Humm on Monday

It's just a Monday.
You've done thousands of Mondays.
Approximately two thousand four hundred and ninety nine Mondays.
Pretty sure you can do this one too.
Find a smile.
Count your blessings.
Humm along to something snappy on the radio.
Put one foot in front of the other.
Get going.
Scoot.
Go.

Rites of Spring

What you do for Spring:

- Make unrealistic lists of house projects that need to be done before summer. Realize they are unrealistic and rearrange the furniture and wash the windows instead.
- Cut a lot of your hair off for a new, lighter, summery look and deeply regret it 6 hours later.
- Also deeply regret all the Ben & Jerry's and Netflix that happened in February. Cross "get a new bathing suit" off your list and tell yourself the beach is not all that.
- Contemplate most current relationship failure. Take very little responsibility for failure, consider match.com for 5 minutes. Watch dog videos instead.
- Spend your grocery money on Swedish clogs that are going to make your legs look long and lean despite the ice cream thing that happened in February. Love the clogs, the legs, eh, buy new flowy pants instead.
- Look at Pinterest gardening pages that offer suggestions for a border that will deter the 2 dozen new hoodlum bunnies in your backyard from eating your spring peas without hurting their feelings. Accept that there are no aesthetically pleasing fencing options and offer the peas to the bunnies as a sign of peace.

What I do for Spring

- Show up and look pretty.

Food for Hummers. For Nana, again.

Nana didn’t have to defend us from the cat like she did those slow poke Chickadees. Not saying we didn’t enjoy watching her take a broom to Sylvester the Cat. We did. Very much. “Less hunting, more swatting with the broom.” That was our rallying cry for Parrish Lane. Oh and, more sugar please.

Hidden Nest

Keep looking.

Go ahead, look all day long.

Then look some more.

You’re never going to find my nest.

Art in The Park

I don't sit still for much. Quick bath. Quick trip to the feeder for some sugar. I just can't keep still. The one person I can sit still for is Art. He sits on the same bench at the same time every single day that it's not raining and has coffee and a muffin. He talks out loud to no one. I'm here listening. Hiding in the thick of this Azalea shrub. Listening to everything.
For 45 years he has lived in this neighborhood. He used to have an act. He was a better dancer than a singer but was good enough to keep the show going for 30 years. He made most of his earnings betting at the race track. He knew when to stop for the day. That was the key to all his winnings, knowing when to walk away. The first year he started with the horses he was 22 years old and made 22,000 dollars. He never leaves the city. Why would he? Everything he needs is right here on the Upper East Side.
Today he told no one except me listening from the bushes to stop eating romaine lettuce and use more hand sanitizer. On your hands, not the lettuce. Just throw the lettuce away.
He's getting up. Slowly. Reaching for his cane. Buttoning his coat. It 10:45 and it will take him 15 minutes to walk the few steps back to his apartment. He needs to be home at 11:00 for The Price is Right. Game on. Until tomorrow Art, game on.

Bird Feeder Bully

I won't say his name out loud. Saying it out loud only makes him squawk louder, push his way thru the flock to gobble up all the sunflower seeds, fluff his chest feathers and peck at my head. So rude. Such a bully. He who shall not be named reminds me of one of your kind. I'll give you a hint who: Sometimes his tweets come out of the wrong end. Rhymes with rump.
Affectionately,
The Chickadee

Choices

Today is April 19th and it's snowing. I'm cold and i'm trying not to regret my choice to be here.

I had other choices. Sunnier choices. Warmer choices. But I came back to South Street. I like your yard. You're usually pretty good about keeping the bird feeders full. The cats stay inside and don't try to kill me. All this gray tho? It's hard to keep my head up. Thank goodness we have each other. At the end of the day, I suppose there is no other place i'd rather be than here, bundled up and waiting for the sun to shine with you. 

Unusual Friends (part 2)

Something about you feels familiar. I think it's your eyes.

They smile when you look at me.
If I had arms, I would enjoy giving you a hug.
Are you sure we haven’t met before?

Honesty

girl to girl

honestly

tell me

does my butt look big when I bend over like this?

Unusual Friends

Somedays, you never you who you are going to sit next to.

If you do get to pick, pick kind.

Pick someone you can lean your head on and laugh with.

Pick someone so different you might learn a thing or two.

Pick someone you don't want to snack on. 

Indoor Resident

Dear Indoor Resident,
Seriously? Every time you say my name you're going to giggle? Greatly appreciated if you could conduct yourself more like an adult.
Affectionately,
The Tufted Titmouse

Smart Guy

It's me. The Crow. The smart one the Seagull from Walmart was talking about yesterday.

You know that feeling you get every garbage day when i'm sitting defiantly on the lid of your can? That feeling that i'm watching watching your every move and the neighborhood crow crew is cawing back and forth talking about you. Little secret...we are. My advice? Sleep with one eye open.

