Didn't get up till 9:00 – very late
for me. A little under the cold and discouraging weather. Came
straight out to get my breakfast and a dose of artificial light at
Tom's. Spent an hour and a half on my Spanish, reading, making
flashcards, looking things up. A jilguero? Well, my dictionary
called it a linnet or a goldfinch, which makes no sense at all –
I've never seen a linnet, but by God I know it's not the same bird as
anything I'd call a goldfinch. Google images showed me a jilguero:
a very handsome fellow indeed, as this Wikipedia photo by J.J.
Harrison (http://www.facebook.com/jjharrison89)
shows:
This is, apparently, what Europeans
call a goldfinch. Who knew? Well, everyone who cares but me,
probably. To this norteamericano a
goldfinch is a brilliant yellow bird with white and black accents,
and not even smidgeon of red. God save us, a red-faced goldfinch?
Next they'll be putting green stripes on the American flag!
So I'm
slow, and a bit troubled to think of those godless Europeans going
about calling this lovely bird – not his fault, poor fellow – a
goldfinch, and I'm late, and I need to go home and make a salad and
getting my eating back on program. The last few days it's spun out.
I've been in a funk. Last night I ate a vast meal of Thai food, great
quantities of rice and a delicious yellow curry that was as hot as
the sun: and I've been eating ice cream, and buttered toast with
honey, and proffered Christmas cookies (No human being can decently
turn down the first cookies of a splendidly proud nine-year-old, can
he? This in-home massage gig has its hazards.)
So
today, today is the day I get it back together. Undressed salad and
plain meats and tubers, and tracking consumption to hold myself to a
Spartan three thousand calories a day. I weighed and measured myself
today, which was rather cheering, although my scale is obviously
inaccurate – it gives me readings that vary by several pounds, as I
get on and off – but anyway, I seem to weigh something in between
210 and 215 lbs, and to measure 45 ½ inches around the waist, which
is at least ten pounds less, and two inches less, than the last time
I measured. My erratic and varied eating innovations seem to be
accruing (or rather disaccruing), which is pleasant to see.
Well,
as Calvin would say: further reports as events warrant! xo
Names of birds, like those of trees, have flown around the world without firm images attached. A respectable Western avifauna must have a goldfinch, so that name gets slapped on whatever poor bird will credibly serve the role. Australia has a "robin" that's absolutely nothing like an American Robin ...
ReplyDeleteYes, I know what you mean! I remember finally seeing a "robin" in England, and suddenly understanding a lot of literary references to them. They're a lot perkier than ours and their breasts actually are red, rather than tawny orange. It is kind of puzzling: they must have known it wasn't the same bird. But yes, I think it's that impulse to fill all the taxonomical slots, whether it really makes sense or not.
ReplyDeleteI remember being taken aback when your goldfinches appeared once at Dave's, even got him to find an audio. In fact they sound quite similar, and I think the impression of bright yellow and black when they fly - surely Hopkins' 'finches' wings' - is also akin.
ReplyDeleteThey are among my favourite small birds, one of those things which feels like a good omen when I see them, and a charm of them is, well, utterly charming! The song is perhaps less tuneful but more tinkling and resonant than a linnet's. I've noticed of recent years that linnets seem to have displaced them somewhat in our garden in the summer months, which I'm a bit sad about; I like linnets but not quite as much.
Language dictionaries, like people, are often rather sloppy about the finer points of taxonomy; my French one reckons that dock and sorrel are one and the same - all 'l'oseille' - while you only have to be here in the country for five minutes to learn the different word - a dock is 'une parelle'. That's weeds mind; birds they care less about, to most people a kestrel (une crecerelle) and a sparrowhawk (un epervier) are the same. I see it as my mission, armed with my multi-lingual Collins bird guide, to put them straight! Not that I get so many opportunities.
Blimey, that was a comment and a half.
Lucy, we are the Knights of Nomen!
ReplyDelete