Posts Tagged ‘ bird ’

Escapade At The Pink Hotel

Tuesday, May 29th, 2012

My Sister Polly At Home Before She Shot Me For Writing This Blog

My sister Polly calls me, breathless about something.

“Venus” she says,  “you have to drive me down the mountain to the hospital. There’s a bird in the van and I have to bring him home. And, I have to drive the van home, too!”

It’s 5:30 PM. I am naked, wrapped in an old bathrobe, and lying on my bed. I am tired.

“What bird?” I ask. “What van? Why is the bird at the hospital?”

Polly always says whatever is in her head at the moment and she seems to assume that you have been in there with her and have been following along.

“Well, the bird can’t stay in the van,” says Polly, reasonably. “I’m coming right over to get you.”

Now I won’t get to eat dinner or watch the news or take a rest. And, I can’t go down the mountain naked. I will have to get dressed.

“Polly, you aren’t making any sense,” I say. “How did some bird get to the hospital in a van?”

Okay, Dear Readers, I will spare you what I went through trying to get the full story. But, before I got the gist and the punchline, I did end up screaming and shouting because Polly kept throwing out the details in no order whatsoever.

I will save your patience and tell you what happened and why and how a hunting raptor with heavy, sharp talons and a thick yellow beak, wearing a brown cloth hood, ended up in a white van at the hospital an hour away from us.

Polly’s forty-year-old son, Josh, has fallen off a two story hotel roof.

Yes, that’s what has happened and now I suppose you want to know the rest of the story. (more…)

Are You My Mother?

Tuesday, March 6th, 2012

"Are You My Mother?"

Bill is telling me about the red and black bird in the red berry bushes by the garage.

We are sitting on the patio having a glass of wine. It’s February but it’s acting like spring.

Bill points at the bird flapping around in the high bushes against the garage windows.

“He’s been throwing himself against the garage window for three weeks now! He’s crazy. He thinks he’s seeing a female bird and wants to mate.”

I say, “Yes, I’ve been watching him, too. When I drive into the garage, he comes and peck-pecks at the window. He makes peeping noises and looks at me.

“Some people,” I tell Bill, “say that their dead relatives come back as birds to let them know they are alive and well.”

I take a little sip of white wine and continue.

“So I thought, ‘maybe this bird is my mother coming to tell me she’s OK.’ The last time I drove into the garage  that bird was there, again. Staring at me. Tap, tap, tapping on the glass. I got out of the car, went up to the window, leaned up close, looked him in the eye and said to the bird, ‘Is that you Mom?’ The bird flew away so I decided it wasn’t my mother.”

Bill leans back in his patio chair and laughs and laughs.

He’s staring at me like he doesn’t know me.

“You are as crazy as that crazy bird!” He says and chokes on a handful of peanuts.

My feelings feel a bit ruffled. I’m serious about my mother possibly coming to see me as a bird. I like to stay open to all possibilities.

Bill just keeps laughing. For a man with a bad cancer, he is certainly jolly.

He’s laughing and snorting at me. He even puts out a few ‘hoots.’

I glance at him and try to look like I’m the smart one on the patio.

But Bill looks good. He decided not to do chemo and radiation. He decided to say no to having most of his teeth pulled out. He’s changed his diet, cut out sugar, and takes special herbs and vitamins.

His color is better and he’s trim, solid, and lean these days. He runs, he works on my property, he doesn’t lie around all day on the bed like he used to when he was healthy, and he’s not as irritable as he used to be.

I tell him all that.

“I’m still irritable,” he says.

I agree. But it’s less. And I like him better. As an ex-boyfriend he is quite perfect.

I tell him that cancer has been good for him.

He doesn’t like to hear this so much.

Life is an odd and puzzling mix.

Cancer can be a healthy turning point and birds can sometimes masquerade as dead mothers…but in this case, not this bird. This bird is not my mother, he is just a sexually disturbed bird. I am disappointed. But, life is full of disappointments if we let it be. I prefer to see events and situations as part of a fascinating mix of entertainment. It’s better that way.

It’s smart to stay open-minded, I think, because, frankly…you never know…one of these birds one day might be my mother and I wouldn’t want to overlook her.

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