The Cardinals

A family of Cardinals has built a nest and laid three eggs in the fake ficus tree outside my front door. After losing a number of real ficus trees to the heat, and to lack of watering when I am out of town, I finally broke down and bought, with no small amount of embarrassment, a fake ficus. I have really lowered my standards in my old age. Apparently, the birds did not care if the tree was real or fake. It supported a good nest quite nicely.

So as not to disturb the mother and her eggs, I hung a rope across the opening to the deep front entryway. On it I hung a sign, “I am sitting on my eggs in the fake ficus tree by the door. Please do not disturb me. Mother Cardinal.” I asked everyone to go through the garage or around to the screen porch. When Jacob and Emily were here, we put a chair by the tree, so when Mother Cardinal was not on the nest, we could quietly go out the front door, and the short people could climb up on the chair to see the eggs. We could watch her through the leaded glass window across the entryway from the tree, though the image was wavy.

I even had my book club for dinner and discussion a few days later, and nine women respected this miracle in the making and went around to the screen porch on the side of the house.



After the predicted 11 days, I went out to peek at the nest, and there they were—three featherless lumps of life, eyes closed tight over huge bulging eyes, bodies rising and falling with the fragile breath of life. Suddenly Daddy Cardinal was around more and aggressively guarded the birds. I could never catch sight of an actual feeding. When I came to the window or storm door, Mommy would quickly fly away.


The three birds grew quickly, as all young things do, and soon looked more like birds, feathered amply beneath huge gaping mouths.



One morning I awoke quite late, to a terrible racket in the front entry. I opened the door and there were Mommy and

Daddy flapping around “tsking.” A squirrel was on the walk near the tree, apparently upsetting them. I rapped on the door to scare the squirrel away and then noticed that a wren was flying around and trying to get to the nest. Mommy was sort of ineffectually hopping around, but Daddy would swoop at the wren, and finally faced off with him at the nest and chased him away. Then, while I was still watching, I saw a flock of those huge blackbirds approach the entryway. I ran around through the garage, grabbed a broom, and chased them out of the yard. Whew! What a commitment to keep these chicks safe!



Later, when it quieted down and the adults flew off, I went out to peek at the nest. Two of the babies were sitting on the edge of the nest and the third, the runt, was still curled up in the bottom. The largest was a female with 2 dainty feathery things sticking up from the top of her head, with a male sporting a more substantial topknot, huddled next to her. The chick in the nest was female also.

I guessed they were about to fledge. I left the front door open so I could surreptitiously keep track of them when I passed by the storm door from the other side of the room. Later, I heard more squawking and ran to the door. Two chicks were down on the sidewalk, and the parents busily trying to keep track of them. One baby was up on a stone ledge on the side of the house, and the other, down the walkway, was trying in vain to hop up on the ledge on his side. I couldn’t see the third. They eventually, urged on by Mommy and Daddy, rounded the corner of the entryway and took refuge in the azaleas there. I’m sure they were flying by the end of the day. A few days later, I saw one of the chicks in a tree in the front yard.

What a lovely experience. My Dallas grandchildren were here during the egg stage, so all got to witness part of this drama.

I haven’t posted anything here lately, so am getting emails and calls from friends wondering about my health. I do confess to a period of discouragement for the last few months, after discovering that the protocol I was on had stopped working. In early May, I sensed that the areas of tumor in my shoulder and upper chest area were becoming tighter and more restricted, and I suspected tumor growth there. A PET scan revealed that there was some increased tumor activity in that area, although the area in my neck was slightly better. (Andy, my radiologist son, teases that I must have more PET scans than anyone in the world.)

Since last September, I had been going into the hospital for 5 days a month and receiving a 96-hour drip of Taxol, which seemed to work well for those 7 months. I was hoping to achieve a remission so that I could drive to Mexico in the fall and resume my “snowbird” life there, especially appealing now that my casita now boasts three new bedrooms and another bathroom on the second floor.

Now, my plan/fantasy seems in jeopardy and I am back to focusing on each day, and trying to retire from the “plan-making” activity. My oncologist has a slightly different perspective, and is satisfied that I am “stable,” which means that these areas of infiltrated tumor grow and recede, without having become systemic. He methodically puts together a new protocol for me each time the old fails. He is respectful of my quality of life, so I am still hopeful we will work out something for fall.

I had the first session, a few weeks ago, of a drug called Xeloda, which I took by mouth for 10 days. This drug has been found to work synergistically with Taxol, so I went back to my old haunting grounds, outpatient chemotherapy at St. Vincents in Little Rock, and received Taxol infusions on the 1st and 8th days of treatment. Within 10 days after completion of the treatment, however, my white blood count was dreadful, lower that it has been during any of the treatments over the last couple of years. So I am having a nice long break to recover my immune system and my strength, do a bit or travel, and will resume this protocol on July 16, with a lower dose of the drug Xeloda.