Feed the Birds

My aunt and I were watching whatever cooking show happened to be on television at the time when my uncle called us to the door to see a blue-jay that had followed him under the carport and perched on his chair. By the time we made it over, the bird had jumped to a chair even closer to the door. I grabbed my phone and took a picture before it flew away. As it turns out, I did not need to rush. The bird is both a fan of cameras and people.

We all went outside and the bird kept coming back under the carport landing on the grill or hopping on the ground around us - eventually going up and pecking on my uncle’s shoe. My aunt handed me a piece of cookie to see it it would take it. Because the cat had come outside, the bird had flown up to the carport roof so I stepped near and held the cookie bit out and he immediately hopped to the edge nearest my fingers and tried to grab the cookie, but neither of us could reach far enough.

I stepped back, squatted down and he flew down beside me and immediately gently snatched the proffered cookie crumb. It would eat crumbs from my hand for a few minutes, then it would fly away and play in the sprinkler, catching a few bugs along the way, then it would return to eat some more cookie crumbs.  The pattern repeated itself for a couple hours. Finally, full of cookie and bugs it flew up into a tree to roost for the night as dusk settled.

While this was going on, the sounds of Julie Andrew’s perfect voice filled my head. “Feed the Birds” from Mary Poppins played on repeat through my mind as the bird came and went. The story of the old woman selling bags of crumbs for people to “feed the birds” is a lilting hymn from the Sherman brothers imploring people to care for the least of these - the old woman with her crumbs for sale and the birds.

I had always thought of the song as particularly sad every time I heard it over the years, but as I sat offering the bird crumb after crumb in the palm of my hand, joy, peace, and calm overtook me. Such unexpected interaction with a wild creature inspires the third of the essential prayers as described by Anne Lemott in her book, Help, Thanks, Wow: Wow! How do you not say, “Wow!” when a silver and blue wild bird chooses you as its afternoon companion.

Wow!

I left my aunt and uncle’s house long before dawn the next day, so I do not know if the bird remained on the same perch where I last saw it the night before. My relatives were planning what food would be best to put out to keep the bird around, though, as my aunt lamented, blue jays drove away her beautiful cardinals. A connection had been made and that matters more than anything else.

My aunt will keep me posted from time to time about the status of the bird - if indeed it stays around their house. Regardless of the bird’s future with the family, I know I will be reminded of the experience whenever I hear Julie Andrews hawking “tuppence, tuppence, tuppence a bag.”

Generations

My last living grandparent died March 25, 2013 at the age of 97. Some friends and co-workers were extending their condolences until the heard the “97” part. I have to give them some freedom to feel that way. There are very few people I know who are 46 (like me) and who still have living grandparents. Most of my friends of a like age have lost one of both parents.Indeed, I recognized how blessed I have been to have my grandparents as long as I had them all. Rather than being bogged down in grief, I celebrate the family connections I have.

     After learning the news of my grandmother’s death, I paused to say a little prayer and then went on with my day.

In all honesty, I was never as close to this set of grandparents growing up as I was to my other set of grandparents who lived down the road from me. I saw them every couple of summers when we went to Minnesota on vacation. I only ever saw my paternal grandparents a handful of times. Still, as I went through the day, grandma’s death weighed on my mind much more than I expected it would.

Today as I was cleaning some things off the desk in my home office, I came across the last letter I received from her. One of my fondest memories of her was the certainty that I would receive a birthday and Christmas card from her with a letter updating me on everything that was going on in her life.  For a person over 90, she stayed busy. The last time I saw her, she and I spent time cleaning out an aunt’s flower bed as the spring plants were getting ready to sprout.

Because I saw my paternal grandmother so rarely growing up, I am not mourning her in the same way I mourned my maternal grandparents. My grief this time is focused on the passing of a generation. She was the last grandparent I (and many of my cousins) had. The elder status has moved down to my parents’ generation, and will, in time move down to mine. It is the progression of ages.

One reason I am thinking so much about the idea of generations in the family is that there are cousins who live (or at least were raised) in Minnesota whom I have never met. They were born after I made my last visit in 1985. Visits with my relatives since then have either occurred when they passed through Austin or when I made my way up to Wichita. How will the hierarchy work in the coming generations? That I do not know many of my cousins is not unusual among my friends. Like me, because the family lives so far apart, there are relatives they have never seen.

