One Year Into Another

I was reviewing the resolutions I made for this year, and they reminded me of that old saying: "If you want to make God laugh, tell Her your plans."

2009 turned out to be a year of personal loss. I lost both of my writing mentors; Jim in June and Jack Myers in November. The best avian vet in this region of the US left for Iowa in August (and I'm still upset about it). And, of course, I lost my most beloved Sugar Franklin, which I'm pretty sure I'll never get over.

Yet, like any year or period of time it was not all bad or all the same. My three remaining parrots are healthy and spoiled. I got my bathroom remodeled and lived through the experience. My mother is in relatively good health and remains active. I still have a job. My first collection of poetry was finally published in October. I did a lot of decluttering around the house throughout the year and realized that I had a lot more room than I thought and it's so much easier to find things. I made some new friends I hope are around for a long time. I regained some faith in our government during Obama's first year. I learned to let a lot of crap go at work by just not caring anymore (though I did have a melt down a couple of weeks ago, which seems to have set a lot of stuff in motion that should have been addressed a year ago, so maybe that was probably a good thing. Maybe).

With less than three hours left in 2009, what do I resolve for 2010? To keep my house and life clear of stuff I don't need. To continue to love and care for my three parrots. Save at least a little money. Write more. Spend more time with people who love me.

I think I've made God laugh enough this year.

Charli's Foraging Box

This Charli's favorite foraging toy . . . well, at least for today. It's a small bird-safe cardboard box that has a tiny piece of chewable wood inside that prevents the lid from opening all the way. It opens just enough for me to put treats in and that she can see they're inside. The rest is up to her. As you can see, she does her best. I just love her face when she finally chews it up enough to get to the almonds and Power Treats.

Sometimes, as in this video, cardboard boxes need to be relocated.

I was up late last night, which was okay because I figured I could sleep late Saturday morning. Except, of course, that I forgot that Nicholas does not believe any creature should sleep once the first molecule of sunlight appears.

So, in response to continual chirping and calling and demands to get the cage covers off, I drug myself out of bed and took off the cage covers. Congratulated everyone on being all nice and awake. I watched the Bobbsey Twins scamper around their cage, then Flash decided it would be a good time to masturbate. Which he did, while Nicholas tried to preen him. Flash likes to hold onto one of Nicholas's toys, a long rubbery bright pink spiraly thing, when he masturbates -- only it frequently slips out of his foot so he has to stop, grab the toy, readjust himself, and start over.

This proves that no life is without its complications.

Then I opened the blinds to see 2 finches and 2 female Cardinals at the bird feeder, and a never-before-seen-by-me bird at the suet cake. It had vivid sharp stripes of black and white, the tip of its head had a splash of red, and its breast was gray.

(Sidebar: If you aren't already a member of Cornell's Project Feeder Watch, do give it some thought. People all over the US note the birds at their feeders on specific days, which provides lots of data on migration patterns, numbers of birds, and other scientific stuff. Costs $15 a year and is fun to do. It runs from mid-November to April, but you only have to pick out a two-week period that's convenient for you. Here's the link. And no, they don't fuss at you if you forget.)

Back to my post -- The bird feeder swings in the air, and as I watched, several more birds flew down to feast. Except this was not acceptable to the birds already there, so there ensued a no-nonsense air battle whereupon everyone flew away.

I guess the birds could see my reflection in the window because they wouldn't stay around long enough for me to get group pictures or do a mini movie. This picture was taken through the screen and glass, and you can't see it but the feeder hangs from a tree branch.

Sugar Franklin always loved watching this view -- there are always seeds on the ground for the ground feeders and I use safflower seed in the feeder because the bigger birds (crows, starlings) aren't interested in safflower seeds. To the left of the neighbor's house and the feeder you can see part of the neighbor's back yard and out over into the street. She always had something interesting to keep track of when her slave wasn't home to provide scritches and treats.

I am most assuredly getting better. It's still strange to speak of her in the past tense, but I can speak of her now without bursting into tears and that's a sure sign of improvement.

Well, it's Saturday and I have a long, long list of things to get done today. God knows my parrots won't help with any of it . . . .

ashes to ashes

It's been almost three weeks since Sugar Franklin died. I finally cleared out the cart her cage sat on, cleaned her cage, and put them both out in the little storage building. The suddenly cleared space seems enormous now and I'm still getting used to it. There doesn't seem to be anything I can put in that place -- not the play stand, not a chair, nothing seems to fit.

When I come home I still catch myself looking for her. The other birds are sometimes glad to see me, sometimes not. But Sugar Franklin always ran back and forth, back and forth, in excitement to see me and hoping I'd bring her out first.

I'm also slowly remembering to only get out two food dishes instead of three. I've noticed that it seems to take a lot less time to feed my three remaining birds and that there is more time to pay them individual attention. I hadn't been aware of how much time and attention I'd given her.

Nicholas seemed to miss her the most at first. For several days he kept giving me alarm calls; when I would check on him he would turn his head and lean his little body toward her empty cage. They all seem now accustomed to her absence.

My plan, when receiving Sugar Franklin's ashes, was to put some into a pendant I could wear whenever I missed her too much. The rest I would bury under the tree where the bird feeder stands. I bought a wind flower ornament (www.intothewind.com) with bright colors that spin in the wind to mark her grave, but later I decided it might startle the wild birds.

When I hired two guys to do some end-of-summer yard work, I had one of them dig a small deep hole for her grave. Later I looked at the pile of dirt and simply couldn't bear to think of her ashes in that cold, wet dark place.

Then I considered just holding the ashes in my palm and letting the wind take them. After all, she was a bird, a creature of the wind. But Sugar Franklin didn't fly all that much, and I was always so afraid I might forget she was on my shoulder and go outside and lose her.

What it came down to, I finally realized, was that she belongs here at home with me. So I ordered a small container for the rest of her ashes, which I will put away someplace safe out of the sight of visitors.

Only ashes, I know, but as someone told me last week, everyone's grief is their own, and I won't apologize for whatever form of insanity her loss has brought me.

My Little Yellow Bird

June 11, 1998
September 29, 2009

Thank you for all of the joy, and for making these past eleven years the very best of my life.