Dad and the Battle of the Birds

I talked to Dad yesterday, and it seems he's doing battle with a bunch of birds. The prime real estate at the center of this heated turf war is his cherry tree. Says he, "In all the years I've had that cherry tree, I've never tasted even one ripe cherry. I manage to eat a few when they're starting to get ripe, but those blasted birds eat 'em ALL before they ever get really ripe!" He's been wracking his brain (his own words) trying to figure out some way to keep the birds off the tree. Rest assured he already tried the old fake owl in the tree trick, and the shiny aluminum pans years ago. Child's play. So he recounted to me the war that he's been waging for the last several days.

The first day, he found an old battery operated radio, tuned it to a rock station, turned it up loud and climbed up into the tree where he hung it on a branch. (Did I mention that my father is 87? Yup.) Dad said, "I figured if that rock music wouldn't keep em away, nothing would." By now you're correctly guessing that Dad hates rock music and assumes any of God's creature would certainly find it equally detestable. So anyway, then he went inside and watched from the kitchen window to see what would happen. And there they were, about four robins, way down the other end of the yard. This is how he tells it: "Well, they started out just walking around over there, kinda hands-in-their-pockets like, and pretty soon they start walking a little closer to the tree. So they walk around awhile longer, then sure enough, they start getting a little closer. Next thing you know, they're up in that tree! That rock music didn't bother them a bit." Of course I pointed out to him that it might have worked if they had been any kind of bird other than robins. I said, "Haven't you ever heard the song Rockin' Robin? Robins like rock music." Well he hadn't ever heard of the song Rockin Robin. (Did I mention he's 87?) So my joke was lost on him.

So the next day Dad had another idea. He took his old box window fan, (the really old kind that weighs about 20 pounds), plugged it into a good long extension cord, tied something to it so it made a lot of noise when the blades turned, and again, climbed up into the tree and stuck it in the branches. (I did mention that my father is 87.) Once again, he went back inside and watched from the window. Same story. Same four robins, just like before, walking around the far end of the yard, then a little closer, then a little closer, and next thing you know. In the tree again. Damn.

Well then yesterday, he figured he'd take a different tack. He decided to climb up into the tree and wrap some netting around three good branches, and let the birds have the rest of the tree. He figures maybe they'll have enough to eat, and they won't try and get into those three branches he saved for himself, and he thinks that ought to give him plenty of cherries. He says, "I sure would like to eat some ripe cherries from that tree sometime before I kick off."

I can't wait to find out how that works out for him. I just wish he'd stop climbing up into that tree.

Awesome, Dude

I fear that our best, really powerful words are being misused so much, they're becoming meaningless. We sprinkle our conversation with superlatives such as "awesome" and "amazing" like too much salt, until everthing tastes the same. To my way of thinking, the majestic Rocky Mountains are awesome. A space shuttle lifting off into the blue is awesome. And "amazing"? Amazing is when a magician makes an elephant disappear. Amazing is when God forgives us each and every time we make mistakes, and never stops loving us. Your tattooed boyfriend who calls everyone "Dude" is not amazing. I hear it all the time. "Oh Justin? He's amazing." So what's my point? I don't know, I just feel like we're losing the power of language. Myself included. Okay, I'm older, so instead of "awesome", it's "cool". I admit it. So today, I'm going to try and do better.

