Birds appear throughout my novels. Kittiwakes. Gannets. Nightjars. Magpies. My fourth novel, The Nighthawk’s Nemesis, is about the murder of a birdwatcher (aka: twitcher) observing the bird migration along the western coast of England. I am fascinated by birds, and they are now returning to my world as spring migration has begun. Yes, I am one of those obsessed twitchers, out there with my binoculars and life list checking off new sightings and wishing for more.
 
We’ve had problems with birds nesting in the vine-covered trellises along the side of our house. They flit down our narrow driveway to build temporary homes among the contorted vines. I understand their actions. It’s a safe habitat for their fledglings. Unfortunately, it is also the only route to the garbage bins. Last year, an aggressive robin took on my husband, dive bombing whenever he walked by carrying trash to the bin. He responded with the garden hose, spraying his winged attacker. The two battled it out for weeks. The robin only grew more aggressive and, ultimately, my husband had to hide under an open umbrella whenever he took out the trash.
 
I resolved the issue this spring with bird netting. Farmers use it on crops, so I figure we can safely use it to prevent their nesting on the vines. My husband climbed a ladder by the first trellis and unfurled the 7’ wide net while I watched from inside the house. His arms thrashed the air. His hands flapped rapidly. Was he swatting hornets? No, he was battling the wind with netting he honestly could not see without his glasses. Mouthing a litany of curses, he gave up after the first trellis. I recruited our daughter to finish the project, and the next three trellises where shrouded with remarkable speed and two dozen zip ties. Walking down our drive was no longer a hazard.
 
Then I found a song sparrow fluttering behind the netting on the trellis my husband had covered. How did the poor bird get trapped in there? More importantly, how can he get out? While I considered fetching scissors to cut the net, he flit out on his own! An hour later, two purple finches sang to me from behind the net as if settling into a new bird cage. Well, damn! I managed to flush them out with no injuries and discovered that my husband had not secured the netting to the trellis. Those canny birds realized the net flapped wide open down either side of the 8’ trellis. An emergency call went out to my daughter for more zip ties. I’m not taking out the garbage until she arrives.
 
Life Lesson: Never underestimate the birds.

My monthly blog came due just when I was thinking of trying a new cookie recipe. Guess which task won out? Brown Butter Toffee Cookies sound irresistible, no? I’m the first to admit that I’m not a good cook (neither is my protagonist, Remy Lane). I do have a fair hand with baking. Oh, nothing fancy, mind you. I’m talking about the type of desserts you take to the PTA school fundraiser, not Baked Alaska or Lemon Tiramisu. My children never complained though.
 
Facing another birthday (and a BIG one at that), I’ve decided to take on fresh challenges. You know, teach this old dog some new tricks. Might as well begin with Brown Butter Toffee Cookies. There I was, stirring butter as it melted in a saucepan wondering just how different it would taste once it turned brown. In truth, I couldn’t discern any difference. I’ve often felt that chefs and online cooks tend to make a big production out of each recipe, certainly more than is necessary in my eyes. They toss in all sorts of extra steps that, to me, seem a bit of a bother with little impact on the final product.
 
I suppose it is all about personal perceptions. There is no doubt that our perception becomes our reality. If an Asian chef labors over our stir-fry pepper steak then it must surely be better than what we picked up last week at the grocery store’s deli. Or is it? Perception vs. reality. I read of a wine tasting test where experienced wine judges were unable to consistently tell the difference between a $15 bottled red and a $150 bottled red. I know an absolutely charming sommelier in England who would beg to differ – with a very posh British accent – but food and wine are simply all too subjective. And what of our aging taste buds?
 
I decided to set my doubts aside and fuss over the cookies, taking the extra steps, browning the butter, chilling the dough, and only using kosher salt. I ended up with some fine-tasting cookies, but when haven’t I? Still, I’ll use this recipe again because it meets a more important standard: It taught this rather old dog a new trick. On to the next challenge.

​Like so many others, I kick off the New Year with a list of goals: the resolutions. I prefer “intentions.” (A bit more leeway there, don’t you think?) I opened up last year’s file and discovered that I had forgotten my 2022 intentions. A year later, I was way off the mark. I felt incredibly disappointed in myself. My intentions are usually accomplished each year or at least much closer to accomplishment. Somehow, I lost my way this past year along with those goals.
 
Feeling defeated and unable to think of any new intentions, I stared outside. To my amazement, a mature hawk stared back at me. The hefty predator was patrolling my backyard in search of a morning snack. It was shocking on two levels. First, I’ve never seen a hawk in the backyard. We’ve lots of small birds that are fed seed daily but not the big hunters. Second, he was walking on the ground. I’ve only see hawks soaring across the sky, perched on telephone poles, or silhouetted on a weather-beaten farm fence which can sometimes still be found in the countryside; not strutting across a clipped lawn. Distrusting my vision, I stepped outside and approached the bird. The hawk didn’t fly off – just stared back at me, certain of his strength. His deadpan stare, spooky. His size, formidable. I wisely retreated and spent the next hour watching him scour our backyard for breakfast. Fortunately, he didn't find the rabbit who often visits.
 
I hopped online, asking what such a sighting means. The psychics were all over that question:  When you have a close hawk sighting, it's a sign from the spirit realm that you are ready to take on a larger, more powerful expansion and vision of your world. The hawk symbolizes a need to start looking forward, envisioning your path ahead, and perhaps preparing for a greater role in life. What an amazing portent, delivered to me just when I was grappling with this year’s intentions. I happen to be on the cusp of retirement from a lengthy career and here is this hawk telling me to look forward! Envision my future path! Prepare for a greater life role!
 
Oh, do stop rolling your eyes. Like my protagonist, Remy Lane, I don’t need the stars or psychics to tell me when to stop or when to go. I do very well living on my own, thank you very much. But I sure as hell am not going to ignore the universe when it slaps me in the face.
 
2023 Intentions
Look Forward
Envision my Future Path
Prepare for a Greater Role in Life
 
What are your New Year’s resolutions?