Tag: humor

The Disrupted Nest

Once upon a time there was this little bird who loved her nest. She loved being in her nest with her mate and her hatchlings. Of course, her hatchlings quickly grew to be big birds themselves and they started leaving the nest more and more. One hatchling grew up to be his own bird and left the nest and created his own nest, in a tree, far away, of his own liking. The bird family still flew to see each other, though. They were chatty birds, who liked each other’s company.

This story isn’t about hatchlings leaving the nest, though. This is about the time when the little bird’s nest was completely disrupted and the poor little bird thought that she would go cuckoo or even batty. Though a bit flighty, this little bird wasn’t a natural cuckoo, and bats, obviously, are a whole different species, but this little bird found that she was really starting to empathize with cuckoos and those beings sometimes described as batsh*t-crazy. You see, the disruption in her nest felt like it would never end and it was turning her into a whole different animal as much as she tried to stay pleasant and chirpy.

It all started when the little bird and her mate for life, decided that their nest was in serious need of some new straw. They found some birds who were particularly good at nest renovation and they agreed to give lots and lots (and lots) of seed to these birds, in exchange for some fresh straw. When it was time to take out the old straw and bring in the new straw, the expert new straw birds arrived and hung out with the little bird all day long, every day, for months and months. The poor little bird tried to stay positive and she could see that the new straw would soon look very nice, when she looked past all of the old straw, and dust feathers lying all around the nest. She tried not to pluck out the feathers in her chest, in distress, but she found it hard to resist sometimes. She tended to get a little “pecky” with her mate and nestlings who still lived in the nest with her, when they came home to the nest in the evenings.

This little bird was an old bird who had been around the flock for a while. She had even been through previous nest renovations in earlier times in her little birdy life. She knew that the process of the rebuilding of a nest would be annoying and disruptive. The little bird knew some calming yoga poses like standing on one leg that helped her get into balance. (a lot of birds stand on one leg). Still sometimes she felt pushed to the edge of her nest . . . and her sanity.

This story doesn’t have any ending yet, but the nest is progressing a lot and I suspect there is going to be a happy, calming ending for the little bird and her mate. I suspect that they are really going to appreciate the changes and updates to their nest, to the point that they will soon forget about all of the upheaval and disruption that this renovation has caused. And I suspect a few years down the road (maybe give it a decade), they will have conveniently forgotten how stressful it was to have their nest torn apart and displaced (they have little tiny bird brains that aren’t known for good memories – see elephants, for good memorization skills). Then, the little birds again, will get a wild hair (or a wild feather, in their case) and decide to yet again, exchange piles and piles of seed for an updated nest. That’s just how birds work.

Happy Reunion

Watching Game of Thrones last night was like going to a big, happy reunion, getting reacquainted with a bunch of people from your past. (In the case of Game of Thrones, there was also a major feeling of relief – oh, yay, Jorah, Theon, Gendry – that’s right! You are still alive! Hooray!) Reunions, when you haven’t seen familiar people in a long, long time, are always joyful. You find that you are even happy to see the “less than savory” characters, because of the familiarity of your shared history. There’s been enough time and distance to soften the level of annoyance that person brought to your life and if you are honest, the annoyance that you may have brought to their life, as well.

Our two youngest children sat down with us to watch the start of the final season of Game of Thrones. They are not the GOT addicts that their parents are, so they had only seen a sprinkling of episodes. Other than what they heard anecdotally from us and their friends, they had no idea what was going on.

“You can watch with us but you can’t talk and ask questions while the show is on. Understood?” was my very serious proclamation before the show began and while HBO was ceremoniously teasing us with a countdown to the beginning of the final season.

Of course, throughout the show, I made several lively comments, as I joyfully recounted the history of the various characters to my children. They looked at each other knowingly, but dutifully kept quiet throughout the viewing of the episode. I must have used the word “remember” 18,000 times to my husband, as an old familiar face would pop up on the screen and we would try to recount what had happened to that particular character throughout the history of the Game of Thrones TV extravaganza. My only disappointment was, just like the weekend, the show was over way, way too fast. I had to check the clock to really be sure that we got our full hour’s worth.

