Carolina Wrens Raising a Family (Video)

This summer on my balcony felt quite magical. A pair of hummingbirds discovered my Dollar Tree feeder and returned again and again for a drink. Mason bees and wasps settled into the little nest box I’d picked up at Goodwill. Hundreds of pesky flies met their untimely end inside the jaws of many a Venus flytrap. And then, as if it couldn't get any better, a pair of Carolina wrens chose to build their nest inside my rubber tree pot.

I was peering out my living room window in late July when I first spotted one of the parents swooping into the pot. After it flew off, I took a quick peek and noticed a large pile of pine needles, moss, and dead leaves behind a few of the lower leaves. I knew exactly what this meant: I would have limited use of my balcony for the next month.

But I didn't mind, because I had seen my carnivorous plants devour hordes of bugs over the years, so this was a minor sacrifice. All I had to do was spend 2-3 minutes filling the trays with distilled water, refreshing the hummingbird feeder with sugar water, and then back inside I'd quickly retreat.

They say that wrens like to nest near human structures for protection from predators. The parents were obviously aware of my comings and goings. There were a few occasions, though, when my timing was off, and they would scold me from the tree below if it coincided with them bringing in food for the babies. I learned the "coast was clear" in the afternoons after they had filled the young bellies in the early morning.

To document what was happening, I set up a trail camera opposite the plant pot. This would be my key to figuring out what stage the nest was taking. When the birds rarely flew in, that told me that the nest was completed. When they flew out with little white balls in their mouths, that told me that the babies were present and eating. Carolina wrens remove any excrement from the nest.

Luckily, I was able to capture a quick shot of the eggs before they hatched, and a short video of the babies resting inside before they fledged. I did this mostly out of fear that the parents had either abandoned the nest (wrens sometimes make multiple nests and choose the best one for that brood), or that the eggs had not hatched when two weeks had passed and I heard no noise. But, all was well. Like they say, nature knows best.

It was on the night of August 26, at precisely 7:30 p.m., that the babies left the nest. For a few days prior, I noticed the parents checking out different parts of the balcony—from the potting bench to other structures. It was as if they were making sure there were no dangerous places for newly fledged babies to land. That happened again that night, and I watched quietly from the living room window. Then, one of the parents rested on the balcony railing for an abnormally long time. Twice I told myself, just get ready for bed. But I stayed there, and minutes later I noticed out of the corner of my eye a tiny puffball fluttering up against the window behind one of the plastic chairs. One of the babies had a first-timer misjudgment of distance, but it quickly recovered.

I rushed for my good camera and proceeded to video each of the babies through the balcony door window. My heart was pounding as I struggled to maintain focus in the low dusk light, and I was also worried that the newly fledged birds would jump off too soon, as my balcony is on the 4th floor. Or that they would injure themselves somehow. But they mostly popped about on the balcony floor or rested on the tops of plant stands and stacks of unused pots.

At one point something incredible happened, but I wasn't able to capture it on video as I was back in the living room at the time. A rock pigeon, which I knew had a nest two buildings over, came over to watch. And one of the hummingbirds swooped down to the floor to check out the commotion. It was as if they were aware of the miracle that was happening.

And then, within 15 minutes, they were gone. All four babies had taken a leap of faith and disappeared, one after the other. I carefully opened the balcony door to make sure no bird was left behind, then walked down the stairs and checked out the grassy area below. I didn't see or hear anything. By then it was dark, and I knew I'd have to trust nature.

Over the next few days, I discovered all four together under a drain pipe, then under cars, then on railings, and finally...in trees. And now, the rest is up to God. My job is done. I am so grateful that I stayed at that window that night or I would have missed everything.

Enjoy this three-minute video below:

Using AI to Create Self-Entertaining Content

For many years I would entertain myself with podcasts from Radiolabs, an NPR-backed radio program that combines interviews and sound effects into interesting and thought-provoking half-hour segments. However, once the main hosts retired, most of the new content isn't....well...new. New hosts chime in in the beginning only to reintroduce previous stories. So, sadly, Radiolabs is no longer a reliable source for my nightly entertainment.

