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
No comments:
Post a Comment