 

I became an avid gardener last year.  During the summer and fall, my yard went from a desolate square of red cedar chips with a single rosebush and a few hostas to a luxurious carpet of green surrounded by rose bushes, mums, daisies, flowering bushes, and many, many other vibrant beauties. 

It thrills me to get out on a crisp sunny day, plant and get my hands dirty, and then sit back and enjoy the beauty of a garden that I've cared for.  Plants are amazing.  It helps to have great soil.  My garden will grow anything!  I've never really had a "green thumb".  It's the soil, not me.  Well, maybe it is a little me, but there is definitely a heap of help coming from the rich, black dirt teeming with earthworms. 

 

I brought home several new plants yesterday evening - a large trumpet vine, morning glories, butterfly bushes, and green beans!  - I thought I'd add another vegetable to my small tomatoe and herb garden.

 

I'm thrilled that it is sunny and look forward to the greenery soaking up those rays and blooming into evermore color during the summer.

 

Hoorah!  Summer has arrived!