I always wonder when I am traveling whether or not I am randomly passing by a unknown cousin. I have run into old college acquaintances in airports; I suppose a cousin would be just as likely. The cousins I have never seen are much harder to recognize.

With luck, I will be attending a conference in Minneapolis in the next few months and will have the chance to connect with some of those cousins I have not seen since the mid-80’s. (or ever). Perhaps through those contacts, the next generations can remain connected - at least somewhat as what has always been a very large family continues to grow.

Call Your Mother!

         Eventually it is going to sink in: I need to call my mother more often. Children are often chided to call their parents, but it can be so easy to place that call on the back burner until we hear from them. I genuinely dislike talking on the phone and avoid it as much as possible, so it is very easy for me to put that phone call on the “to-do” list without any urgent stars next to it. Then I get a call from her when she thinks I am done with work, or even in the middle of the day, leaving the short message, “call when you can.”

         “Call when you can” means “I have bad news to share with you.”

         Just as I am bad about calling, so is my mother, but lately I have been getting that call on an almost weekly basis. The news always comes with “a name I have known all my life” and “died” or “cancer” or “stroke” or “heart attack” or “other serious condition.”

         I have a hard time accepting my own age, and I am still surprised by all this news. I have to realize that at my age, people who were adults when I was growing up are now old and people who were old when I was growing up are now really old. Five people who lived within a mile of me when I was growing up (and I grew up in the country, so five people is a HUGE percent of the neighbors) have died in the last year. Three of those people were like parents or grandparents to me.

         I do not think about aging. It does not cross my mind. It just happens (thank goodness).

         Perhaps, though, aging should be more in the forefront of my consciousness. I moved away from my childhood community over twelve years ago, so it is easiest to preserve that community in my memory just the way it was when I left. The phone calls have reminded me that though I moved away from the people I knew well, life, and all its changes, has continued for them and for me. Not only do I need to call my mother more often, I need to remember all the people who have been important in my life more than just at the funeral.

         The recent visits home and the frequent thoughts of those who have died or are suffering extended illness have made me reminisce for the place I still call home. As much as I miss it and miss those who are a part of it, life has continued for them and for me. Despite the passing pangs of nostalgia, I have no lasting desire to go back. Moving on, though, does not change the value I have for those people and places in my history: I am who I am because of their influences and no clichéd appreciation diminishes the gratitude I have for those influences.

         Yes, I do need to call my mother more often. I also need to call the community.

         “Hello. It’s Rusty. Yes, it’s been too long. How are you?...”

 

Empty Nest

Never having been a biological parent, I have found the last two weeks surprisingly difficult as my “kid” went to begin work on his graduate studies. I had no idea how much my weekly schedule rotated around him and his activities. Friday nights roll around and I have to think twice about what I am going to do.

I have a huge case of empty nest syndrome.

Amazing since I have never had a nest.

Nevertheless, having him hours away instead of a mile down the street has occupied an inordinate amount of my time in the last few weeks. The feelings began in the spring when he committed to the PhD program, but they came on strong when, after staying with me for a few days, he left and texted me that he was in his new apartment.

And just after getting settled, he lost his cell phone. I have gone through the process to replace it - despite him being hours away, some things never change.

Four Christmases?

The movie “Four Christmases” seemed like the most absurd of titles. Who in their right mind would have four Christmases.

I cannot say for certain that I am in my right mind, but this year, four Christmases is exactly what I am having.

Christmas # 1 took place two weekends before Christmas with my parents, and my brothers and their families. It began the festive season with a fun day seeing my parents and nephews.

Christmas # 2 took place a week later in Kansas with my uncle, aunt, cousins and their families. R. and I drove all the way to Wichita for that event, which was as usual, side-splittingly fun. The entire event is so unpredictable, that we can do little else but laugh and have fun.

Christmas # 3 took place with R.’s family in Florida. For the first time in my life, I traveled to spend the holiday with the family of someone I love. It was also the first time I met his family in person. Through the wonders of Facebook, I had been in some conversation with one of his brothers and his sister, but the holiday was actually the first time I met them in person, so that stress coupled with the holiday, but it did not diminish the good time of the holiday. I am looking forward to another fun weekend vacation with his family in a few weeks at Disney World.

