Every. Single. Day.

So I started this writing class, taught by a prof I've taken another class from. Write every day, she says. That's not exactly foreign to me, though some days I struggle to write anything that might see the light of day, even if said light is just a post on this blog. My archives are filled with rough drafts of posts that never see the publish button because they bore the living daylights out of me. Things start out as a good idea and end up being piles of drivel. The word drivel always reminds me of Steve Martin's book, Pure Drivel. Ah, if only I could write half as well as Steve Martin does.

I press on for several reasons, not the least of which is that I've written for as long as I can remember. I've observed for at least as long as I've written and observational musings, particularly those that are humorous, are fascinating to me. There's a lot to be said for humorous behavior in humans - do I notice such things and remember them because I like to laugh at others, or do I simply like to laugh and I'll take it from any source that it may come from? Sometimes I rationalize it - the laughing at others, I mean, because I'm completely willing to laugh at my own behavior and be okay with others having a laugh at my expense. 

Human behavior is a curious thing. I'll admit that I often see humor in places where others refuse to even look for it - but that's not to say that there are places and times when it doesn't exist, and when it shouldn't. Then there are times when no one is looking for it and it shows up unannounced and refuses to let anyone present ignore it. Those are the times when it might be just what anyone in the room needs to add a bit of light to an otherwise dreadful situation.

So what's the point here? We'll see. Write every day, for the class and for myself. The two won't meet up here, but they will feed off of one another. So there you have it, writing every day. That in and of itself will get things going. Just write every day, says my professor. Every single day - even on the ones where you struggle to find the time, write.

And so, he did. I'm a firm believer in the creative power of ideas, and sometimes it takes a crappy idea to give way to a better one, maybe even a great one. So it all has to come out, even the drivel.

There you have my coffee thoughts - the homework I'm not about to share here, that'll end up in the class forum threads, where I can see what my classmates think about it. That's all the time I have for today, tune in tomorrow - and who knows, maybe I'll have something more meaningful to say...or at least more humorous. 

Peace, good people - here's to the start of a week that will hopeful bring great things to us all. Monday, off to get at it!

CRO

1 For 3 For The Birds

On this 4th of July morning, it looks as if I'm going to go one for three on my attempts to save a bird. One success, two goodbyes that take longer than I'd like. I know nature can be harsh and who am I to interfere...but sometimes I do. I'm a grown man, but I've always kind of over-humanized animals. I guess that's why I could never hunt.

On three different occasions, I've come across birds that were in need of help...or maybe I simply needed to walk away and not put so much thought into living creatures, or things like natural selection, but living creatures are magnificent beings and I share the same space with them - unless the living creature is a stink bug, in which case I will decide that living creature's fate.

Birds are a splendid fascination for me. So much variety, color and the ability to take to the skies at will. While there are other animals in nature that I'm much more fond of, I do like watching and photographing birds - and I have planted my garden with things specifically to draw birds for photo opportunities.  This is probably because some of my earliest memories of my grandparents are of them pointing out various birds that would come around. As a grown man, I find the variety of birds enjoyable to watch and now it reminds me of times around my grandparents.

Birds belong in the sky, on the trees and their freedom to alternate between the two is nice to watch.. I'm sitting here writing this on a morning and the sounds of different birds calling out is music to my ears. A few feet away from me, in a shoe box that I cut holes into to allow air into, is an injured young Dove that my neighbor pointed out to me yesterday morning.

At first glance, I thought this young bird was dead - but she wasn't. I didn't know exactly what to do, but I knew I couldn't just leave her there to fend for herself. She was still alive, she is still alive and to me, that means she has a chance. A chance to take to the sky if she wants or needs to, a chance to go from branch to branch, a chance to do what birds do - fly.

I don't know what happened to this little Dove - it appears as though her neck is broken. Yesterday when I found her, she could still fly a bit. I know this because she hopped out of the container I'd put her in and made a few valiant attempts at getting away from me. I'd hoped that she was merely stunned and would gather up her strength and fly away soon. I put her safely on a branch at eye level hoping that she would rest up and leave when she was ready. I'm a sap sometimes. I gave her the name Mercy - because I had mercy on her and wanted her to fly away. I guess I had too much mercy on her to simply walk away from her plight.

She wasn't having it. She flew down and landed a few yards away. I thought I should try again because I didn't feel that she'd be safe in her current state sitting on the ground. She seemed to get better at her attempts to get away from me, flying a few yards away with all the grace of an airplane that was quickly running out of fuel.

This morning I can't help but wonder if I should have just let her take enough short flights out of my sight, but I couldn't bring myself to do that because each landing left her looking worse off than the one before it. I quickly decided on this creature's behalf and maybe I shouldn't have done that. Maybe this was it for her. Why couldn't I accept that, no matter how cruel it seemed? Because birds should take to the air, whenever they want. Sometimes nature has other plans, plans beyond the scope of human understanding.

