Us, Them, Other...

Dear Maria,

Good late-February morning. Nearly four and half inches of rain last night, upper 30s now, and a wind—in short, snotty. But soon March, and March surely speaks more of spring than winter. At least around here. Of course, we may see the latest snow on record, and Mother Nature laughs last. Again.

The bluebirds have reclaimed their home from the sparrow, and so my bias has triumphed. Without my hand stirring the nest. How much easier to be on the winning side without having to dirty my hands in the process.

No doubt there are other folks who are so much about being in the fray that winning or losing may be a moot point. Earlier this morning I wished to be catapulted somehow to the day after the elections next year. Without my life being shortened so much as a minute. And some folks think I am no starry-eyed dreamer—indeed.

Random thought, sort of: I wonder if the Koch brothers love this country as much or more than Rudy Giuliani?

The Us vs Them mindset strikes me as easy. Differences must be easy. Has to be easy that with just .1% difference between us biochemically-speaking, so much fracturing occurs within our population. Or maybe our species is very gifted when it comes to differentiation. Vive la difference, then, I suppose.

Busy morning at and under the feeder. A pine warbler, a tufted titmouse, a red-breasted woodpecker, Carolina chickadees, mourning doves, cardinals, field sparrows, and what seemed a small sparrow with a white collar that very aggressively chased away other birds that came within half-a-foot of its pecking zone. Vive la difference.

And squirrels. Always, the squirrels.

For all that action, the other morning just a blue jay on the bird bath and a cardinal on the feeder. Enough, wasn't it?

Here’s to the end of the longest shortest month of the year. Some warmer days and a little more sunlight, and we are all better soon enough.

Be well, love others, and see you soon, I hope. srk

On the Wing, and a Prayer

Dear Maria,

Sad days the past few for my bluebird friends out back. A sparrow had the temerity—yes, the temerity—to take over the condo. He—or so I am guessing, but maybe not—positioned himself so just his head stuck out of the opening. Several smaller male bluebirds and one female were flummoxed. They whirled about the structure, but to no avail. Off they flew, and the sparrow came out and hopped about in what was some kind of a victory dance I guess.

Again yesterday, the sparrow landed on the condo, and two young blue fellows watched from a nearby oak. I thought to head out there with a broom and chase the alien into the sky, but I caught myself at the patio door. Why was I going out there? The sparrow was trying to make a home, to keep his little ones safe from the dangers of the world—such as they are 8’ above my backyard.

But, no, I wanted my bluebirds. My bluebirds. Yet out there no lease agreement was in force, just possession as the law. Decidedly, I am in awe of the bluebird for its coloring. The sparrow, more lowly somehow by comparison. And so there I was deciding whether to chase off one bird in favor of another because of appearances. Imagine that, the human moment.

Fortunately, I also watched a hawk on a strong wind in a long glide over the neighborhood from north to south—nearly a quarter of a mile by my reckoning. I’m thinking a beam reach that he could sail on all the way to the sea. Okay, I embellish. A lot.

Unfortunately, last week at lunch I was drawn into a discussion on prayer with a friend. I mentioned praying multiple times during the day for some friends of mine, and his reaction was to look aghast and in mock horror—I think it was mock horror—to blurt out “You pray?” I told him that when I start grinding over what I know to be pretty insignificant in anyone’s scheme of things, seems to me to make more sense to offer a little prayer for those I think need more help than I do. His reaction? “You pray?”

So I paraphrased an idea from one of the early church’s desert fathers and left it that. Thought you might appreciate the full text: They asked Abba Macarius: “How should one pray?” The old man replied: “There is no need to make long discourses; it is enough simply to stretch out one’s hands and say, ‘Lord, as you will, and as you know, have mercy.’ And if the conflict grows fiercer, say: ‘Lord, help! He knows very well what we need and shows us His mercy.”

Oh, yes, my lunch companion is in my prayers. Daily. And I in his, I suppose.

Hope you are getting through the long weekend in fine form. Better than my feathered friends, to be sure. There I go again.

Be warm and safe.  Love, always, srk

 

Sunsets and Stop Lights

Dear Maria,

Well of course I am sitting down to write as it rains because the next time the sun shines I intend to be out there, not in here. Max has retreated to his blanket as we are now well over an hour past time for our neighborhood jaunt. Several times this morning I opened the sliding glass door for him, and he barely extended his nose, sniffed the air a bit, and retreated. Smart boy.

A few blooms scattered about on the tea olives and the hint of flowers to come on the loropetalum—the established ones at least. First week of February, first week of February, first week of February. Got it. Nice calendar alignment for my friends in Louisiana with Valentine’s Day and then President’s Day the day before Mardi Gras. That weekend should be even more that weekend.

This morning a friend returned my wish for a quiet day, and all I could think was how unusual were it not to be so for me. My daily reality puts me at odds with many friends and family members who experience life as a roller-coaster ride that does, to be fair, make some stops along the way.

Last week as I was driving home from supper, a sunset developed that would bring painters to their knees. At one point, while stopped at a light, I looked to the cars on either side of me. The driver on my left was looking off, not toward but away from a sky of oranges and blues. She, lost in thought—well, can’t fault her for that. To my right, the driver had her head down, fixated on her phone.

The next stretch of the road guided us upward, and angled more toward the epic sky, I thought the traffic should stop so that we could get out of our vehicles and savor a vista so beautiful as to be weeping-worthy. Like I said, my reality is at odds with most of the folks I know.

We don’t stop the traffic very often, now do we?

Of course, a painting would not be that sky. A photo, not the experience of that sunset. No more so than a video or a book or a film being the experience itself. I think sometimes we forget that little truism.

Now to invite a little ruckus into my day. I am going to introduce my floors to Mr. Vacuum. Max will be lunging and barking the whole time. And, well you just have to be here.

Yours, faithfully, srk