Christmas # 4 will take place on New Year’s Eve, as R. and I have our time to exchange gifts. I am looking forward to this intimate time together as we exchange those things we purchased for each other. I have never given so much thought or had so much fun buying for someone else, but most of all, I look forward to that time together with him, starting our own traditions.

If the first three Christmases are any indication, this is exactly the way the holidays are meant to be. Nothing has been extraordinary by way of expense, but every gift has been thoughtful and the focus has been on relationships. With my cousins and our $1 gifts, with R.’s family and some “getting to know you” gifts, and with R. and I, the first meaningful exchange of gifts together and the time to share with one another.

I have never been a fan of the holidays, but if this year is is any indication of want can be, I may grow to enjoy them more and more.

Stick in the Mud

Even in the best of circumstances I am not the most "fun" person around. I am fully aware of it and admit it freely. I have a fairly straight-forward and serious demeanor and once I'm fixed on a way of doing something, I am just that, fixed.

Some would even call me a "stick in the mud."

I usually don't think I am that bad, but Saturday as I took the boyfriend, R, down to meet my family and see the place where I grew up, stuck in the mud is exactly how we found ourselves.

In all honesty, I didn't intend to get stuck in the mud and through the wonders of four-wheel drive on my truck, I managed to avoid it; however, my 14-year-old nephew, trying to be clever and do an end around in the muddy field with his pawpaw's truck, did not. I backed into position in an attempt to pull him out, but he was so thoroughly stuck, I bogged in as soon as my tires started spinning.

Two trucks stuck in the mud.

At the back of a muddy pasture.

That's exactly the way I wanted to introduce a boyfriend to my childhood home.

He was quickly on the phone seeking assistance from New York in the brief moment he found a cell phone signal. Judging by the comments his friends left on the Facebook photo he posted, they were not much help.

My nephew was quickly dispatched to the house to get the tractor and a chain. I suggested he run since the whole mess was his fault. Judging by the short time it took to hear the tractor start, I think he sprinted the 1/3 of a mile back to the barn to get the tractor. Shortly afterward, we were free of the mud and on our way to the rest of Christmas.

Twenty Years Later

I missed the fall of the Berlin wall twenty years ago, because that was also the day my grandfather passed away - a week to the day after his son died. The compounded grief and caring for other family members and friends absorbed the entire day and there was no time to watch the news or pick up a paper. It was long before I had the internet -much less a cell phone with text and twitter.

Times have changed since then.

The news regarding the anniversary of the Berlin wall in the last few days has had me remembering my grandfather. For me the two event will always be linked. I was lucky to be 23 before he passed, so I had much time to make memories share time with him, but I still miss sharing all the good things (and bad) that have happened in the years since that time. In all the thoughts I've had, I keep going back to my grandfather's funeral and the sense of joy that I felt through the entire service.

My grandfather's funeral was a true service of celebration of a long, full life. My grandfather truly lived until he died. He did not have a slow degeneration, but an active lifestyle until the very end. Reaching 87 is nothing to disregard - though it was a bit young for my family. Many people find it odd that I had so much joy at my grandfather's funeral, but it was so natural for me.

Joy is far different than happiness. I was mourning the loss of someone I loved very much and whom I miss to this day. I was able to draw joy out of the span and quality of life he lived. He died as he would have wished - and in the end, is there really anything more any of us can ask. I celebrated his life then and I continue to celebrate it now.

When the day comes, I can only hope those standing at my graveside have can say the same about me and walk away with the same joy.

Drunk Texting

Over the years, I’ve received my share of drunk calls in the middle of the night. As far as I know, I’ve never made any, but then again, I would have been drunk so how am I to know? Friends would have told me, but strangers probably would not have recorded my number to call back and let me know.

Last week I bought a new phone – a lovely Blackberry Curve and I’m still in the process of playing with it. While waiting for some friends to join me at our usual Friday night spot for dinner, I texted a person I’m getting to know – well, after one margarita, I thought it was someone I’m getting to know.

