Red's Wrap
Happiness. It's relative.
Serving Time
I watch birds
I see them through binoculars, small camouflage ones for children playing war
The birds’ names are in a book with their pictures, chickadee and house finch
I make a list with these two names and put the list in the book
I wait for them
My father said if you put thistle seed out, the finches will come and one did today
He loved the birds so much he hated cats so sometimes he set out traps for them
I don’t know if he made a list or kept all the events in his head
It is a new exercise – to sit still on the porch, to have nothing in my hands, no phone nearby, only the binoculars and the book, and to wait. I hear rackets of birds next door and across the way and I wonder why the birds aren’t coming here. What’s changed from yesterday when there were flocks of them but I didn’t have my binoculars or my book? I’m jealous of the neighbors. It is my goal now to learn the names of ten new birds but only two have appeared. After I master ten birds, then ten trees and ten flowers. And when I know those tens, then I can say I am a person who knows things. It is a small accomplishment but something of note.
I act like a prisoner with a life sentence, building tiny towns out of toothpicks.
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Snow Door | wisconsinacademy.org
Listen to Jan read her essay “Billy” presented on WUWM’s Lake Effect
Jan’s essay “At the Breakfast Bar” on WUWM Lake Effect
Jan’s essay “The Parish Hall,” on WUWM Lake Effect
“Fury Cannot Touch Me,” Modern Love, NYT, 9/29/11
I have bird feeders outside my kitchen window. Being able to watch the birds when I do dishes is one of the only reasons, I will do dishes.
The whole “watching” thing is seductive. It feels like you are doing nothing but you are living in a moment the world offered you. We watch birds, squirrels. Maybe we catch sight of a fox moving shadow-like through the woods or a woodchuck pops out from under a hedge. A squirrel shares a feeder with a couple of goldfinch. Humans have forgotten how to share.
I sometimes stand at my sink, looking out onto the deck. There’s so much going on outside. After dark, I hear rustling in the brush. Raccoons running away because I interrupted their collective assault on the feeders? This may be the ONLY time I do nothing.
I should do more nothing.
That’s exactly it – just being quiet and watching what’s rustling in the trees. I’m with you: I should do more nothing.
Yes. Really. We do need to do a LOT more nothing.
By the way, Garry gave in and is getting a second cochlear implant in his other (right) ear. It’s effectively dead anyway. He is only hearing from his left ear. This will give him a lot more hearing — in STEREO. The audiologist finally said it: “A new hearing aid isn’t going to help that ear. It will be exactly the same as it is now.” However, she did say that they are getting more skilled at leaving any residual ability to hear alive while still adding the implant. Whether that will work for Garry or not, we won’t know until the actual surgery.
He was somehow hoping that he could keep one slightly functional ear, but although that ear hears sounds, it doesn’t hear words. I think this may really help him. He was getting very depressed about hearing so poorly.
I’ve learned that birds come and go Jan and usually with any human presence they may stay away. I watch from inside. Not as good as porch sitting surely, but a compromise.