The class rabbit was absent Friday, playing hookie. Norton stayed at the lead teacher's house to drink hot cocoa with mini-marshmallows. He probably watched "Oprah" and a few soaps when he wasn't outside rolling snowballs and making angel bunnies.
We needed a sign on the rabbit's cage to let the children know that Norton would be absent for the day. Norton has an excellent attendance record. He is never tardy. This was going to be a strange day. The first student to arrive drew an imaginative picture of a rabbit in the snow to tape on the cage.
What a weird week! Two separate snowstorms in North Texas in one week is about as likely as hell freezing over. I'm sure this was a commentary on our primary election options. I wouldn't vote for ____ even if hell froze over.... Fill in the blank/multiple choice! E. None of the above.
A worried parent asked in hushed tones if our rabbit had gone to the big cosmic none of the above. "Is Norton playing in the snow at the end of the white light tunnel?" Absolutely not. The rabbit is just taking a mental health day.
A dear friend studies the local obituaries as a comparative literature exercise. I glance over those obits a couple times a week, as I am not a serious scholar of the genre. Still, I'm impressed with the twists of words our culture uses to euphemize death.
So if you happen to read on that local news back page about someone who has "gone out to play with the rabbit in the snow", just thank me that this obit wasn't "after a long courageous battle".
I'm hoping my sons will remember to write that I "slid on down that long, long Eternal Hill on my Celestial Flexible Flyer". And I sure hope I meet Norton inside the Pearly Gates with mugs of melty marshmallows.
Saturday, March 08, 2008
Monday, January 21, 2008
Junco
This morning there's a little junco sitting on my patio fence. I've been sitting very still to enjoy it, and not rushing away to find my camera.
Juncos are perfect tiny winter birds. They seem to be wearing black hooded parkas over their white tummies. Mother loved juncos, and we marveled often about how such tiny creatures were equipped to survive a harsh Nebraska January.
After Fritzi passed away, I brought a load of her clothes back to Texas. Emptying her closets had to be done, partly as a physical outlet for our grief. Some items were too nice or new to go to Goodwill. Trying on coats, I was surprised to find that some fit me. In my mind at least, Fritzi and I were never the same size.
It was a long time before I was comfortable wearing any of the clothes, although I enjoyed wearing certain pieces of her jewelry. Some things I realized I could never wear, but I saved Fritzi's junco parka. It is black and hooded, and longer than most, a very sensible coat for watching birds in winter. It makes me happy to wear it.
Click here for a nice Northern junco photo.
Juncos are perfect tiny winter birds. They seem to be wearing black hooded parkas over their white tummies. Mother loved juncos, and we marveled often about how such tiny creatures were equipped to survive a harsh Nebraska January.
After Fritzi passed away, I brought a load of her clothes back to Texas. Emptying her closets had to be done, partly as a physical outlet for our grief. Some items were too nice or new to go to Goodwill. Trying on coats, I was surprised to find that some fit me. In my mind at least, Fritzi and I were never the same size.
It was a long time before I was comfortable wearing any of the clothes, although I enjoyed wearing certain pieces of her jewelry. Some things I realized I could never wear, but I saved Fritzi's junco parka. It is black and hooded, and longer than most, a very sensible coat for watching birds in winter. It makes me happy to wear it.
Click here for a nice Northern junco photo.
Friday, October 26, 2007
Entangled parade balloons
Called Dad at 5:35 this evening, but he was anxious to cut the visit short. He needed to switch from Lou Dobbs on CNN to a local station for the weather report. I had interrupted one of his tethers.
If we are all inflated balloons in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade (and I have acquired the figure over the years), then we all need tethers--those lines that keep us from floating away into the stratosphere or crashing down in a New Jersey landfill. We all need handlers to hold the tethers firm however strong the wind. Talking to Dad, the first parade balloon that comes to mind is Underdog. The Underdog balloon first appeared in the Macy's parade in 1965.
Dad is an Underdog. He has surpassed the odds. It has been nearly three years since my mother passed away. "Conjugal bereavement" is a huge stressor related to mortality risk for men. Depression related to grief impacts the immune system. The stress of caring for my mother during her six month illness also took a toll on Dad, emotionally and physically.