The Curve has a great track-ball that functions like a mouse and lets one rapidly zip through the names in the address book and from function to function. It is very easy to get to where one wants on the phone, if not just past it.

My brother has the same first name as the person I’m getting to know.

The friends arrive and we’re having a great time having a few margaritas and eating dinner. I receive a texted response from the person I’m getting to know: polite and just right for the message I sent him (merely hoped he had a good week, so nothing salacious) and a promise to call over the weekend.

Monday rolled around and I had still not heard from this person I’m getting to know, but I’d had an unexpectedly hectic weekend, so I didn’t’ think much of it.

Mid-day Monday I received an email from my brother letting me know he had received my text.

I questioned him as to the content of the text message.

It was the message I “sent” the person I’m getting to know.

From now on, tricks and potential dates are getting a “phone” nickname from the first conversation on. The last thing I want to do is send my brother a text telling him just what I planned to do to him next time I see him!

Winter Wonderland - Not!

Annually I make a trek to Kansas for the gathering of my cousins who live in Wichita – and their prodigal brother who moved off to Kansas City. We always have a tremendous amount of fun as we gather to visit, exchange gifts, and eat.

This year I made it up to Kansas in near record time by getting a jump on the holiday traffic – and before the predicted blizzard blew in. I don’t know if anyone who gets real winter would call the weather I experienced in Kansas a real blizzard since there were only about eight inches of snow, but the news stations all talked of “blizzard conditions” and for this South Texan, it most certainly counts.

As I watched the snow fall and blow, I kept thinking that I should write about how beautiful it was, creating a winter wonderland on the first official day of winter and just a few days before Christmas. Because I’m a southerner and the snow is such an unusual sight for me, I should be in awe at the transformation from the barren brown ground visible at dawn to the bright white dune-like topography visible at mid-afternoon. Instead, I am not moved in the sense of the romantic authors so inspired by the beauty of such pristine newness. While watching the snow swirl and blow, I only saw it in the view of the realists.

The ferocity of the gusting winds shifting the snow around the ground reminded me more of the wind and rain of a tropical storm. The rain, like this snow falls sideways so much that one wonders how any of it ever makes it to the ground, yet somehow, it does and flooding ensues. The snow is somehow making it to the ground.

Mother Nature did not create this show for my interest or amusement; she did this because it is what she does when warm moist air meets frigid air. These conditions would kill me just as quickly as amuse me – not out of any malice, just because they are beyond any conditions my body can handle without help.

All that said, the disaster freak in me wonders at the quiet violence of the snowstorm. Unlike rain that pounds the walls and roof, the snow dodges and swirls with the wind. The flakes that do collide with the house do so with a sigh rather than a scream. Tropical storms announce their own arrival. The snowstorm settles in on you and envelopes you in its grasp.

I keep waiting for some disastrous occurrence in the snow outside the window. Much like NASCAR is really only fun when there are crashes, I keep waiting for limbs to give way or roofs to go flying – something to break the quiet.

Even if nothing extraordinary happens, I’ll never look at another Rockwell winter scene quite the same again. The perfection of the final product hides the stories of its creation. It is one thing to wonder at that final beauty, but isn’t the story of its creation so much more fun? That story can be retold and remembered and the exhilaration of the moment comes back fully. That final perfection only lasts until the first step breaks the smooth surface. From that moment on, only the story remains.

Family Guy...or Not

I’ve always wanted to be a father. Even though I knew I would not have a traditional family or biological child, adoption remained an option I have considered from time to time. However, after having two little ones in my house for a few hours, I’m rethinking that idea.

When my brothers and I were young, our parents always warned us about being quiet and still whenever we went to visit old relatives or neighbors – anyone who was not used to having small children around. They said it made them nervous.

I’m now one of those old people.

One of my brothers came to Thanksgiving with is wife, son, and two foster children. Their coming thrilled me as they had never been to my house and I’ve lived here over a year and a half. They stayed just over four hours.

As soon as the kids were safely in the car seat, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. My home was quiet again. I really relish the peace of being home alone or being here with someone who will just sit and read.

A guy recently asked me what my greatest fault was. That was easy to answer: I’m a genius and I’m always right. It is especially true around my house. I’ve lived alone longer than I have lived with others, and I am particular in the way things are done. My house is not always the neatest or cleanest, but I organize and clean in certain ways.

