I’m guessing our red squirrels sleep soundly at night. They spend all their daylight hours racing around our yard like acrobatic wind-up toys. When they aren’t playing chase, they’re stuffing their faces; a huge part of The Tooley Cafe’s entrees ends up in Tamiasciurus stomachs.

The red squirrels are also the most aggressive and vocal of the three types of resident tree squirrels. Their vocalizing has earned them the vernacular names chickaree, boomer, chatterbox and chatterer. The Ojibway called them gid-a-mon and the Potawatomi, zee-sin-ko. We call them “little reds”.

Red squirrels announce their displeasure with intruders by a scolding chatter. This noise is accompanied by foot stomping and tail jerking. The faster and louder they chatter, the faster they stomp and jerk. Then they dash away through their tree top freeways.

Between sunrise and sunset, through all the seasons our little reds are totally energized. They are mostly arboreal, jumping from limb to limb and tree to tree with total ease. Little reds can span from 8  to 10 feet in one leap.  Across the ground, speeds up to 14 miles per hour are reached.

On several occasions, I’ve seen these guys race through the yard to our low feeding table by leaping right over a startled bird or chipmunk.Even the big gray squirrels scatter when the reds come zooming in to have lunch.

The other day I was enjoying the show, when zap, the red squirrel I was watching disappeared. I did a double take! The mystery of the vanishing squirrel was quickly solved when it popped out the opposite side of the long snowbank. A closer examination revealed several entrance and exit holes. The little reds have excavated a complex subway system in our snowbanks.

I know that many ardent birders spend serious money on “squirrel proof” bird feeders and other squirrel defying paraphernalia. We feel that a bucket of bird seed is a reasonable price for admission to a three-ring circus in our own front yard.

Click above for full size image.

Note the subway entrance to the left of the post!

March is Youth Art Month. All across America, teachers will be decking the walls with brilliant, joyful art created by our young people. And, as Picasso noted, all children are creative as they view the world with fresh eyes.

My career as an art educator began exactly fifty years ago, and I am as excited about teaching art now as I was then.

A spectacularly failed marriage launched my art teaching career. It was the summer before my first year in college, and I was signed up to be an art education major. I had landed a prize summer job, the assistant to an art teacher at a gigantic art summer school. The teacher was married the week before the classes began. One week into the program, she realized that her marriage had been a huge mistake and began divorce proceedings. Her life was in turmoil, and she quit the job. With hundreds of kids coming every day, my employers had no time to restart the job search. I became the art teacher. It was baptism by paint. By summer’s end, I knew with absolute certainty that teaching art was the right job for me.

Over the years, I have hung many Youth Art Month shows, but what you are about to see is a first. With technical support from my husband, I’ve created a digital gallery to celebrate YAM. Bravo to my students (K-8) at Port Catholic, Saint Marys, Lake Bluff and Saint Roberts. We were inspired by works of Edgar Degas, Paul Klee, Jean Dubuffet, Faith Ringgold, Ashley Bryan, Hundertwasser, Picasso, Australian Aboriginal artists and the Impressionists in winter. Click below to start the show, it takes about a minute to load.

Virtual Gallery

It’s coming. Any day now a huge wave of euphoria will wash over us bringing hope. The temperature will hit fifty degrees, convincing us that winter was just a bad dream.

Unfortunately, winter probably has a few more tricks (a.k.a. blizzards) in store. But I intend to bask in the euphoria, no matter how fleeting it may be.

At the moment, however, Mount Tooley  is sitting on our front porch and blocking our door. Since we have two other doors, we are making no attempt to remove this towering pyramid of snow. The euphoric days should take care of it.

On a more positive note, we have made the 70 foot descent down our stairs to the beach.We were accompanied by a snow shovel. Spots of soggy sand are appearing in the midst of the ice fields, and we’ve found the first six pieces of this season’s beach glass.

Years ago, my husband bought a T shirt with artwork perfectly depicting the burst of joy which will accompany Spring’s arrival.

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I learned in fourth grade how to be an “A” student. The assignment was to do a booklet on Wisconsin; state symbols, animals, history, maps, etc.

The good nun who taught us graded our offerings and did a critique of our work which is forever burnt into my brain. She stated to the entire class that one student was totally outstanding and put everyone else to shame. Bernadette’s booklet was “three inches thick”. All the rest of us had merely done the assigned work; saintly Bernadette had toiled for hours to amass the thickest booklet sister had ever seen.We were instructed to hang our lazy heads in shame.

Of course, all the girls did exactly that. The boys looked out the window. For the next seven years I toiled to produce at least three times more volume than was required for each assignment.

This strategy worked like a charm. I could get stars, top grades, stickers and love from my teachers and family.

By some miracle, I woke up my last year in high school and realized that quantity was not a substitute for quality. I withdrew from the “more is better” race.

A harmful variation of the quantity over quality mantra is afoot in our grade and high schools now. Park outside most any school and watch the kids leave. The ones aspiring to be super students have their backs bowed by the weight of their backpacks. They carry more than mules in a pack train. Carrying every textbook you own plus a few for good measure grants status as a top student. I fail to see how deforming your back is going to improve your brain.

I long for a time when educators and parents value critical thinking over critical mass.

This week marks the fifth anniversary of my weekly blog. To celebrate, I want to expound on the letter “X”.

“Why ‘X’?” you might ask.

A glance down my blog archives gives the answer. I’ve never written a piece with its one word title beginning with “X”. I have no excuse for this exclusion but will exorcise it expeditiously.

I’m a fan of abcdarians, children’s alphabet books, and I always check to see what the author does for the “X” word. After x-ray and xylophone the pickings are mighty slim or extremely erudite. Let’s face it, “X” likes to hang out in the shadow of its buddy “E”.

A similar problem presents itself when cities employ logic and name parallel streets with names in alphabetical order. I would love to live on Xerxes Avenue in Minneapolis or Xenophon Street in San Diego. If you know of any streets with “X” names, please share. Visiting all the “X” streets might be a fine project for me….I like to drive.

I’ve saved the best “X” for last. It’s the “X” that is put on the end of notes, cards and letters…xxx. What could be better than love and kisses?

When we moved into our current house, I knew it would be a wonderful home.We are located between County Highway X and County Highway XX. There’s always a kiss waiting just outside our door.

Those of you with sharp eyes might have noticed that “Q” is AWOL as well. “Q” will be making its debut next week.