Dad broke the same hip twice in a six month period, but is able to live in his home and get around well with a walker. He has aides that come to the house everyday. The homemaker aide who comes in three mornings a week is one of the strongest tethers for his Underdog balloon. This incredibly patient and competent young woman is a friendly anchor for Dad. She also makes it possible for me to keep my Bullwinkle balloon tethered several states away. If my dad is losing helium or whipping around street lights and spectators, I can't do my job or keep my own balloon afloat with its marching band and celebrity commentator.
Weather, news, and sports are vital anchors for Dad. He needs his golf and baseball on t.v. The Weather Channel with "locals on the eights", and the Lincoln station weather reports keep him looking forward, no matter how dorky or annoying the forecaster. I'm not sure how to categorize the news. Mostly, the news keeps Dad angry and/or empathetic. He shouts at the war reports. "Bush lied. They died!" Amen. We should all be shouting. Dad gets tearful about car crashes, calamities, catastrophes, and climate change. We should all be less jaded.
Dad isn't as interested in the activities of his descendants as he once was. He doesn't hear very well and his personal hurdles take up most of his energy. Family is still a tether.
Dad's blessed to live in a tree-shaded neighborhood made up of young families, long-time elderly homeowners, and everybody in between. To have been part of that community for nearly fifty years is a powerful pull, although Dad misses those years not so far back when he and Mom were the official neighborhood grandparents.
Food fills us up, but it also holds us to this daily life, and fuels our spirit. Meals, foods, scents, and tastes, past and planned, are the warp and weft that connect us to life's parade route. The bands are playing. I see the tassels on the drum majorette's white boots. We march forward toward the piece of peach pie, the Healthy Choice microwave dinner, the Stouffer's stuffed green pepper, or the expertly-toasted English muffin.
My evening phone calls and letters are another Earth-to-Howie:Howie-to-Earth (come in, Howie) connection. Sometimes, I need to check the strength of my own balloon tethers, and make sure my handlers know their ropes. My Bullwinkle balloon occasionally gets boffled-about by the winds whipping around street corners between skyscrapers. My over-active mama mode nags the balloon handlers to wear their mittens and gloves.
What keeps me floating along the parade route:
Family--My wonderful sons and Dad
Writing--Blogging and letters
Teaching--Wise coworkers and entertaining kids
Curiosity, wonder, learning--Opera, spiders, art, genealogy, ......
Curious George had an adventure with parade balloons. If you are a curious little monkey, and you have the Man with the Yellow Hat for a friend, life is full of fascinating knots to untangle.
If we are all inflated balloons in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade (and I have acquired the figure over the years), then we all need tethers--those lines that keep us from floating away into the stratosphere or crashing down in a New Jersey landfill. We all need handlers to hold the tethers firm however strong the wind. Talking to Dad, the first parade balloon that comes to mind is Underdog. The Underdog balloon first appeared in the Macy's parade in 1965.
Dad is an Underdog. He has surpassed the odds. It has been nearly three years since my mother passed away. "Conjugal bereavement" is a huge stressor related to mortality risk for men. Depression related to grief impacts the immune system. The stress of caring for my mother during her six month illness also took a toll on Dad, emotionally and physically.
Dad broke the same hip twice in a six month period, but is able to live in his home and get around well with a walker. He has aides that come to the house everyday. The homemaker aide who comes in three mornings a week is one of the strongest tethers for his Underdog balloon. This incredibly patient and competent young woman is a friendly anchor for Dad. She also makes it possible for me to keep my Bullwinkle balloon tethered several states away. If my dad is losing helium or whipping around street lights and spectators, I can't do my job or keep my own balloon afloat with its marching band and celebrity commentator.
Weather, news, and sports are vital anchors for Dad. He needs his golf and baseball on t.v. The Weather Channel with "locals on the eights", and the Lincoln station weather reports keep him looking forward, no matter how dorky or annoying the forecaster. I'm not sure how to categorize the news. Mostly, the news keeps Dad angry and/or empathetic. He shouts at the war reports. "Bush lied. They died!" Amen. We should all be shouting. Dad gets tearful about car crashes, calamities, catastrophes, and climate change. We should all be less jaded.