College Daze

One Friday night, sometime in the early 70's, my two college roommates and I shouldered our way into our favorite crowded dance club. It was packed. Over the thumping of the impossibly loud music and the roar of conversation I yelled to Diane, "Wow, it's standing room only!" She yelled back, "Who's Stanley Ramoni?"
Whenever we get together, we still talk about that. It was one of our many funny moments. That's how my memories of college, and the 70's in general, are - just moments. Brain snapshots all jumbled up in my head like photos tossed into a shoebox. I don't remember when things happened, or in what order. In fact, there are lots of things I don't remember at ALL. Same with my two roomies. One of us will launch into a "remember when we..." story, and inevitably one or both of the others will say, "I don't have have any memory of that whatsoever." We all remember bits and pieces of our college experience, not necessarily the same ones. And because we all have this Swiss cheese picture of "back then", none of us are offended when the others don't remember. Linda recently mentioned the time she visited me during my music camp summer. I said, "You came to visit me there? I don't have any memory of that whatsoever." And she cheerfully, almost joyfully said, "It's okay! See? None of us has to feel bad!" She, in turn did not remember when...never mind. I can't tell that one. Not while any of our parents are still alive anyway.
I guess the most surprising thing is that after 35 years, we still get together. We still laugh and have a ball like old times. But when I look at a photo someone took of us recently, I think, "Who are those old broads?" Because in my mind, when I think of the three of us, I still see these cocky college kids in haltar tops, blue work shirts and bell bottoms, swilling beer and playing Cardinal Puff in the college pub. (Lucky us, the drinking age was 18 then.) Diane is now a Red Hat Lady. How can that be?
It's not that I can't believe how much time has passed. I lived through every minute of it. It's just fascinating, I guess, to see us now and yet remember so vividly being the kids we were. Mostly I'm so glad we're still friends. Telling old tales, some of which we all wish we COUDN'T remember, is only part of our friendship. We've all brought the best of who we were to our current adult lives, and thankfully we've shed the worst of our embarrassing youth. We survived the 70's. It all gets good from here.

Dear God, Thank You for old friends who share memories good and bad, and love me still.

And So I Begin

I’m a woman, 54 years old.
That says more about me than you might think at first. It means I went to high school in the 60’s, when girls still weren’t allowed to wear pants to school. When we all had our ears pressed to the radio trying to decipher the so-called dirty lyrics to “Louie Louie”. When our marching band was playing movie themes like “West Side Story“, and “The Longest Day”. It means I went to college in the ‘70’s when guys I knew were living on one banana a day trying to lose enough weight to be ineligible for the draft when they flunked out. When books like “I’m OK You’re OK”, and “The Sensuous Woman” had us convinced that virtually anything you could think of to do was “OK“. And when you entered the local dance club, the black lights were so intense, all you could see were people’s teeth, and the occasional white bra glowing through a loose knit sweater. It means I matured through the 80’s, when “coke” stopped meaning “Coke”, and shoulder pads grew to NFL proportions. It means that the ’90s seem like just a few minutes ago.
More than anything, it means I’m planted smack dab in the middle of the Baby Boomer generation. Where 50 is the new 30. Or something like that. It’s a funny place to be. Just today my husband and I were riding in the car, listening to the oldies station, bopping our heads to “Walk This Way” like the opening scene of “That ’70’s Show”, guitars screaming, bass whomping, and us just groovin’. And it occurred to me that the people in cars going by must see Mr. and Mrs. Cleaver going nuts like teenagers. This is an odd time of life - still perfectly capable of feelin’ groovy, just don’t look in the mirror.
A few years back I had the idea to write a series of articles poking fun at geezers. Now I think, “what’s so funny?”
But I’m enjoying being my age. I’m not so self conscious. I’m not so consumed with comparing myself to everyone else. I have a different perspective on life, a different vantage point from which to observe the world. Sometimes things strike me funny. Sometimes they just strike me. And so begins my journey into blog land. I’ll think of stuff and write it down, and maybe someone else will read it and think, “I know what you mean.” Or, “I never thought of that.”
Thanks for being here. Oh, here’s something I ran across that I really like. I don’t know where it originally came from, but it’s written on a sign on the wall of Mother Teresa’s children’s home in Calcutta:

"ANYWAY"

People are unreasonable, illogical, and self-centered,
LOVE THEM ANYWAY
If you do good, people will accuse you of
selfish, ulterior motives,
DO GOOD ANYWAY
If you are successful,
you win false friends and true enemies,
SUCCEED ANYWAY
The good you do will be forgotten tomorrow,
DO GOOD ANYWAY
Honesty and frankness make you vulnerable,
BE HONEST AND FRANK ANYWAY
What you spent years building may be
destroyed overnight,
BUILD ANYWAY
People really need help
but may attack you if you help them,
HELP PEOPLE ANYWAY
Give the world the best you have
and you'll get kicked in the teeth,
GIVE THE WORLD THE BEST YOU'VE GOT ANYWAY.