As an author, I have previously written about the dangers of using AI for research. It makes many mistakes, sometimes spitting out text contrary to the truth, but in a self-assured manner. I even challenged it one day, openly asking, "Why are you lying?" So AI (ChatGPT in particular at the moment) should not be used for that purpose.

However, I discovered a new use for those looking to entertain themselves, and it has become my recent guilty pleasure. I often find that the subjects I’m curious about have surprisingly few books or podcasts to explore. Or maybe I don't want to read an entire book on the subject matter; I'd rather have a light and airy approach. So I created a Youtube playlist on my channel consisting of three-minute narrative pieces called Audio Reflections.

Using ChatGPT, I feed in my specific topic. Here's one of my actual ChatGPT prompts:

Write a 385-word podcast narration on why we still have anxieties about things we said and did long ago. Give specific examples.

If I feel that the narration is lacking in depth, I ask it to give more examples or add more words. Once I approve it, I take it over to ElevenLabs.io and choose a narrator to read it. Finally, I combine the audio and an image using Flex, an online video creator. (Most social media platforms don't allow you to share audio-only files.)

What I like about this approach is I am choosing topics that don't require hard-core facts. In a way, we all know why we have past anxieties, but it's nice to hear someone discuss it back to you. Years ago I discovered that one of the things that gives me great joy is having someone else read my own work. This is why I have now turned four of my books into audiobooks. So, even though I am not writing the Audio Reflections narrations myself, it's nice to know that I can feed an AI machine things that I am curious about and be entertained in that way.

Subscribe to my Youtube Playlist and hopefully you will find my topics worth listening to. Here is one on living alone in retirement.

New Book: Carnivorous Plants for Kids

I just completed my new book, Carnivorous Plants for Kids.

I get many 4-8 year-olds that come to book signing events and my other book, A Life with Carnivorous Plants, may be a bit too detailed for them. Now their parents will have a choice. It's 50 pages with over 65 full-color photos and instructions on how to grow healthy Venus flytraps, pitcher plants, sundews, and butterworts. It's available now on Amazon in paperback and eBook for tablets, Kindle devices, and large phones.

My Relationship with Music

My love for music began when I was about 10 years old in the 1970s. My sister and I would record our favorite songs from Casey Kasem's Top 100 songs of the year countdown. Sometimes we'd catch them on the weekly Top 40. We had one of those old cassette recorders with a corded microphone attached, which we'd carefully position a few inches away from my mom's stereo console speakers. We only had a split second to recognize the song before we hit play and record simultaneously. Soon, our generic blank cassettes (TDKs if we could afford them) would be filled from side to side.

If we couldn't catch them on the radio (or didn't want to wait), we'd make a trip to Murphy's Department Store or Bramer Electric to pick up the latest hits on 45 rpm vinyl records. They'd always be locked behind a glass case. I remember hearing Abba's "Knowing Me, Knowing You" about a million times on our boom box during a 25-mile walk-a-thon, so I had to have a record of it when I got home.

It would be my mom in my teenage years that further influenced my love of music. She'd play everything from Lou Rawls to Patsy Cline to Donna Summer to the Tavares. If it wasn't on album, she'd have the 8-track.

Cassette tapes would be the media of choice for me for well over a decade after that. In college, I would pop in purchased cassette singles of my favorite hits from Madonna, Whitney Houston, George Michael, and more. My taste ranged from nearly every '70s hit to some of the '80s and '90s tunes. I loved disco music, of course.

But something changed in the mid to late 1990s. It began with the explosion of bands and songs in the late '80s. Suddenly, there was so much music out there that you couldn't keep up. I began to distance myself because, well, a lot of it was crap. When rap and hip-hop hit, that really tanked my love of music. It festered into the mainstream like a virus, and unlike disco, it has never stopped. Don't get me started on rap songs that begin with samples from hits from my era. It's nothing more than stealing.

