It’s November, which in the blogosphere means that it’s time for the annual blogging marathon known as National Blog Posting Month - NaBloPoMo for short.

I chose this photo because I’m using NaBloPoMo as an incentive to sweep the cobwebs off this blog and start posting on a regular basis again.  I’ve been doing NaBloPoMo for a few years now, and it’s so fun. Not only do I meet new people, but I get to know people in my blog roll even better during November.

Even so, I confess that NaBlo snuck up on me this year, which is why I am going to keep this post short and sweet. At least I remembered what day it was, and tossed something on here before midnight. Phew! At any rate, I’ll be back here tomorrow. That’s what NaBloPoMo is all about.

I can hardly wait to check out the November blog roll over at NaBloPoMo headquarters and see who else is out there this year!

I’m starting to suspect that my new bird book was ghost-written by Monty Python. I simply can’t read the author’s description of the Painted Bunting’s various calls without hearing the droll delivery of John Cleese in my mind:

• tida day-da tida day teetayta tita
• witee wi witato
• wee sittee, wippity, pickity, snickity

See what I mean? I’ve got a good imagination, but come on!I’m not going to argue with classics such as chick-a-dee-dee-dee, bob white, and caw, but wippity, pickity, snickity? Maybe there is fine print somewhere explaining that this is how a Painted Bunting sounds . . . after a hit of peyote.

My theory is that when describing bird calls, a certain amount of Jungian projection comes into play. Call it the aural equivalent of a Rorschach inkblot test, if you will. My parents, for example, have a bird book which I’m convinced was written by a lush. This fellow uses such phrases as, drink three beers, dry martini dry, and chug, chug, chug, to describe the calls he hears. He probably uses the term “bird watching” as code for “hitting up the best happy hours.”

All snickityness aside, putting a rhythmic phrase to a melody does make it easier to remember. It’s a trick song writers use when composing melodies that don’t yet have lyrics. The Beatles’, “Yesterday,” was actually called “Scrambled Eggs” until McCarthy came up with words for that classic tune.

I am slowly learning all the classic tunes of my  backyard’s frequent fliers lately, since Texas is warm enough for me to set up my office outside. Not only does it quench my tremendous need for nature contact, but watching birds gives my eyes a break from staring at the monitor.

Speaking of staring at the monitor, I’ve got a new writing gig with PlanetEye Traveler Magazine. I’m writing about the Dallas/Fort Worth area of Texas now. The tone of the magazine is more straight-faced than I can be on this blog, but I am having fun. You can check out my stuff by going here. If you like something, feel free to “like” it on Facebook, or leave a comment. Feel free to “friend” me on FB, too, if you’d like, I’m Tui Cameron.

In the interest of full disclosure, I should admit that I’ve never heard a Painted Bunting in real life, so perhaps wippity, pickity, snickity, is apt. Personally, though, I’m still leaning towards the Monty Python theory.

Voila! I have, at long last, visual proof that turkey pants, err, trousers, I mean, were actually worn by our London bird. In England, you see, ‘pants’ means ‘underpants.’ I discovered my faux pas after cheerily announcing that I had brought a pair of turkey pants, only to have a dinner guest reply, “I beg your pardon?” in that quintessentially British way, the very tone of which informed me I had – yet again – put my Yankee foot in my Yankee mouth.

My step-daughter, Naomi, created a fantastic Thanksgiving feast, starting with scrumptious bruschetta and ending with a key lime tart. We had all the usual suspects, too: mashed potatoes, stuffing, cranberry sauce, but the cranberry sauce was homemade, and there were some incredible turnips au gratin in the mix, too. She and my son-in-law are foodies extraordinaire, so there were plenty of photos taken of the spread. It was pretty as well as tasty!

There was no need to thaw our trousered Tom since he came from a nearby farm. That’s something I love about London; once you get out of the city center, there’s a surprising amount of countryside and greenspace. There are cows, crops, and sheep a-plenty right by Heathrow, for instance.

Our main London wildlife sighting this time were foxes we’d see darting through the chilly night as we walked home from restaurants and pubs. Naomi told us about one who frequents her backyard. The wily vixen stole a pair of her shoes, returned one nibbled sandal, then made off with a glove. (Did I get that right, Gnome? I was pretty jet-lagged when you told the tale.)

Apparently, fox have a thing for shoes. I typed “shoe stealing fox” into Google and found a bunch of incidents, including an article about a German fox who stole over 120 pairs of shoes for her kits to play with.

I usually visit Naomi and Max during warmer weather, which means that a picnic in Richmond Park is in order, but it was way too cold to ponder that. Still, I love the huge herds of deer roaming there. Plus, the trees and undergrowth remind me of what I’ve seen depicted in children’s book illustrations, which gives me a delightful fairytale feeling. I wouldn’t be surprised at all to hear the Pipes of Pan when I’m there, or to fall into a fairy mound. However, fairy mound or no, our Thanksgiving in London was truly magical and went by way too quickly!