Dad isn't as interested in the activities of his descendants as he once was. He doesn't hear very well and his personal hurdles take up most of his energy. Family is still a tether.
Dad's blessed to live in a tree-shaded neighborhood made up of young families, long-time elderly homeowners, and everybody in between. To have been part of that community for nearly fifty years is a powerful pull, although Dad misses those years not so far back when he and Mom were the official neighborhood grandparents.
Food fills us up, but it also holds us to this daily life, and fuels our spirit. Meals, foods, scents, and tastes, past and planned, are the warp and weft that connect us to life's parade route. The bands are playing. I see the tassels on the drum majorette's white boots. We march forward toward the piece of peach pie, the Healthy Choice microwave dinner, the Stouffer's stuffed green pepper, or the expertly-toasted English muffin.
My evening phone calls and letters are another Earth-to-Howie:Howie-to-Earth (come in, Howie) connection. Sometimes, I need to check the strength of my own balloon tethers, and make sure my handlers know their ropes. My Bullwinkle balloon occasionally gets boffled-about by the winds whipping around street corners between skyscrapers. My over-active mama mode nags the balloon handlers to wear their mittens and gloves.
What keeps me floating along the parade route:
Family--My wonderful sons and Dad
Writing--Blogging and letters
Teaching--Wise coworkers and entertaining kids
Curiosity, wonder, learning--Opera, spiders, art, genealogy, ......
Curious George had an adventure with parade balloons. If you are a curious little monkey, and you have the Man with the Yellow Hat for a friend, life is full of fascinating knots to untangle.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Lullaby of Birdland
Hummingbirds limit productivity. They prevent multi-tasking. When hummingbirds visit my cannas and feeder, I can't seem to do anything but watch in amazement.
An egret flies over just when the sky is at maximum Maxfield Parish. It seems to have captured all of the late sunlight, glowing intense white against the pink and blue.
Just before dark, my little wren puts in an appearance, hopping along the crossbar of the fence, and showing off its white eye liner. Out comes the bird book to compare Carolina wrens and Bewick's wrens again.
Limiting productivity enhances restorative relaxation! A song is in my head, though.
Oh, lullaby of birdland
That's what I always hear,
When you sigh,
Never in my wordland could there be ways to reveal
in a phrase how I feel
Have you ever heard two turtle doves
Bill and coo,
when they love?
That's the kind of magic music we make with our lips
When we kiss
And there's a weepy old willow
He really knows how to cry,
That's how I'd cry in my pillow
If you should tell me
farewell and goodbye
Lullaby of birdland
whisper low
Kiss me sweet,
and we'll go
Flying high in birdland,
high in the sky up above
All because were in love
Here are some links to watch and listen to George Shearing, Peggy Lee and Ella Fitzgerald:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LEo6zQAxUl0
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JzsEYek8Cws&mode=related&search=
http://www.amazon.com/Best-Ella-Fitzgerald-Millennium-Collection/dp/B000084TSK © 2007 Nancy L. Ruder
An egret flies over just when the sky is at maximum Maxfield Parish. It seems to have captured all of the late sunlight, glowing intense white against the pink and blue.
Just before dark, my little wren puts in an appearance, hopping along the crossbar of the fence, and showing off its white eye liner. Out comes the bird book to compare Carolina wrens and Bewick's wrens again.
Limiting productivity enhances restorative relaxation! A song is in my head, though.
Oh, lullaby of birdland
That's what I always hear,
When you sigh,
Never in my wordland could there be ways to reveal
in a phrase how I feel
Have you ever heard two turtle doves
Bill and coo,
when they love?
That's the kind of magic music we make with our lips
When we kiss
And there's a weepy old willow
He really knows how to cry,
That's how I'd cry in my pillow
If you should tell me
farewell and goodbye
Lullaby of birdland
whisper low
Kiss me sweet,
and we'll go
Flying high in birdland,
high in the sky up above
All because were in love
Here are some links to watch and listen to George Shearing, Peggy Lee and Ella Fitzgerald:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LEo6zQAxUl0
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JzsEYek8Cws&mode=related&search=
http://www.amazon.com/Best-Ella-Fitzgerald-Millennium-Collection/dp/B000084TSK © 2007 Nancy L. Ruder
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