varied vignettes
Local Youths Accepted into Flight Cadet Program
Birds are amazing, and not just because they require no heavy machinery or loud engines to take flight from here to there. These seemingly fragile creatures persevere through icy cold, scorching heatwaves, rain and hail and gusting winds. Many of them even manage to outsmart predators, from the silently slinking cat to the swiftly descending talons of an eagle. They also mature with astonishing rapidity. Watching our baby robins develop is akin to watching a human newborn become a toddler, then a third grader, then a middle-school kid, a defiant teenager, and ultimately a college-bound adult in the course of only two weeks. People say kids grow up so quickly. By comparison, human development is sluggish, at best.
The transformation of our baby robins is noticeable almost day to day. Their big-bird feathers are well on the way to becoming flight feathers now, and their bright eyes are wide open and curious. The mother still feeds them, though she doesn’t stay long on the nest anymore. As the birds continue to grow in size, accommodations have transitioned from cozy to increasingly cramped.
We expect all three will enter flight training by the weekend or soon after, then these avian youngsters will set out on their own unique paths. The one on the left can hardly wait to fly off to Hollywood where she hopes to land the role of the first female sidekick to a dark figure who drives something called a Batmobile. The juvenile on the right dreams of becoming a chef at a popular bar-and-grill chain where she intends to introduce the Whiskey Wormburger with a special sauce guaranteed to contain 80% organic insect protein in every drop. As for the other fledgling, the biggest of the three, indications are that he plans to go into the dangerous, high-stakes world of finance. According to a recent tweet, “It’s all about the bank robbin’, dude.” We suspect big brother will be effortlessly putting the bird back into jailbird.
Wherever they soar, whatever new heights they reach, it has been a joy to watch these young birds grow. May many more generations take flight from the safety of these Fitzgerald rafters.
Elvis Knew What He Was Doing
Three notes. That’s all it takes to get her attention.
For Christmas, Dennie gave me, among other things, an exquisitely carved kalimba. Today, it sits on my desk, part decorative display, part fidget friend. When I’m writing a novel—or a series of them, as I am currently—I know the whole story when I begin, the broad strokes anyway. I know how it will end. I know what major conflicts will arise. I even know the gist of conversational exchanges that haven’t yet happened. Sometimes, though, after a long weekend or vacation, or after a stressful occurrence, it takes extra effort to transport myself back into that fictional realm, to allow my mind to merge with the minds of my characters. When I begin my day in such a discombobulated state, I pick up the kalimba and play random notes until they sound pleasing to my ear. I don’t think about it. I merely let it clear my rampant thoughts so that I can focus on my work again. A couple weeks ago, these random notes began to sound familiar. With a bit of tenacious tinkering, I’d done it; I’d plucked out an actual song: Can’t Help Falling in Love.
I’m no musical prodigy. These familiar lyrics that Elvis first crooned to enamored audiences in 1961 are part of a musical composition that is, without question, an extremely simple song to play. To stumble upon it accidentally was no astonishing feat. What makes it memorable and worthy of mention is our dog’s response to it.
One morning, after we’d all had breakfast, Dennie and I headed to our respective desks, as we do every workday. Maisie, who generally follows me, stayed put. She didn’t budge from her sofa cushion, so, reluctantly, I let her be. I love that she comes to work with me every day, but, first and foremost, I want her to be happy. If that’s upstairs with Dennie, curled up behind me in my office, or watching the squirrels through a living room window, it doesn’t matter so long as she’s content. My reluctance to leave her in the living room stemmed only from the fact that she becomes quickly distressed whenever I vanish behind a closed door. But she was comfortable, and I needed to get settled in for the day. First, I picked up my kalimba.
C-G-C. (Wise men say…)
Now, you probably have fools on the tip of your tongue, but evidence suggests it is, in fact, dogs that rush in. Four galloping feet burst through my door. Maisie leapt onto the bed, gazing at me adoringly, then promptly went to sleep as I continued to play. Certainly, it was a fluke, I thought.
Another day, she hadn’t returned after our lunch break. C-G-C…a blur of pumpkin-spice fur flew through the doorway, into the air, and, once again nestled in for an afternoon nap. It doesn’t matter where in the house Maisie happens to be. Even if she’s all the way upstairs, and I’m down here with the door closed, the second she hears those opening notes, she will race to my side, whimper at my door if it's closed, flash me her most loving expression, and commence the deep breathing of ultimate contentment. Dennie and I have witnessed this response on numerous occasions already. There has never been an incident in which she hasn't come running to me before I've reached the first chord.
Elvis certainly knew what he was doing. Sixty-two years later, this song still inspires the utter devotion of a beautiful girl. And, every time I watch her bolt into my room, well, it’s cheesy but true…I can’t help falling in love…with her.
