beat it

okay then.  less talk, more action.

letting go

last night, in my dreams, i rescued a duck with diabetes that was passing out on a northeast portland sidewalk.  it was in my old neighborhood, on the side streets that are still so familiar to my memory i can conjure images of the rooflines, trees, alleys and fences.  in my dream, i was walking home and a group of youngsters with haircuts stood around a duck.  the duck was obviously in distress.  i glanced into their backyard, where a young bear with forlorn eyes was trapped in a cage.  i swooped the duck up, said i'll take care of this, and swiftly walked on before they could react.  the duck was comfortable in my arms, and burrowed its beak inward to sleep as i walked the rhythmic fifteen blocks home.  and that was my dream. but in real life, it too seems as if i am always rescuing something. in my current roster to date, james and i have rescued: a cormorant, a beaver, three skunks, a flickr, two ducks, a few cats, a dog, a rat family, and more.... not to mention: our most current recruit, paloma the pigeon.

but this morning, i knew that paloma was gone.  after four days of food, water, and rest, she had recovered from whatever brought her to me in the first place.  she was ready to find home, to find her covey, her partner... because pigeons mate for life, they say.  the way she flew last night, out towards the bay, confidently into the blinding sun, told me so.  and the way she brushed my head so close, as if to say goodbye, told me so.  so when i asked james this morning, just as i cracked my eyes open, is paloma there?, i wasn't surprised when he said no.  even still, i was saddened by the news.  i cried, because i had hoped she would stay forever.  because, in the wide world full of houses and backyards and freeways, she picked me.  but, as the saying goes, if you love someone set them free.  i guess i'm still learning how to let go.

gaiety

i remember the day i found out: my parents sat me down, and said they had something important to tell me.  i was terrified: had someone died? it seemed serious.  and then they told me: your uncle is gay.  i was upset, but only because they kept it from me for so long, as if i wasn't mature enough to handle that information!  i wailed.   but other than that, i was like what's the big deal? but to some people, it was a big deal.  some people in the family thought that if their children hung out with a homosexual, it might in fact rub off on them.  this horrified me...not that it might rub off, but that people in my family could possibly hold so much closed-mindedness, resentment and bigotry in their hearts. luckily, my folks were open and accepting people, as was i.  to me, a twelve-year-old wishing she was eighteen, my uncle was the coolest guy on the planet.  i worshiped him completely, and the fact that he was gay only made him more awesome.  it also explained why he was so anomalous to the rest of the family:  too hip to be square, fashionable to a T, drop jaw handsome, sassy as a toy terrier, and smart as a whip; he was my dream uncle.  he exposed me to my first george michael, madonna, janet jackson, and lots of other fabulous music.  and frankly, i wished everyone was that cool.  and if being cool meant being gay, well then, i wished everyone was gay.  

today, i would like to congratulate the gay community for another victory towards political and social equality.   i'm sorry its taking so long, but justice will eventually come to pass.   finally, finally, finally, the rest of the world is starting to evolve.  

keep it together

 

some days, i just can't wake up.  i'm sleepwalking.  i drink as much black tea as the kettle can brew, but still, i go through the day at half-mast.  i have no oomph, no spring in my step, no motivation.  why? i don't know.  i feel tired, like i could sleep a lifetime. i feel sad, for no reason, or for every reason under the sun. i might just cry, yes, i probably will, cry about one of the many tragedies in my life, those thoughts and memories i file away in my head, file away in that giant file cabinet that i try to keep closed for a million good reasons.  days like these, i'm probably just dehydrated, i'll say.  i drag my feet to the kitchen. drink a few glasses of water, lay down on the bench in the backyard.  i'll watch the birds, let the sun hit my face, close my eyes.  i feel that i must slow down, slow down, slow to a near stop.  and then james, he comes to the rescue.  he takes me for a drive, through the sandstone forest that borders the ocean. and that blue blue ocean, it goes on forever. it is only then, when i take the time to breathe, breathe in the beauty around me, do i start to feel better.

