My daughter didnt proofreed this won! Ha!

  

“It was a little disorganized. Also, I found a typo.” 

That’s what my daughter reportedly said about one of my recent blogs. 

Don’t get me wrong. As a writer, I welcome constructive criticism. Like most, I enjoy the positive kind more than the negative, like when my mom suggests my writing is on par with the New York Times. (C'mon, she's not that biased. She used to be a high school English teacher!)

Am I thin-skinned? When it comes to opposing views, I don’t have a problem. But criticize my writing style? That can get personal. 

I'm beginning to regret the appointment of my seventeen-year-old daughter as my blog editor-in-chief. She’s demanding. Grammatically demanding. And no, she hasn’t proof-read this one... and so let me say this: Nah nah nah nah nah!!! She also claims I’m immature for my age.... huh.

So what if I don’t always know when to use “who” or “whom”?! And no, I don’t know what a gerund is. Do you?? She claims they're a grammatical thing. That’s what they teach in English these days. Utterly useless I tell you people don’t need to learn about nothing there’s absolutely not necessary to have English in schools no more who needs it? Right?? 

I keep telling her, a blog doesn’t need to be grammatically correct. It’s informal banter. Sure, I would like to improve my use of vocabulary and use a few less dashes – but I love them so much! Why bother with a semi-colon – when you could simply continue your thought – after an "em dash"? 

And yes, I struggle with organization and flow. When I first write something, not all my ideas are necessarily well thought out. So, sometimes... things, just.... end. 

Then there are my ill-attempts at humour. In real life, humour is not my strong point, but on paper, I can make a reader occasionally chuckle. How do I know this? Because I listen quietly in the other room as my family members read my writing. What was that? Oh, you were just clearing your throat? No, I just thought maybe... you thought something I wrote was... never mind.  

I’m not egotistical, but yes, I do appreciate the occasional feedback to show I am worth something to someone. Even negative comments are welcome. And in case you’re worried, flattery never gets old. 

I once wrote for a small weekly newspaper called The Saskatchewan Valley News (sadly, now defunct) and I must confess: I thought I was the bomb. Allowing a twenty-year-old male to write about absolutely anything he wants is sheer recklessness. I laugh in retrospect at some of the things I wrote about. At times I got overly personal, like when I fell in love with my then wife-to-be and felt I must express my feelings to the world. Other times I simply didn't put enough thought or research into my views. I had a weekly deadline to meet, for goodness' sake! 

I didn’t know much back then, and in many ways, I still don’t. But it’s important to at least recognize your ignorance as one writes.

And on occasion (clearly, not today), I’ll whip up something in no time that will make me say to myself, “Hey, that’s not too shabby.”  

Now if I could only get my daughter to say the same. Sniff, sniff. 

 

P.S. I’m kidding about my daughter. She loves everything I write. Actually, she adores me. My biggest fan. So proud of me and all I’ve accomplished throughout my storied career. Not only does she aspire to be as inspirational a writer as me (or I, or myself – whatever!), but also as moderately successful as a government bureaucrat. And I still don't even know what a gerund is! Nah nah nah nah nah!!! 

The editor-in-chief

Good birds gone bad

  

They’re baaaaack. Like clockwork, our feathery friends are returning home. At least I like to think they feel this is their home. This is where they grew up, after all. It’s where they learned to fly, where they ate their first insect, and where they sang their first love song (sigh).  

For all you non-birders, you may be tempted to stop reading at this point. I hear you. For most of my life, I was never interested in birds either... Until I hit 40. 

So let’s begin with the sequence of migratory bird arrivals.... The robins come first, then the chipping sparrows and the crows (or is it the crows that come first? But do we really care?) Next, according to my bird journal, will be the yellow-rumped warblers and purple martins, with the rest coming in May – you know, when it’s kind of warm in Saskatchewan. 

The bird feeder in front of our house has already attracted two pairs of house finches. Last year we had about twelve of them by the end of the season. We also had two gray partridges (commonly known as prairie chickens) eat the leftover seed – like clockwork, they would come by at suppertime. 

The Canadian geese are making their presence known around Regina’s premier lake known as the Great Wascana (it sounds grander) by squawking uncontrollably and engaging in epic neck battles. Recently, I was harassed by a rather fiesty male who hissed at me from a ledge as I walked by him and his mate. He then proceeded to fly over my head and land in front of me. Blocking my way, I had to cautiously outmaneuver the angry bird and its horrible hisses. It was all very Hitchcockesque. 

I must confess, I don’t like these birds. Even though we call them Canadian, they're quite rude. They’ve done a little too well in our cushy urban environments where they no longer have the natural instinct called fear. Traffic comes to a standstill when they meander across the street, children (and some adults) scream in terror when they hiss at us, and acres of otherwise luscious park lawn lay in ruin from their defecation!  

But I digress... Getting back to the cuter birds, I enjoy the yellow warblers the most. Do you know they travel all the way from South America, flapping their little wings for thousands of kilometres – even sleeping while they go – across the Gulf of Mexico (this could get me banned from the United States)? They then try their best to do a non-stop flyover across the U.S., mostly to avoid customs and you-know-who.

Once in Canada, they enjoy our free healthcare, our tolerant society and our diversity. Not only do we welcome yellow warblers, after all, but also dark-eyed juncos, grey catbirds, and even magpies, who, more often than not, get caught up in the illicit birdseed trade. And yes, we still appreciate our American species, Tennessee warblers and Baltimore orioles included. 

You know you’re approaching 50 when you start going on birding tours. My wife and I have begun an annual pilgrimage to remote places like Avonlea, Saskatchewan (population: 411) to see the meadowlarks, vesper sparrows and western kingbirds. It’s a blast. The tour always ends with the viewing of a pair of mountain bluebirds who live in a birdhouse alongside a desolate rural road (exact location undisclosed... you can borrow our birding book). 

 But one doesn’t have to travel far to find a variety of birds. Many nest around the Great Wascana including kingfishers, brown thrashers and ruddy ducks. Last year, we were fortunate to have a scarlet tanager visit the city for a week. It attracted many tourists from Avonlea and beyond.  

And let’s not forget my favourite of all ducks, the American widgeon. Yes, they’re American, but judging by their time spent in Canada, I think they lean Democrat. Years ago, I became fascinated by these ducks with the white stripe on their heads who are born one year, then die the next. Yes, these poor creatures have a lifespan of only two years. And, to speed things along, their young are independent as soon as they hatch. Unlike those overly protective hissing hordes of geese, the father takes off while the mother practices free-range parenting.

Isn’t nature grand?

Happy birding, everyone!

A rapidly aging American widgeon