“I was eating in a Chinese restaurant downtown. There was a dish called Mother and Child Reunion. It’s chicken and eggs. And I said, “I gotta use that one.” – Paul Simon

“Every parting gives a foretaste of death, every reunion a hint of the resurrection.” – Arthur Schopenhauer

Smack Dab in the Middle

We are at the halfway point of our home renovation project. We are at the crescendo point, where every bit of fatigue and frustration with the whole thing is meeting at a head and ready to explode. There is no turning back. You can only keep your eye on the prize – the end result. It’s like being halfway through earning an advanced degree or being halfway through a pregnancy. It’s like being a little over 13 miles on marathon day. It’s like Christmas break for seniors in high school. The end is not close enough in sight, for real hope or for that last, exciting burst of energy. But the beginning is far enough away, that there is no turning back.

Yesterday, the swirling ball of frustration and the “Will this ever end?” drama cloaked me in a gray cloud of doom. I feel sorry for anyone who had contact with me yesterday. Please accept my apologies. I am just getting a little tired of sharing a powder room with my daughter and having half of my bedroom being encased in a plastic tent. I keep peeking through the plastic, half expecting to see scientists working on E.T. or for Walter White from Breaking Bad to be cooking up some meth in what used to be my ridiculously ugly, yet intact and usable 1980s bathroom. But all I see now are bare naked walls and a project that feels like it is moving at a snail’s pace – a snail who is taking a nap.

I have been through long renovations before in other homes that we have owned. I thought that I had prepared myself and set my expectations correctly. But just like any long, arduous, expensive project one decides to partake on, you can never fully be prepared. It is best to just keep a stiff upper lip and carry out the old British adage, “Keep Calm and Carry On.” Of course, one of my favorite coffee cups has the American version of this adage printed on it: “Now Panic and Freak Out.” I’m an American.

There Are Two Sides of the Brain

As I’ve mentioned, we have some bathroom/laundry renovations going on at our home right now. A very nice young man is supervising the project and he seems to be doing a lot of the woodwork, many times solo. When the project first started and there were a few men here, I heard the soft sounds of country music in the background. However, as it became time for the woodwork and it was solo time for the young man, I didn’t hear any music being played. I heard a woman speaking with a prim, crisp British accent. Curious, as I am a naturally curious person, I found myself wandering over to the corner of the house where they are working, under the guise of offering refreshments, honestly, to see what the woman’s voice was all about.

From what I could tell, it became obvious to me that the young man was listening to recorded books as he did the work on our house. I was so admittedly, pleasantly surprised. I have three “young men” sons myself, and honestly, I think that they would be listening to rap music (or sometimes zany podcasts), if they were in this young man’s shoes. It was also a self-awareness moment for me. I already had preconceived notions of what young men listen to, what they are interested in and maybe even a little bit of “if you are a tactile person with talents like woodworking, you aren’t a cerebral person who likes books.” Damn, this self-awareness movement has me looking at myself in a whole new light and sometimes, it ain’t pretty!

Here’s the best part. The curious part of me who doesn’t have a great filter, couldn’t leave it at that – I had to know for sure that he was listening to recorded books, I was curious about what book he was listening to and I was little disconcerted that he sometimes goes outside to cut wood and the English woman reading the book is still prattling on. Doesn’t he get confused and miss some of the good parts? Maybe he just gets lonely and likes to hear a voice in the background as he works?!?

So, one morning, while I probably hadn’t even pulled a comb through my hair yet (think bedhead), I just couldn’t help myself.

“Excuse me, I have a personal question for you . . . ” I said.

At this juncture, the young woodworker looked up at me in horror. Reflecting back, I wonder if he was thinking, “Oh gross! Another desperate, middle-aged housewife!” He had a very concerned, guarded look on his face. In retrospect, the curious part of me wonders if the renovation company trains these young woodworkers and plumbers on how to stave off advances (kind of like they do for young NBA players). It’s quite possible.

“Are you listening to recorded books while you work?” I asked quickly and furtively.

The young man still looked a little disturbed but relieved at the same time. This started a conversation between us about what book he was currently listening to and what his favorite genre of reading is (sci-fi/fantasy). It turns out that he is listening to Game of Thrones. I love the TV series of Game of Thrones, but he told me that they leave so much out in the TV remake and as always, the books are so much better. As for being concerned about missing sections, he told me that he has already read a lot of the books (over 700 pages each) and he has seen the show, so he can fill in a lot of the dots, when he misses a few pages being read. We, as two lovers of literature, had a really great conversation before he reminded me that he had to get back to work.

“The reality of life is that your perceptions – right or wrong – influence everything else you do. When you get a proper perspective of your perceptions, you may be surprised how many other things fall into place.” Roger Birkman

I am so grateful that my curiosity usually overtakes my perceptions! I learn about life and those who live it, that way. And often reality is a hell of a lot more interesting than my perception of it. Isn’t that grand?