Photos by Keith R. Good, who attracts and cares for our birds
IF YOU FEED THEM, THEY WILL COME
Aging comes with what seems almost an expectation: Bird beguilement. But my own love of birds began in junior high on Audubon Lane, where pheasants favored our backyard. And though those days have long passed, I can still enjoy the crimson male cardinal singing to his autumn-color lifelong partner. Our bluejays, if not for being common, would be coveted. I’m captivated by the bold ladderback and bright red splash on the red belly woodpecker. The soft sorrowing song of mourning doves does not sadden me in the least. It makes me smile. I giggle at the quirky little honk of the nuthatch as he darts up and down our trees. I find the cheerful little black-capped chickadee entirely enchanting. Goldfinches, bright as lemons, titter as they sail the air as though on waves. When we hear the intricate trill of tiny wrens, we know spring has entered. Orange orioles take our breath away with their arrival. And, of course, the minute emerald body and ruby throat of the hummer is electrifying. These and countless more captivate and delight us. They make our home, home.
Doing what we can to attract the vocalists that color our yard.
The chair Mom rocked me in when I was a baby, and when I wasn’t ready for her to stop.
The chair from which Grandma would flash that playful grin at me, holding out the adorable ceramic kitten she would let me hold, as long as I was in her lap. (That kitten is now mine.)
Decorative pillows Deanna brought home from Nepal for me that now enjoy both my mom’s and my grandma’s touch.
The Tiffany-style lamp Dad turned from gas to electric, and that now throws rainbows across my floor and onto my walls
and that sits atop the chess table he made and the box that holds the wooden chess pieces.
The African violets started by my father-in-law. They received the best upbringing, as he stroked and spoke to them.
Large windows that let in sun’s cheer, even as the scenes change outside them. Visitors that grace those scenes …
colorful, talkative birds; various kinds of squirrels; chipmunks; deer; delivery trucks that had halted during the pandemic;
moms and dads and grandparents pushing strollers or walking dogs; children riding bikes; the love of my life cleaning the gutters before tonight’s expected storm.
you were a child, afraid of trying something new balking at the color texture odor
untrusting of where it came from afraid it might hurt you even though some you know and even trust happily partook regularly and encouraged you just try it.
Remember when you thought about a sample just a tiny one and thought perhaps it might not be as risky as you feared and in fact maybe it might be tolerable.
Remember when you matured enough to actually test those waters and found them to be okay and maybe even appealing and maybe even begged another try and then you discovered you loved it and that you even felt better when you had it as a regular maybe even daily part of your sustenance and did everything you could to make sure it was right here where it could fill you up.
Some of the most physically gorgeous sincere generous intelligent strongest kindest women I know — women I have the privilege of loving and being loved by —
scream.
Not with their voices
but with their color covering accent mother tongue.
They scream, Foreigner! Criminal! Unsafe! Unwelcome!
The beautiful truths in their hearts are misperceived. They are viewed as ugly lies in the eyes of the listeners who hear only what they are told to hear.
If only you knew them. If only you were willing to spend time communicating communing sharing food exchanging smiles searching their eyes tracing their hearts experiencing their generosity,
your hate and fear would shut up shut down.
Your heart and home would open expand make way.
You would hear not screams, but intelligent ideas endearing emotions liberal benevolence soothing sentiments
and you would do anything in your power to protect their lives and their hearts, and protect your relationship with them.
Teaching ESL (English as a Second Language) to Possible U.S. (United States) Citizens
We are too different to unite. I will never be convinced Integration is possible. I see Insurmountable hurdles. Listen: Don’t be fooled into thinking these are U.S. citizens in the making
This is true. Last Thursday, this lovely refugee soul entered my class, an absolute vision in purple. Due to recent surgery from a retina tear and detachment, as well as detached macula, I cannot see from my right eye. She hugged me, and then used her translator app to speak this most sincere, generous sentiment. I couldn’t hold back tears. Amazing heart.
Mondays On Mondays we enjoy a meal with family, and it’s ideal – even when the food ain’t great that sits there smirking on our plate. The love we share is the appeal.
Tuesdays Tuesday mornings I’m content immersed in weekly blessed event of breakfast with each granddaughter. Our one-on-one constructs a cotter, bonding hearts in time well spent.
Thursdays My school-year Thursdays are the chance to teach my heart the steps to dance with women I would not have known, and through whose cultures I have grown. Their love is huge. My life, enhanced.
Fridays Each final Friday, there’s a date for cousin’s lunch, and I can’t wait. We’ll keep it up year after year, won’t let whatever interfere. It keeps us bonded, and that’s great!
Saturdays Any college football day tends to chase my blues away. (Except for a specific blue: that one with maize that passes through.) Love my scarlet and my gray!
Sundays Sunday mornings spent in church singing, praising, heartfelt search through all the evidence of God who we can know, and see, and laud. (Sometimes Keith’s out catching perch. 😉)
Days unnamed, not unembraced, leave ample time to just be graced with quiet time to read or rhyme, or stuff that’s hard, but must be faced.
pictured words 