hello again

this morning she was there.  i say she, but i don't really know for sure. i just have a feeling. so there she was, just like nothing had ever happened, even after flying away in the dusky evening light of solstice, spending the night away, away somewhere.  there's no way to know where.  had the campfire scared her away? we wondered.  but there she was in the early dawn, eating the food i'd left out, as white and beautiful and stoic as ever.  james and i both celebrated, because secretly we would love for our little farm family to grow.  and secretly, we like our animals more than most people.  so we celebrated, because we had won her over, if only for another day.  i built a nesting box from an old green-painted cabinet, brought it up on the highest wooden ladder i could find, and shaking, screwed it into the back side of our building, high high up as she watched from above, hoping there she could find refuge from the wind and the rain, clinging to life clammy-palmed precarious on that tall wooden ladder..

freedom

i kind of panicked when my little paloma blanco flew away.  i mean, i only had it for a day, but i was getting attached to seeing the bird, perched on the tip of the barn like the statue on a bow of a ship set to sea.  i took great pleasure in watching it eating my food, drinking my water...living with me.  yeah, i knew in my heart it might just be a fleeting friendship, a one night stand, a pit stop on the long road home.  and when it happened, when she flew, she stretched her wings, rustled them up a little bit, and then jumped.  la paloma swooped and circled, through the trees and power lines, higher and higher yet, then out of sight.  i tried not to cry, i was sad to see her go, proud to have been a rest stop for the weary and injured traveler.  but as the saying goes, if you love someone set them free.  i fear i may love too too much to make this an easy parting... but still, i try.  i went back to my business of chores: planting, painting, cooking and digging.  and before i knew it, i was pleasantly distracted from my loss, floating through the drifting currents of thought.  i looked up, just out of habit, just for good measure.  and the homing pigeon had returned...

...only to fly away again, hours later.  ah, such is life.  the  ups, the downs, the roundabouts.

happy solstice.

refuge

i was adopted by a pigeon today.  i guess these kinds of things happen to me.
  

it must have been thirsty.  it heard the sound of the hose as i re-filled the ducks' kiddie pool with clean water.  it flew over once, just a flash of white.  never seen a white bird here, except for seagulls, i thought, but it didn't really have the silhouette of a seagull.  curious.  

and then it landed.  it was like an angel, the brightest of whites, stark against the tufts of grass and gravelly dirt of my backyard.  it hovered around the kiddie pool as the ducks splashed exuberantly.  they were obviously trying to scare it away.  but that pigeon was thirsty.  so it patiently pecked at the ground, waiting for a moment while the ducks were away.  i noticed a tag around its ankle...domestic.  it hopped on the edge, drank a few gulps, and was so eager to bathe that it stumbled into the water.  wings outstretched, it was in way too deep, and fumbled to get out. the bird hopped to the edge again, eyed me, drank a few more gulps, and then the ducks ran it off.  the ducks are very territorial, as it turns out.
  

the pigeon flew to roost in the lumber racks, and i could see the blackness of blood under its wing.  injured.  it took a long nap there, opening an eye to scope the surroundings every now and again.  i took a break from weeding morning glory, hurriedly grabbed seed and scattered it about the yard, knowing well that pigeons and doves love millet.   it watched me all the while, eventually flying back down to eat.  i policed the cats, with one near miss from chachie the huntress.  exasperated by the cats' tenacious stalking,  i eventually resorted to locking the felines inside.  you can live here, i said aloud, probably sounding a bit crazy in that dr. dolittle way. but i meant it.  i cooed in the way i know how, the way that doves and pigeons do, whoo-whoo-whoo, while the angelic white bird eyed me
. 

its well known round these parts that this is the spot for birds to hang out, brandin said, smoking a cigarette leaning casually on the truck, amused by the sight of the pigeon.  they probably go and tell each other where the good spots are.  it's true, my backyard is like the old country buffet for birds, with millet, sunflower seeds, thistle, nectar and a birdbath..  the pigeon pecked around casually, and when chased off again by those persnickety ducks, seemed unscathed.  that white pigeon found a comfortable spot on the edge of the roof line to sit, and still hasn't left.