Saturday, August 20, 2016
I posted this on the Moderation Management Facebook page yesterday and some smartass ;) wrote back and said, "If you were this, waiting for a sign is it???" Okay, maybe they weren't being a smartass, maybe they have one of those brains that can't see the number in a square of dots or their brain sees the green light on a stoplight as red and vice versa. Good thing, they have people like me to spell it out for them.
"No Dumbass! Read the left side of the sign first (btw, I typed in "right side of the sign first" first.) and when you think the stoplight is green it's really red so don't GO for Chrissakes! You think, you'd learn after your kajillionth total body crunch! (medical term for, "Uh-oh, you're totally fucked up.)"
Now on to today's featured post.
I live in one of those 70's A-frame cabins, the ones that as a kid we used to see strung along the highways in Colorado and New Mexico next to signs that said, "Build your dream cabin in a weekend." It is not a modified A-frame that actually allows for some straight up and down walls to which you can back up furniture flush with the wall, this one starts its A slant from the ground up leaving about 1000 sq. feet of living and breathing space in a home that measure 1800 sq feet of floor space.
Our cabin has that standard gargantuan triangle window nestled in the peak of the A from which you usually have tremendous views, unless it's our window.
You see, the cap'n and I are both afraid of heights and in the ten years we've lived here we've only worked our nerve up one time to wash it. We were both drinking back then so I have a feeling Jack Daniels had something to do with the abundance of nerve. We probably fought over the ladder after a couple of courageous pours.
Since one of us sobered up (me) the grime on the window has gone un-threatened.
We have the same conversation at the beginning of every summer.
Me: "I'm going to call someone to come wash that window."
The cap'n:"No, don't. I'm going to replace it this summer with a triple pane."
The grime folds its arms across its hairy chest and mocks me the rest of the summer.
Over the years, the occasional bird has flown into the window and knocked itself silly, tumbling down to our deck where it sits for a few minutes trying to get its wits about it and then it flies off all wobbly and unsure, probably wondering if it would be a good idea to give up flying altogether.
This summer, though, the birds have been signing up for kamikaze missions at an alarming rate. Almost hourly I hear their little bird-brained noggins hit the glass and I look up just in time to see them spiral down to the deck.
I guess our window has built up enough dirt that it has become like the silvering on the back of a mirror. When the bird flies up there, he sees another bird who looks a lot like him flitting around and a bunch of trees with a whole 'nother set of feeders full of corn right behind the mirror image of him. So he goes for it.
Now I'm not totally sure how bird brains work. Do they retain memories other than where my feeders are located? Are there a bunch of other birds squawking from their little spindles on the feeders, "Dude, don't go up there, it's just a mirage. Get your ass back down here where the real stuff is."
If birds could read and I wasn't sober, I'd grab a ladder and climb up there and tape up a big sign,
"Danger! Objects in the mirror appear larger than life. They are not real! Listen to what the other birds are telling you! Fly the other way!"
Day before yesterday I watched as a little yellow breasted wren performed it's death spiral down to my deck. I went out, it was just laying there, its little wings tucked in close, its little eyes like those X's you see on dead cartoon characters. I looked for a tiny heartbeat. I ran my finger along the edge of its wing. But there was nothing.
I picked it up and took it to the bridge over our stream and let it go.
I'm sure you can get the moral of this story without me having to spell it out.
No, it's not that I need to clean the window, even though that's also true.
P.S. In my family, "Smartass" and "Dumbass" are terms of endearment. We're all immature second grade boys and girls out on the playground at recess, if we call you names, it means we really like you.