Mourning

As I was walking Clara this morning, I saw the saddest thing. We walked around the corner, and there was a female cardinal hopping around and trying to pick up a large bright red thing. As we got closer, I realized that the thing she was trying to pick up was the male cardinal, who was dead. I stood there watching her from a safe distance for a few minutes, and my eyes got all teary. She seemed so sad. It was as if she didn't believe he was really dead and was trying to get him to get up and fly again. Anytime someone would walk past, she would fly up into the tree right above her dead mate, and as soon as they passed, she would fly back down and continue her efforts to bring him back.

I tried doing a little research to see if birds mourn their dead, but I didn't find much. I did, however, find this blog posting, which I thought interesting and very similar to what I saw this morning:

"I'm not quite sure why this has haunted me all day, but it has. As I walking in to work today, I noticed a bit of bright red in the street ahead of me. As I got closer, I realized it was a beautiful male cardinal, lying dead in the middle of the street. His color was so vivid that it seemed just terribly wrong that he could be dead. I moved toward him. There wasn't anything I could do, but it seemed right to move him out of the road and onto the ground.
As I approached him, I also became aware of an insistent warbling. I thought I knew exactly what it was, but it took a while for me to peer into the branches above before I could spot her. But I finally did: The female mate of this dead cardinal, keening away.
After moving her dead mate, I could not linger, for I had to get to work. I wonder how long she stayed there and I wonder what was happening in her little cardinal brain. And I wished I could have done something more.
I'm tempted to write more and explicate this story into an allegory, but I will restrain myself. Let the story speak for itself."

So it seems that maybe cardinals really do mourn their dead. If so, it just proves that animals are far more complex than we give them credit for. Either way, it sure made an impact on my morning walk.

And they're off!

Pretty much everyone who knows me knows that my favorite things to do are those that are a bit atypical. While I'm always a fan of dinner and a movie, the things that really float my boat are those that are a little off the beaten path. So when I got a call from my friend Katie asking if I wanted to go to a bar where they did turtle races every Friday night, I was totally on board. The bar is called Big Joe's, and it's located on Foster, just west of Ravenswood. When we got there, our group was there, but very few other people. All that changed as the races neared...


As they set up the racing table, I noticed that it looked like a race track--green, with a white circle going all the way around the table, and a big green space in the middle. I asked, rather incredulously, if the turtles had to race in a circle and the guy looked at me like I had two heads. He explained that the turtles are placed in the green space in the middle under a big cake dome (no, really). After they play your traditional racing music, they lift up the dome and which ever turtle gets to the outside of the white circle first wins. It gets more interesting because every time you buy a drink, you get tickets with numbers on them. Before each race, the emcee draws out six tickets (there are six turtles), and the people with those numbers are the "honorary jockeys" for that race. The turtles are numbered with medical tape on their shells, and each turtle has a name: Chucks, Lola, Doozy, Swisher, Yolanda, and Lucky Dan. Every time the emcee said "Yolanda" everyone in the bar would say "The slowest fucking turtle in the world!" Despite the rather large crowd, our group actually had someone in all but one race. Yolanda even won my friend Dave a free beer for being the last to cross the finish line!


All in all, a good time was had and I would highly recommend this for a fun and quirky Friday night out. :)


A sign that hangs over the pool table in the bar.



Our emcee for the evening--check out his hat!

The turtles in their cake dome, getting ready to race.

Lola makes a mad dash for the finish "line"!

The turtles are in a dead heat!

Our group's tickets, all laid out and ready for inspection when the next number is called.

The crowd cheers for their favorite turtle

Chucks poses for a picture next to the place where he won his race.

Sleepyface

This is what Clara looked like this morning when she woke up. All she needs are some pillow creases in her cheek.

I now present to you: The Schramm Family Irish Dancers!

Try JibJab Sendables® eCards today!

St. Patrick's Day!

Though it's not officially St. Patrick's Day until Tuesday, the Irish and wannabe-Irish alike were out in full-force in Chicago this weekend. I went out with my friends Ashley and Cary, and my new friends, the other Ashley and Kathy. We started out with breakfast at a kick-ass new Jewish deli (how Irish of us!) and then went and saw the river being dyed a bright Kelley green. I took some pictures along the way, which can be seen below (including a St. Patrick's Day kayaking dog!). The last two were from my friend Cary's camera, which is obviously superior to my own. So Happy St. Patricks Day from the one who's name means "Ireland." :)

Kristin and Todd's Wedding: A Pictorial

Sleepwalking Canine.

If you're having a bad day (and I seem to have a lot of those lately), this should cheer you up. :)

Gotta love the big city.

There are certain things you find in a big city that are hard to find anywhere else. Things like world-class museums. Broadway shows. Four-star restaurants. And fabulous subway performers. Yes, living in a big city means you will inevitably end up on public transportation at some point in time, and if you, like me, want to avoid paying half a month's rent in parking fees, you may end up on it quite a bit. But that's ok, because sometimes riding the subway affords you some of the best entertainment around.

On Friday, I took the Red line to work because I had an eye appointment in the morning and missed the Metra. That evening I was tired and in a bit of a surly mood, as I had to stay late at work to cover for a co-worker who is very sweet but hasn't a clue how to do her job. I hurried down to the platform hoping to make it onto the train waiting there, but just as I got to the bottom of the stairs the train pulled away.

Drat!

I looked around in order to assess my surroundings, which is always a good thing to do when you're a single female on a subway platform in a big city. That's when I saw this guy standing in the middle of the platform with a small boombox and a dufflebag at his feet. The bag had what appeared to be a stuffed animal tiger head sticking out of it. Oh geez, I thought, here we go with the horribly off-key singing. Little did I know what I was in for.

I walked to the side of the platform where a couple of girls were standing waiting for the train. I glanced back at the subway performer, and he was now holding the stuffed tiger, which was dressed in a long-sleeved t-shirt with a gold chain around its neck. The man was meticulously adjusting a backwards baseball cap on his unwitting accomplice. Once the cap was positioned to his liking, he bent down and hit a button on his boombox. Suddenly the song "Eye of the Tiger" filled the air, but without the lyrics. Somehow this guy had gotten ahold of the karaoke version or something. What the... I thought.

And then the man started rapping. Or, more accurately, the tiger started rapping.

I exchanged a few eyebrows-raised glances with the girls next to me and then we all just burst out laughing.

The lyrics were great. One verse went something like, "Sometimes I get bored just walking around, so I take the red line to Cermak and Chinatown. Eating antelope and deer is nice, but sometimes I'm just hungry for some shrimp fried rice." L.O.L. The man saw us laughing and couldn't help but grin himself--he knew he was eliciting this response, and he liked it. I should have given him some money, and if my wallet had been more accessible I probably would have. He was pretty much the best subway performer I'd ever seen.

A rapping stuffed tiger. Only in Chicago.