Solving for X...

Dear Maria,

Greetings, and thanks for the kind reminder. I’ll have to own up to a bit of blurring of days now and again, and so in an odd fashion I am more calendar-dependent in retirement as my focus on when and where has been dulled. Without my working friends—sorry, but it is true—the week’s progress could easily become nearly meaningless.

The daily touchstone of the school bus rumbling by just before six o’clock keeps me attuned to the progress of the morning and the week, just as does the sunrise and, later, Max’s demand that our morning walk be launched. Of course sun and Max are indifferent to the days of the week.

My daily quotation on Facebook this morning was "Garden as though you will live forever" from William Kent, who developed the English style of natural gardens and designed Alexander Pope’s garden at Twickenham. I do not presume to think of myself as a gardener—nor as a writer, for that matter—but my mantra to manage, not manicure is sort of in keeping with that line of thinking. Fine, commence chuckling at will.

I was just notified by the squeals of brakes and the grind of gears that today is garbage pick-up day. See, just as good as a town-crier.

Missing now are day-counts. X number of instructional days, x number of days for seniors, x number of days until the AP exam, x number of days until graduation. I suppose I could substitute x number of days until a very young friend’s birthday, x number of days until a niece’s wedding, x number of days until a doctor’s appointment.

I have said on several occasions in the past few weeks—born of this season of planting and yard work—that I very much believe that the next owner of this home will tear out the back garden, which is now with four young trees and around three-dozen plants set into place by my hand. Easier to mow grass than to tend to plants, or so some—many?—think. Maybe the trees in back and the four out front will survive the cut.

But, maybe not.

Perhaps I will see one more spring here, or maybe twenty. What would Housman think? That x number of springs are too few.

Hope all is well with you and the family. Until the next time, srk

Goldfinches, Diversity, and a Sucker Punch

Dear Maria,

Good morning! Currently, the radar shows rain steadily creeping toward us. Fortunately the bad weather held off yesterday for the big run across the big bridge, and the local spring festival—at least the first two days of the three-day event—and most importantly, the local high school proms. That swirl of dress-up and dinner and dancing with classmates ought to be perfect. May be a night for some that is never duplicated in their lives.

Yesterday morning goldfinches swarmed the bird feeder for maybe two or three minutes. Of course, the few seconds the feeder was reopened for landings, two sparrows made bold to come in for a meal. They were driven off nearly as soon as they started to peck at the seeds—call it the Return of the Goldfinches. Reckon I can’t do much more than shrug as the goldfinches were serving themselves as a group and would not allow others to encroach, or least not sparrows.

The birds do what they do, I suppose, genetic programming and biological imperative and all that. I try to imagine what would happen if animals were to be conscious of each other and themselves as we seem to be. The diversity thing for us is a tough nut to get at without cracking shells. How we do draw lines between ourselves and others’ othernesses.

If I see my neighbor’s newspaper left out in his driveway as rain is moving in, I don’t hesitate to cross the street and toss the paper up on his covered porch. Would I not do the same a week from now if in the interim I found out that he was a PETA supporter or a Republican or a chemical engineer or a Red Sox fan? Or Korean or a Democrat or NRA member or Bama fan? Or alcoholic? Or white collar criminal? Or convicted sex offender?

The diversity issue is a sucker punch in that the checklist of differences has a long, long history from long before our feet trod this earth. And most likely still will long after we no longer do. Gender, race, socioeconomic status, city, county, state, country, hemisphere, planet. Universe?

Oh, it was a house finch the other day that had the temerity—yes, the temerity!—to tap dance on the roof of the bluebirds’ condo. It even fluttered about for several peeks into the box. The male bluebird made his attack from behind, and then all was right with the world.

Diversity sensitivity training has not reached the top of that 10-foot pole.

Oh, I stopped reading Alan Furst’s Mission to Paris about 60 pages in. Just couldn’t endure the book, but I did force myself to get through Jung’s Synchronicity. What a piece of foolish inconsistency am I.

With you and for you, srk

Cirque du Oiseaux

Dear Maria,

Greetings! Despite the cold air that funneled down from the northwest via a hard wind all day yesterday, spring’s momentum—here, at least—seems unstoppable. Saturday morning, while I was drinking a second mug of coffee, nature gave me quite the aerial show even before the sun broke above the neighbors’ roofines.

The pageant began with a solitary hawk doing a stately flyover from north to south, and next came the male bluebird who shot out of the bird condo and disappeared overhead in seconds. Daily he amuses me with his ferocity in defending his realm and with his bursts of flight that seem to advance and halt in equal measure. The field guide reports bluebirds attacking ground targets up to 135 feet away. Fierce and beautiful they are.

Next came two geese—their honking caused Max to turn his head—and after they disappeared to the east, a bright male goldfinch landed in one of the japonicas. Then a second and third joined him. Then, a fourth. A fifth. A sixth. And then two more. They fluttered about the bush, bouncing on stems, and they made for quite the spectacular display, a fireworks of yellow and green all mixing about.

And gone. For the coda, two doves floated overhead and landed on the back fence. They then dropped down into neighbor Frank’s yard and the show was ended. Not even ten minutes of my time, but worthy of savoring for the next few days. Of course, how often are some of the sweeter moments all too brief.

So far, I have refrained from commenting on charter schools save for a terse comment about the schooling of children becoming another commodity as corporations would have it and state legislatures allow. What a paragon of restraint I am.

Finished reading the Kass study of Genesis, have a long study of the history of slavery awaiting, but will most likely take on Phil Kay’s Redeployment next. Just remarked to a young friend that to be a life-long learner without class meetings and a pacing guide suits me just fine.

That you and the family are well would suit me even better. 

Yours, srk