We Are The Birds

More lessons from the backyard.

Another branch fell and it's resting precariously on the tin roof overhang out the back of my house and into the yard. For the birds, this was 9-11 or Katrina. They were misplaced, mixed up, seemed like they didn't know what to do. I saw this round, gray dove-ish bird sitting in the dirt, then up in a branch --she didn't move from where she sat. I got out the binocs, but I didn't see a nest. I saw her round head, though, and her round, round body. And there's this cardinal, a wiry, bright red cardinal, hopping around, squeaking and calling, and bringing worms, I kid you not, to his gray feathered friend in the tree. Everyone I've told this story to, has reminded me that FEMALE cardinals are gray, and that the males are the red ones, and wasn't it probably a female cardinal up in that tree?

But it was not. It was inter-bird-tribe kindness.

Can't we all just get along?
I used to live in Altadena, California, home of Rodney King.

Summer Solstice

Family history resides in all the seasons and all the senses. Last night was summer solstice, capping off the longest day of the year. I sat in my yard until dark, and then , on my porch where all I could do was listen. We hear our memories loud and clear. Familiar, forgotten sounds speed us back, as do sight, smell, taste, and the feel of a soft, old bedspread on the skin. I didn't realize I'd missed seeing robins on the lawn until I returned to Ohio. I see robins on the lawn now and understand I've saved a place in my heart for them for twenty years.

Last night, after the longest day, I saw lightning bugs by the peony bush and felt my father near. Once again, I opened a gift he gave me. The kind of gift you cannot touch. The gift of recognition. My dad was an aficianado of the perfect summer evening.

Around nine o'clock on summer solstice night, I hear his voice, as if he were beside me. He asks to go "Upstaice." ( To those of you who don't speak Dad Greene as a Second Language, "upstaice" means upstairs. ) He'd say it with a whistle at the end and a backache groan as he rose from his chair.

"Upstaicsssse," he'd say, and he and my mother would go Upstaicsssse. Nothing impeded his speech. He just thought it was funny.

I hadn't thought about "upstaice" until it sounded in my head, in my father's voice. We are able to go back. Sometimes a season takes us there.

Required Singing

I am back on God's little acre, having had a joyful visit to the land of the eighteen month old. It is a wondrous place -- I got properly introduced to Nemo -- melodic, music-filled , dreamy. Giggly, positive songs, except for the improbable Dinosaur, Dinosaur, Lonely and Blue. My grandson sings and dances to music in his happy head. Songs he sings with his parents, songs he listens to from his backseat driver's position in the car.

I feel, I feel, I feel like a morning star, they sing. He pronounces it mowneen staw. He feels, he feels, he feels like a mowneen staw.

Everytime I fly I get sick. Airbourne or no Airbourne. These mornings have not been very starrish, more like a mucus commercial. I learned something in eighteen month world , though, that lovely place where every question is answered . I want to continue it here, in 57 year old world as positive reinforcement.

So I'm singing I feel, I feel, I feel like a morning star, as I'm croaking to get my coffee. Oh, I love my little boy.

Talking Cars

I want to bring my Grand a gift and my daughter told me he liked cars. I was at Target, and found a red, squeezy car? truck? starring in some movie coming out right now to give kids characters to imitate for the rest of the summer. I'm sure this car/truck has a name, and I'll learn it soon along with all the rest of Disney humanity, but for now, he's just a race car! that's what he is! A red race car, Number 95.

And he makes noise. The merest shuffle gets him to talking. He talked in my cart at Target, and he talked his way through checkout. He talked in the shotgun seat of my car, in a bag with SoftScrub. In an attempt to appease Homeland Security, and preclude any delays which might be caused by a talking suitcase, I will take him in my carry-on. He can talk to the Zone Bars and water and The Good Life by Jay McInerney that I'm taking with me on the plane. I'll explain to wary seatmates. I flew from Nevada to Ohio with my talking cat Chuck seven years ago.. Same kind of thing. She could say Hello and I love you. The seatmates were charmed.

My dad had a talking car once. A Chrysler Le Baron, I think. It said , "Your door is a jar."

Stating The Obvious

State the obvious in your writing. It sets the stage. You may not think that it is very exciting, so you might say so.
It is Monday morning. Blah.
You have told the One Minute Me at this place, at this time. You have put you on the page.

Everyone's obvious is different, and changes from moment to moment. Here's mine, at this moment:

It is June! Hooray. How did we get to June so fast? Birthday month is over. My seedlings are peeking their heads up. so happy I got them in the ground. Going to go see BooBoo, and BooBoo's beloved parents,. All my children. I feel like I live in Pine Valley. Hey, did Phoebe Wallingsworth die?