As far as I’m concerned, there is only one way to load the dishwasher for maximum efficiency and cleaning.

I make my bed in a certain way. The pillows are turned a specific direction and the cases are put on in a particular way so they look best when the pillows are turned that direction only. The stuffed animals on my bed have an order as well.

The same goes for ironing my shirts. I iron each morning as I get ready for work. I work through the shirt parts in a deliberate manner: collar, left sleeve, right sleeve, right front, left front, back. It works for me and no part ever goes unironed.

I’m likely scaring away any potential dates out there, but those who are not scared away: I’m really a pretty good catch, but I will reload the dishwasher when you are done.

Thanksgiving for $42.26?

Each year, the American Farm Bureau Federation figures the cost of Thanksgiving dinner for ten people as a gauge of food prices in the nation. This year, the cost has risen to $42.26, a $4.16 increase over last year.

Who are they feeding, anorexic pygmies?

And what are they feeding them, a turkey burger, half a sweet potato, three cranberries, some corn, a roll, and a slice of pumpkin pie?

I’m cooking for fourteen to twenty people as I’m still not certain who is going to show up, but I’ve already spent over $180 and have not even made the last minute run to the store to get the things I forgot. Due to connections with a friend, I’m not purchasing the turkey (a nice 22 pounder), so that was not figured into the price. I would be approaching $200 if the turkey was included.

But according to the Farm Bureau, at twenty people I should only be out $84.52.

Maybe I’m doing it the wrong way – from scratch. I started cooking last weekend by baking the bread to make croutons for the dressing. I’ll make the cornbread part of the dressing on Tuesday and crumble it in with the bread Wednesday morning.

The only things coming out of a can are the cranberry sauce, and pumpkin and blueberries for the pies. The blueberry pie is a last minute addition since I found out my brother (who loves blueberries) is coming with his family.

The menu so far:

• Turkey
• Dressing
• Sweet potato (with brown sugar and marshmallow topping)
• Mashed potatoes
• Green beans (steamed with almond, topped with freshly grated parmesan cheese, not green bean casserole)
• Broccoli with cheese (homemade cheese sauce, of course)
• Corn casserole
• Cranberry sauce (both whole cranberry and jelled)
• Sourdough rolls (baked from scratch that morning)
• Blueberry pie
• Pumpkin pie
• Pumpkin cheesecake
• Two-layer pumpkin pie
• Pecan pie

By the time I’m done cooking, I’m sure there will be a couple more dishes added on. It never ends up as simply as it starts.

And now the challenge will be to find enough seats if everyone shows up at the same time. I can seat sixteen, but if all twenty show up, some people are going to have to stand at the bar.

Let my heartburn begin!

Worst Parents Ever

At some point, we all have the worst parents in the world. My parents earn that reputation from time to time as well. They know just how to say the just the wrong thing at just the right time. Parents have the skill to know just when the child is at the most vulnerable and the statement or action that will inflict the most angst at that time.

I always wondered what it would have been like to be raised by another set of parents. Now that I have moved away from the farm, each visit makes me wonder how I ever grew up there because I am so different today. My parents still live there and it seems like nothing has changed with them. They are doing the same things and believing the same way.

Living in the city has changed my outlook on the day-to-day being of being. The complexities of negotiating the urban landscape provide a different view of the world than the simpler survival mode found on the rural horizon. Additional opportunities present themselves on each block in the city while the country crop often remains the same from mile to mile.

As I reflect back on those days I wonder at the idea that the country produced me.

I think differently.

I act differently.

I believe differently.

Last week one of my cousins died. She was only about twenty-five years old and her life was filled with uncertainty and heartache most of which had been out of her control from conception. Her life was filled with doubts and instability. In the last few years, as an adult, she continued the patterns established in childhood. Her own children bounced between her, their father, and grandparents.

One memory I have from my early teen years is that when my cousin’s mother first announced she was unmarried and pregnant, my mother wished that she and dad could adopt the baby. They just thought it was the right thing to do. They wanted the baby to have a stable life and home.