The Walmart Seagull

No, I'm not confused. I didn't land here in the Walmart parking lot thinking it was a lake. Give me a little credit. I'm no crow but I'm not a complete moron either. Annoying, yes. Mistaking asphalt for water, umm, no.
At the beach, I have to perform this olympic level swoop down, scare the pants off a kid, and snatch technique for ONE cheese doodle. Here, toddlers leave this store throwing fits and food like you have never seen. It's an all day buffet of goldfish crackers and anything thing else their parents tried to bribe them with for silence.
I snack and snack and snack. Then I work on my poo bomb dropping skills.
Duck and dodge shoppers.
Duck and dodge.
This here is the American Dream.

Welcome Home

After work, getting inside the house doesn't seem so easy for you. They're all right there at the back door. 2 cats, 1 dog, 1 kid. The cats pace. Meow meow meow. It seems like they conspired on this all day. "You run between her legs, to the right, I'll lay in front of her, the dogs jumps, she trips, bam, she's down. Take the can of cat food and run." Why are they trying to kill you? None of those fools can open that can without you.
The dog jumps up to give you a hug. He needs to pee. Bad. Go quickly before he pees on your feet .
That beautiful, sweetish kid wants to talk about her day and you want to hear her. Take a deep breath. Take the dog out. Hug the kid. Put your slippers on. Feed the cats. Hug the kid again.
Throwing a worm in a nest? It is so easy. Welcome home.

Eye Spy

I spy

With my own little bird eye
Someone washing the dishes

Who desperately wishes
Time would slow down for a tad

You look stark raving mad

Feeling so sad

Virginia is just down the road

Count your blessings that time hasn't slowed

Spring Cleaning

Thud

Oh crud

I'm covered in mud

What the heck was that?

I'm being laughed at by the cat

Who watches from the window ledge

As I stumble away from the overgrown hedge

I can't believe I fell

I think you cleaned those windows a little too well

For Nana

Every time you see me your thoughts drift to years past. 

Big holidays. 

Walks in the woods.

Hot pink. 

Cold celery and carrot sticks. 

Scrap paper and crayons in the hall closet. 

The way she sometimes smelled like white wine and crisp apples. 

"Oh, look at those darling little Chickadees at the feeder" she would say. 

"Look at those darling Chickadees at the feeder" you say.

No one hears you but me. And maybe Nana. 

Early Riser

Banging on the bedroom window?

A little dramatic, don't you think?

A few weeks ago, when I was building
a nest next to your bedroom window, 

you thought it was adorable. 

I can't control it.
I wake up with so gratitude.
I need to sing. 

Praise to you almighty God.

Thank you thank you thank you, 

for the air I breath and this healthy body,

for my friends and family,

for these gorgeous wings and gift of flight.

Tweet

Tweet

Tweet

Tweet

Tweet

Me: Burn in hell songbird. It's still dark. Go back to sleep.

Wings

Give your children wings to fly. Why do you say that? They aren't birds. Give them feet to walk out the door and a gas card.
Leave the flying bit to us.

Hoot

It's a game we play

Just you and I

In the dark

I hoot

You look

I hide

I hoot

You look

I hide

You give up and go inside

I kill a mouse and leave it on your doorstep

You blame the cat

I win

#the100dayproject #100birdstelling100littlestories #day4

Feet

Five things these twiggy little feet have never done:

Worn socks.

Had a pedicure.

Played kickball.

Danced the Hokey Pokey.

The morning after walk of shame.

Big Mama

Big Mama

This morning, when I was at the bird feeder and the suction cups fell off the window and everything fell to the ground, you called me a fatso mama bird. That hurt. You think it’s easy or slimming to have a belly full of robin eggs? I don’t mock you when you limp around the yard in your sweatpants. Or do I? #the100dayproject #100birdstelling100littlestories #day2

#The100DayProject

Day 1.
I'm doing this thing. This #The100DayProject thing. In the past, if I signed up to do anything for 100 days i'm usually good for ohhhh like maybe 6 days. But recently, I did a 40 day Satnam Meditation and I did all 40 days. Without whining. Without finding something else to do like look at dog videos on Instagram. I'm inspired to challenge myself with something else. So, i'm going for it with the 100 day project. (yes, i'm still doing the meditation, i'm on a roll) It should take me 10 minutes a day. I waste that much time in the evenings catching up on the foolish things Donald Trump has done while I was at work. I'm going to stop doing that and do this instead.
My project is: 100 Birds Telling 100 Little Stories. The sketch or doodle shouldn't take more than 90 seconds. The words, a couple minutes. Hashtag. Post. Done.
www.the100dayproject.org


The Berry Man

A net is thrown over the berries that he sells from his front yard.
He sits in a nylon lawn chair behind a card table with the containers of berries in a neat row.
I could have eaten them if it wasn't for the net.
It feels cruel to booby trap the highlight of my summer snacking.

He takes a break and walks one block to the statue of Mary behind the Saint Francis rectory.
He bows his head, places a hand on the cold statue.
His rosary beads hang down and sway around her hands.
Lips move.
He prays.
I watch from the roof.
I watch from the tree branch.
I follow him home.
The berries, still covered, are out of my reach.
I shit on his car.