I guess age also had lot of to do with my change in taste. I still like all my old songs, but I listen to them far less often. I do not have music playing in my car anymore, mostly because I despise commercials and my cassettes were eventually replaced with CDs.

There's also an emotional quality about listening to music from my past. When I have some wine and play my favorite songs, I am on the highest high. I LOVE them. I remember all the lyrics. And if I am out at a bar dancing, I will literally dance the night away. I do notice that the dance floor usually fills when I ask the DJ to play a hit that we all loved back in the day.

At home, I can get on an hours-long roll with a Youtube playlist that includes the Bee Gees, Diana Ross, Jody Watley, The Stylistics, The Carpenters, and more. Back when music was good.

There are several post-2000 tunes that I like. Keith Urban's "The Fighter," DNCE's "Cake by the Ocean," Katy Perry's "Chained to the Rhythm," and now Dua Lipa is hitting me hard with "Illusion" and "Training Season." Somehow I catch these songs through endless video scrolls on my phone. And yes, I like Sabrina Carpenter's "Espresso" and "Manchild." I may be old, but I'm not dead yet.

Still, music is not a mainstay in my life as much as it used to be. I have a boom box in my living room nook that plays classical throughout the day on a volume level so low you'd have to have your ears up to the speakers to hear it. It serves as soothing background fill. Also, in a world full of too many voices and too much chaos, silence is golden.

I think my reluctance to listen to music often also has a lot to do with how my creative mind reacts to too much stimulus. I definitely seek out the best music to fit my videos and documentaries, and I consider it to be the most important component. But music can be like a drug. It conjures up a lot of emotions (which is what it's supposed to do). But after over 60 years of life, the roller coaster of highs and lows can be a bit overwhelming. To me, like wine, it has to be enjoyed in moderation.

My Big Monstera Plant

Years ago, about 25 give or take, I drove to a nursery in Maryland to purchase a Monstera deliciosa, also known as the Swiss Cheese Plant because of the fenestrations (openings) in the leaves. I believe the location was Bell Nursery. I can still remember how hard it was to find at the time, even though I had one as a teenager.

When I was about 14 years old and living in Western New York, I used to travel on my bicycle to a place called Muchow's Nursery. That is where I purchased my first Monstera. Oh, it was SO beautiful. It was lush and full with symmetrical leaves, and the stem was mounted onto a large bark wood stake. I discovered it in a group plant section of the store that felt like a jungle oasis. I don't remember how I got it home, but it would be my first big plant purchase.

Well, this is when I learned about the importance of acclimation. I decided to place the plant on our balcony porch, which received some sun but nothing too harsh (so I thought) during the day. By evening all the leaves on the plant were scorched, and it would die soon after. I was devastated.

Fast forward over two decades later and that is when I purchased my current Monstera, and boy does it have a long history. For years I had it either indoors under moderate light, or outside hanging under a tree to protect it from direct sun. It didn't really grow that much, and the leaves were probably about 10"-12" long max.

The size the plant remained for many years. This is circa 1999-2000.

At one time, a bird built a nest and raised babies in the pot. I could view them through my bedroom window.

Baby birds nesting in the pot in 2005.

Then one day I decided to separate the plant, which had grown a bit straggly, into two pots. And that's when it triggered something miraculous. One of the two cuttings started putting out giant leaves. And by giant, I mean up to 30" in length! And this was even under moderate indoor lighting. The other half maintained leaves about the size of the original plant, and I would call it the sister plant.

I would affectionately call the big one "Monster" from then on. I wondered what had manifested for the plant to grow such showy leaves. In my mind I attributed it to the bird poop that may have entered into the soil during the early years. Who knows. But then I had a problem on my hands.

Monster would soon grow too large for the space it was in, and I'd have to saw off the top stem with two or three leaves and re-root it. I did this several times over 20 years to keep it balanced and not too unwieldy. Then I finally gave in and repotted it in a giant pot and placed it in the middle of the window. This forced me to ditch a chair and move my TV to the other side of the room.