It Was Dandy…and I’m Not Lyin’
Yesterday, I’d wrapped up my work and thought I’d peek out the door at our robin family again, see if I could snap a new photo or two. (In the past, we’ve never been able to get pictures beyond the bald and blind hatchling stage, so it’s been fascinating documenting so much of their development this spring.) As soon as the door cracked open, a stampede of puppy paws came my way—and I didn’t even have to serenade her first.
She was so excited, grinning up at me, prancing, every ounce of want boldly scrawled across her face. How could I possibly deny her? All she desired in that moment was to release a day’s worth of pent-up energy and share a little quality time outdoors with her mommy. At least, that’s what it said on the marketing materials. As her actions would soon suggest, it’s possible she just wanted to eat a lot of grass. (I feel so used.) Either way, making my dog happy is, as far as I can tell, the primary purpose of my existence, so I popped out the door, checked the gates, and released Secretariat onto the track. This racehorse, however, is afflicted with a form of intermittent attention deficit disorder. At the sight of lush, long blades of grass, her urge to go for the Triple Crown was all but forgotten and she began to graze as if she’d been put out to pasture. After continuous efforts to gently halt the grassy gluttony, I finally convinced Maisie to either run or relax. She opted for the latter.
Despite their reputation as invasive weeds, dandelions are actually considered by many to be good for the lawn, and, when you choose to see them as wildflowers rather than pesky interlopers, they truly are quite pretty. I like them. I always have. That sea of yellow across the lawn is like a thousand little suns announcing that summer is almost here. The current tufts of golden starburst will meet their ends at the blades of the mower this weekend, but I’m sure they’ll be back. You can’t keep a good dandelion down, not even if you try really hard. They’re like Alice Paul or Gandhi, only less susceptible to herbicides.
Maisie settled into the overgrown grass, dandelions popping up around her. The camera was already strapped around my neck from my scuppered robin-photo quest, so I tucked one flower into my dog’s collar, stood back so as not to disturb her, and photographed this quiet time amongst alleged weeds. She didn’t seem to mind; she was in her element and far more interested in tracking the intruder buzzing about her space. Maisie has always been highly motivated to swallow a fly. We don’t know why. Thankfully, this one she did not catch.
We stayed a while, listening to the birds, enjoying a light breeze. It was quality time together, after all, leaving the two of us utterly refreshed and feeling downright dandy.
Employee Engagement Program Makes Triumphant Start
She’d arrived early for work today, dedicated, motivated. By morning break, nothing could keep her from her favorite window, a temporary escape into the natural world outside. I wandered into the break room moments later. As soon as her attention was drawn to movement in the yard, I crouched low behind one arm of the sofa, making a clicking sound with my tongue. Her collar jangled. She’d taken the bait. Here, on this National German Shepherd Day, we engaged Maisie in an introductory round of Hide and Seek. It didn’t take her long to find me. I was, after all, less than ten feet away and not well concealed by any measure. Still, Maisie broke into a toothy, satisfied smile, and the game was afoot.
Once she was distracted, I slipped into the dim back hall. Click. Click. Click. I clicked my tongue as she clacked her toenails over hardwood and tile. Again, she found me, wiggling at the praise she received in return. The next one would have to be harder. Dennie blocked our dog’s view. I sidled behind the door of my writing sanctuary. Twice our puppy entered, looked to the bed, behind the desk chair, then left again.
“Is she in there?” Dennie said. “Go look.”
With a little more encouragement, Maisie returned to the room, eyeing the same places, then catching the slightest movement behind the door. Victory! She’d found her mommy! Maisie was not about to let me out of her sight once she’d recognized a pattern of disappearances, but Dennie diverted her attention once more, and I stepped silently into the tub behind the curtain.
Click. Click. Click.
Our dog does not routinely stroll into the bathroom. I don’t lead her there; she doesn’t look for me there, so this was her greatest challenge of the morning. Yet, with a bit of guidance and another click of my tongue, she slowly breached the threshold, easing her head gingerly around the curtain as if frightened it might be trap, a dastardly plan to trick her into a b-a-t-h. Then her expression broke into a wondrous smile again as she realized she’d located her missing person. Hugs and treats and tummy rubs followed before we all headed back to work.
If there is a point to this story, to this cumulative collection of tales and observations, consider it, like a morning-break dog mom, hidden. Yet if you seek the reason I've taken time to pen these words, I can offer you only this: sometimes it isn’t the big news, the celebrations, the life-changing events that leave an impression. Sometimes, it’s these small, fleeting moments we might easily forget--if we haven’t actively chosen to remember.