January Observations

Wednesday: Rumor has it there was an eagle in the neighborhood this morning. In fact, not only was said eagle in the 'hood, but he was perched, I'm told, in my big maple out back. I'm sending Harry outside with great consternation, imagining my dog, and then myself holding tight to Harry's rear legs, dangling cartoon-style over the back yard fence from the hunting talons of a magnificent though homicidal bird. Granted, the eagle would have to be Schwarzenegger-strong to carry me off, but my imagination tends to run wild. Then again, the mayor informed me tonight that the eagle was most likely searching for food, leading to a gut-wrenching possibility that my tiny pet was indeed on the menu. I am further traumatized by a southern friend sharing this: "I've probably already told you about the local chihuahua being hawk-snatched, sailing across the sky, headed for the eager craws of naked baby birds." I am in high freak. Sensing this, Harry patrols the windows.

The Christmas tree came down today. I dreaded this task, not because of the work involved but because the thing was so lovely. A small part of me (very small) wishes there were snowbanks outside that I might stuff the tree deep and attach bird feeders (then again, do I really want to attract more fowl to the premises?). Alas, my shining tribute to the holidays will lay broken and dribbling needles curbside until the men who do such things come along to cart it away to the Christmas tree burial ground.

Speaking of snow, the weather is strangely mild. I stepped onto my porch barefoot today, scanning for dog-eating raptors and puzzling over bright skies, so atypical this time of year in central New York. My disbelief that such tender temps can continue long was confirmed by a smirking newsman, who reports chilly precipitation is on the way.

Mitt Romney, he with the look of a cheerful Dracula, won New Hampshire. John Huntsman, the only Republican candidate lacking foxy expressions, came in third. I don't get it. I want to like Ron Paul but he unnerves me, Rick Perry is a Dubya-clone dolt, Santorum is pro-fracking ("Here you go, Senator, light this tap water on fire and drink up..."); and then there's Newt...a smart man, experienced, but another who makes my nerves jangle. The best news about the Republican race is that nit-wit Bachmann is finally gone.

I'm not sure I can take another eight and a half months of this. Maybe I'll just go outside and watch for eagles, the soaring American symbol that seems unaware of duplicitous politicians blowing January sunshine up our skirts.