And then...boom! It flowered the following year.

It is very rare for a Monstera to flower indoors, as they are more apt to do so in an outdoor humid environment. But I guess it found all the right parameters indoors to give it a go. It put out two large flowers the first year, and two smaller ones the next. I was amazed. The white spathes were about 10" long. The fruit would take a year to ripen after pollination.

Unfortunately, over the last year I've noticed that the plant has become more than sluggish. New leaves are small and it seems to have stopped growing altogether. A few of the older large leaves gradually turned yellow and I removed them. I had saved the plant from a thrip infestation two years ago, and I think the stress of that and the flowering usurped much of its energy. 

So this week I made the difficult decision to restart the top again, and divide the long stem into several cuttings. I also kept the remaining mother stump in the large pot. With such a large root system already established, it stands a good chance of creating new shoots in the original pot.

Let's hope and pray that, with six possible ways for Monster to regrow itself, I will enjoy the next phase of my treasured plant for many years to come.

Researching for your Novel

Accuracy is incredibly important when writing a story that involves actual locations and settings. Historical facts are as well. This I would discover to a great degree while typing out my first full-length novel, which is why it took three years to complete.

By far the book that required me to do the most research was In Search of Good Times. In this story, a man by the name of Joseph Manley loses his job and makes a road trip across the country hoping to find the 1970s sitcom families from Good Times and All in the Family. After a drunken night, he wakes up and somehow believes that these are real people.

Teton Mountains Joe would have seen whiling traveling through Wyoming.

He begins his journey in Idaho—his home state—and continues to Chicago and New York (Astoria, Queens). Along the way he stops in Wyoming, Nebraska, Iowa, Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, Pennsylvania, and New York. So first and foremost I needed to map out the actual highways and backroads he would traverse. I did this using Google Maps and Google Street View. I wanted to make sure my descriptions of topography and landmarks were accurate. I also wanted him to take lesser-known roadways to add more character to the story. One doesn't tend to come across abandoned houses along major interstates. When he reaches large cities like Chicago and New York, I was insistent that street names and cross streets be accurate. This took a lot of time, but it was well worth it in conveying a sense that this story really could have happened.

While meeting people along the way, he learns about different lifestyles and cultures. He stays the night with an older gentleman who tells him a WWII story. My previous knowledge of WWII—all the countries that were involved and specific battles—was about as in-depth as my apprehension of brain surgery. Much of my historical knowledge faded after high school. So I took it upon myself to research a real regiment he could have been a part of, as well as the specific battles and countries involved.

In Ohio, Joe meets and stays a few days with an Amish family. This probably required the most research for the book. I watched numerous documentaries on Amish culture specific to Ohio, and read detailed articles on customs. Rumspringa, for example, is a period for Amish youth, typically starting around age 16, where they experience more freedom and can explore the outside world before deciding whether to commit to adult baptism and join the church.

I actually began my novel with extensive research on the notorious Cabrini-Green projects in Chicago where the Good Times sitcom was set. I somehow got lost in a maze of Google Street Views one night where buildings would mysteriously appear and disappear as I moved my cursor throughout the roads. It was at the time, circa 2009, when The Reds (the red-brick buildings you see on the opening of Good Times) were being demolished and replaced with gentrified housing. And since my story was set in 2008-2009, I made sure that that fact presented itself when Joe arrived in the city.

Also, I wanted the book cover to have images of the Good Times building and the Bunker's home in Astoria. So working with actual photos and a 3D program I had purchased, I proceeded to match these structures as best as I could. Here, I kept the duplex where the Bunker home is seen on TV as the solid brown, single-family home it was portrayed.

And finally, even the simplest of details may require research. Back in Idaho in the second chapter, Joe is awakened from his drunken stupor when a Blue jay taps on his window. Well, what if Idaho didn't have Blue jays? I'd certainly be called out on it by residents who read my book, and so I had to check. And yes, luckily, though smaller in numbers compared to other states, Idaho does have Blue jays flying about.