But they are the worst parents ever. They have a modest house in the country. They have mastered the art of parental guilt. Still, they raised three sons to become responsible, faithful, and trustworthy adults with professional careers. Still, across the last week, one thought keeps coming to mind: maybe her life would have been different and she might still be alive if she had had my parents.

Holiday Recovery

Gifts are given. Trips have been made. Christmas is over.

Despite all the anxiety, everything really went well with me this holiday. A rainy day in the country with a mother who watches the made-for-tv movie channel which is only showing made-for-tv Christmas movies (combined with the Disney Christmas parade [read commercial] hosted by Regis and Kelly) is a torture even Jack Bauer couldn't endure.

Still, my brothers and I got along. My parents didn't do anything to upset anyone, so we all spent all Christmas afternoon together while watching the kids (my three nephews) play in the house and on the lone paved spot in my parent's driveway.

While my holiday was generally boring because I have changed so much since moving to Austin and it seems that they have all stayed the same in the small town. There really isn't much that we have in common to discuss. They catch me up on the news of all the people I know from the thirty-three years I lived there. I tell them a little about life here, but they don't really understand it and I don't really care about a dispute between two people I knew seven years ago.

At least I have a family I can go visit. They don't really accept and are not willing to discuss my lifestyle, but they do take me for who I am and don't make a big issue of it. For that I'm thankful.

Holiday Anxiety #3

And we're done!

The shopping is complete.

The gifts are wrapped.

Now I just have to load them into the car and drive two hours so my nephews can destroy them in two minutes. The loading can wait until after church tomorrow.

Despite the challenges, I'm pleased with the gifting I've done this year. I only relied on gift cards for two people (though I must admit, I would rather get gift cards most of the time).

The wrapping was more of a challenge than I expected. Pillows can be rather tricky: try finding a gift box that fits a penguin shaped pillow the size of a three-year-old. The blanket was not as hard as the penguin, but it came close.

The traffic today was worse than yesterday. I guess that is what I get for doing last minute shopping.

Still, I'm done with the shopping and that feels good.

Now I just have to survive a couple days with my family.

Holiday Anxiety #1

Four days to Christmas and the holiday anxiety is setting in. I have three nephews and NO CLUE what to buy them. The one who always had a three page wish list responded with "I dunno." when I asked him what he wanted for Christmas over Thanksgiving. The one who is three will be happy with paper and bows. The other nephew has the list his mother made. Christmas presents from the uncle are for fun - not for school! I'm sure I can find something suitably exciting for him without making his parents too mad.

As far as I know, my brothers and I have called a truce and are not going to exchange presents this year, but I have not heard that directly from one brother, so I don't know whether to be prepared or not. Mom and dad, of course, won't go along with that, so I still have to figure out what to get two people who already have more stuff than house/garage/barn can hold.

Friends are an entirely different matter. Some are doing the gift thing, but I have no idea who, so I feel like I need to be prepared for any contingency. Do I buy "cool" things just to have on hand that can go to anyone male or female? Maybe I'll just do a dinner for them...people usually do enjoy my food. Then there are the random gift bags/baskets...I can do that....

The only way around all this would be to ask everyone if they are getting me a gift - and that would seem like I'm asking. We need to come up with some clear etiquette on gift giving during the holidays.

Dating = gift

Close friends = gift

Acquaintances = no gift

Co-workers = draw or no gift and no breaking the agreement (if one gifts it makes everyone else look bad)

Family = decide (children = definitely, adults = come to an agreement)

Fortunately, I don't live or work in a building where holiday tipping is an expectation.

I don't want to come off as a scrooge, but in the last few years, the most fun I've had is with my aunt, uncle, and cousins. We have the rule that you buy a present for everyone, but for the adults you cannot spend more than $1. That rule suddenly makes shopping a challenge and gift receiving an adventure. When we are together, we laugh and enjoy being with one another more than you can imagine. Instead of being about the gifts, the gifts are the catalyst for much laughter - so much so that I usually ache for days afterward. We are all thirty/fortysomethings, so we don't wait for the holidays: when we need something, we go buy it instead of putting it on a wish list.

It has been much belabored each year that the holidays are too materialistic, so I won't add to that lament. I would like to see my friends and family expanding the dollar gift tradition. It is tremendous fun for the gifter and gifted.