Animal Planet in my front yard

I thought I lived in the suburbs so I could avoid scenes like the one I just witnessed.

I was lying back on the sofa, talking to my sister about her elementary school drama, my upcoming Hong Kong trip, her upcoming island cruise, kids' birthdays, ward camp . . . all the typical chattiness, when she mentioned a bone she needed to pick with me. I didn't have to think too hard before I knew exactly what she was talking about - my lack of blog activity.

Like I wrote previously, blogging has kinda hit the back burner for me. My drive, my motivation, by need to write has all but evaporated. 6 months ago if I hadn't written in 48 hours I'd feel the pressure mounting, a pressure that could only be released by clicking that "Publish Post" button.

Now I'm having a hard time working up the energy to even care. Maybe it's because school's out. Maybe it's because I've been traveling or Nate's been traveling, or we've been planning impending travels. Maybe it's because the sun is always beating down and the only moisture to be felt is from the humidity in the air or the sweat that is running full course down my back by 10 in the morning. And I really don't like to be hot.

Or maybe it's because my hormones have finally started to normalize after weaning Thing 4. Maybe those hormones were the secret power behind my blog. Oh, I hope not.

Pathetic to say, it's been over a month since Thing 4 turned 1 and this is the first mention I'm making of it. We've been to Arizona and Utah to visit family and I've posted no photos. Thing 1 had her first piano recital, Things 1-3 started swim lessons, the coyotes are back but the bunnies are still here, the garden is struggling to survive, the grass is dying, we're on water restrictions, the CA budget is on life-support, the federal government is trying to rewrite the rights guaranteed by and/or imagined within the Constitution . . . all that and more. And I don't really care.

Well, now that's not true. I do care. I just don't care to write about it all.

And that kinda makes me sad.

I started writing this blog for the same reason that many people blog - to keep a record of my rants and raves, my thoughts and feelings, our life's happenings, the funny/shocking things my Things say/do, the photos I take or receive. And I feel like I did a pretty good job of it for the last year or so. But now it's becoming a chore. And I don't want it to be. So rather than force myself to write/post and dread it all the more, I think I'll wait until the mood strikes me. Until then, faithful readers, don't hold your breath.

But for now, let me finish what I started. The gruesome scene I just witnessed needs to be shared. Well, not really. But I want to share. It was just that disturbing. I even took pictures, although my windows are dirty enough you probably can't see much in them.

Like I said earlier, I was on the sofa chatting when I saw wisps of feathers, or fur, now that I think about it more, gently falling from the tree. I sat up to investigate and saw the most magnificent of creatures, engaged in the most basic of instincts - dinnertime.

I'm not sure what the brown falcon was eating - another bird, a mouse, a small rabbit . . . don't know, don't care. My lip curled in disgust and my stomach churned, and yet, like motorists on the freeway creeping past an horrific car crash, I couldn't look away.

Little time passed before the falcon realized he was being watched. I guess he'd had his fill, because then he was gone. Curious as I typically am, I've yet to go outside to find his leftovers. I think the great outdoors and the animal kingdom is often best left alone.