Order In Search of Good Times in paperback, eBook, or audiobook.

“Death Toll” by Victor Rook (Written in 2010)

I hope you won’t think this is sick, but I have something to admit. I like tragedies. I like to see them unfold on TV. The bigger, the better. If there’s an earthquake, it better be an 8.0 and not an inconsequential 3.5. If 23 people are missing and only two are dead, I want to see that number rise. If a tsunami is possible, I want it probable. If the news says there’s a tornado watch, I want it to change to a tornado warning—meaning a tornado has been spotted and is already wreaking havoc. Tragic “Breaking News” excites me.

I’ve thought about this several times and was almost uncertain whether to write about it. Then it came to me why. Large-scale human tragedies bring people together. Everything else seems to stop. All the trivial entertainment news about the Lindsay Lohans and Kate Gosselins of the world gets put on the back burner. Political rhetoric subsides. The focus shifts to 24/7 news coverage of the latest tragedy at hand.

I think about how drastically the media changed immediately after 9/11. For almost a month there seemed to be a self-imposed ban on airing crap TV. There were no cheating scandals on Entertainment Tonight. Nobody cared who the latest castoff was on Survivor. TV wasn’t hemmoraging with heaps of gossip, but rather focused on covering this momentous U.S. tragedy. It would have been seen as shameful and disrespectful to cover anything else. People came together. People told their stories. People shared their misery. In a way, it was comforting.

Small day-to-day tragedies top the evening news every night. News really is an entrée of tragedies with a small side-dish dessert at the end: a man grows a monstrous pumpkin, a child overcomes a disability, somebody raises money for somebody else. You have to wait until the end to get to the good stuff.

But large catastrophes are different. When Katrina hit, I was focused on the news just about every waking moment. I was angered at the lack of response from the government, but overjoyed at the rage they received from stranded victims and onlookers. Even the media began scolding FEMA and the Bush administration for taking too long. CNN’s Anderson Cooper was outraged, and it genuinely showed. The tragedy revealed how flawed the system was, and how corrupt organizations could be. Yet people came together. People were human.

As I write this, a recent West Virginian mine disaster has killed twenty-five miners. Four are still missing. I am rooting for them to be pulled out alive. The nation is gripped by it even though a similar tragedy happened nearby just a few years ago. All the major networks are broadcasting live from the scene. They are getting to the bottom of it. People will be fired, more safety precautions will be taken in the future, and lawsuits will follow. Yet, if only two miners had lost their lives this week, how much coverage would the story receive? Would it get the amount of scrutiny it requires to force about future preventive measures?

I watch and listen to people who have suffered from twisters, fires, floods, and mudslides. Houses have been flattened and whole communities are in wreckage. A plane flies overhead to show the world the destruction. Survivors sift through debris to find that one special picture, a wedding ring, and so on. People gather together at community centers to receive food and clothing.

And then, miraculously, long-lasting friendships are born out of the healing. People who barely gave their neighbors a second look are now helping them put the pieces back together again. Suddenly, the focus has shifted back to people and not material things. A proud mayor stands in front of the TV cameras and proclaims, “We will rebuild.”

There can drawbacks to intense media coverage, though. Well after the donations stop pouring in, the media has a hard time moving on. They begin to overanalyze every nuance of the situation. Polls pop up on the hour telling viewers how they should feel. The media starts to loop around the blood bath it has created like a dog chasing its tail. They don’t know when to stop. It was a ratings coup.

Eventually, things return to normal, and the vapid stories we are used to seep back in. Occasionally, you will get an update on the most recent tragedy while they wait for the next one to unfold.

People will sometimes say that we like to see the misery in others because it makes us feel better about our own lives. I think that’s a load of crap. I feel good about my life, even if it is a little dysfunctional. I think that we just like to see people experience a range of emotions. That’s why we go to the movies. An emotional life connotes a life worth living. Tragedies bring about many emotions, both good and bad. And emotions are what make us human.