So this morning I sit here on my patio, a few feet away from a young Dove that apparently has a broken neck. Every time she stirs, my heart fills with hope that she'll get her strength back and fly off. There's even this tiny bit of hope that she'll return often out of gratitude for this human creature giving her a second chance. How f'kn Snow White of me.  None of that is according to the plans of nature. She's not improving, she's moving all she can - and that's not even enough to kick her survival adrenaline into gear enough for her to fly even a couple of feet away from this scary human creature. I don't have the old school farmer heart to man up and put her out of her misery, my heart wouldn't let me leave her where I saw her yesterday - I had to try. That's what I told myself.

The last time I tried to save a bird, I succeeded. It was a bird that had flown into the screen door and stunned itself with a thud. When I went outside to see what that sound was, here on the walkway was a bird, still a bit door struck. I no sooner noticed the bird when I saw Gizmo, my roommate's cat walking towards this bird with a look on his face that said, "Ooooh, this is my lucky day!"...Uh, no...not today, Giz. I scooped the bird up with a shovel and set him up on a tree branch so he could collect himself in safety. Half an hour later and he had flown off.

The first time I tried to save a bird, I'd come home on my lunch hour and as I was walking towards my apartment, I look down on the blacktop and see a featherless, pink baby bird with its eyes not even open yet. It's moving! To leave this little creature there would've killed it within an hour on the hot pavement that Summer day. I found a box to put the poor thing in, went inside and had my lunch, checked on this tiny bird, still moving and left for work. I told a coworker about it and he came over to look for a nest nearby that the bird may have fell out of. No such luck. I called several potential places that I thought surely would want me to bring the creature in so that it could be saved. None offered up any encouragement at all.

I cringe at the thought of how I went and bought worms, chopped them up and fed this poor thing over the next three days. I put it in a small Easter basket filled w/grass and hung the basket beneath the patio lighting sconce. Three days is what I bought this little thing - and on the fourth morning, the tiny pink bird was dead. Never to feather, never to fly.

Had I left this Dove to fend for herself, I doubt the cat that was so interested in her would've shown her much Mercy. I wonder what it is about me that makes me keep believing in miracles and second chances so long after most others stop. It's no use they'll tell me, and deep down I suppose I know they're right - but what if...keeps going through my head. What if she just needs more time to gather up her strength? What if there is something someone can do for her? This poor thing can't be comfortable in her current state. Is she more comfortable than letting a cat have at her? Poor thing can't seem to keep her head upright and I can see in those peaceful black Dove eyes of hers that she's fading. I can see that she doesn't really want to go, but resistance is growing more futile by the minute. Again, no farmer's logic in my heart - I'd do anything for this poor creature, but what I cannot do is put her out of her misery - and I can't do that because what I want to do is save her. And what I can't seem to accept this morning, is that there isn't anything that is going to do that. So what's a guy to do?

Some friends told me about a park that may take her - and if they can help her, they will. It's a long haul of a drive, and one that I hate to take if this bird won't be able to fly away, or more likely, they'll realize that hope has vanished and they will do for her what I cannot do. I could walk her over to the dumpster and metaphorically wash my hands of this cruel reality of nature - but my heart (foolish as it is) tells me to do something more compassionate, and to rationalize such actions. This is one of God's creatures. A creature that once had the ability to take to the sky at will. I am also one of God's creatures...and a creature that seems to lack the ability and desire to accept what hurts my heart a bit and to simply let this creature go. There are so many other birds that I will see fly on this Independence Day - but none of them do I want to see fly more than this young Dove. I've done all I can here, some would say more than I should. Flying is a beautiful ability to have - I don't have that ability, to fly, but for in spirit. Mercy, the Dove I happened upon yesterday morning, had that ability and all I wanted was for her to fly again.

There's a contrast here this week - earlier in the week I was fortunate to see a baby Downy Woodpecker take some of his first flights ever. He was terrified, but he actually was better at this new flying thing than even he realized - but he was still too scared to do much of it. He sat in branches crying out for his parents - and letting me get some nice photographs of him. I saw him once the next day and then he had gained enough confidence that I haven't seen him since. How awesome is that, to see a baby bird take some of its first flights? And days later, I saw this young Dove take her few last flights, fueled with adrenaline in a last push to survive. These weren't graceful flights, they were valiant attempts to get away from this big human creature that surely meant her harm - yet I took hope in every one of them. Lord, sometimes I just wish I were stronger. I'm sorry, little Mercy Dove.
Peace, good people.

CRO

Just Being Grateful

I wouldn't say my life is perfect - I don't know about anyone else's life, but I rather think that no one leads a perfect life. I'm not saying things might not appear to be perfect, or closer to perfection than I seem to get, but one never knows what's behind the scenes. What's the saying about everyone fighting some kind of battle we know nothing about? I may have grown up thinking my family was so much more dysfunctional than everyone else's family - there were times I felt that approaching my teenage years. The more into adulthood my journey gets, the more I realize that there are no perfect families with perfect lives - we're all on different journeys. Maybe we all have the same destination, but I believe the routes are our own individually. That's deep enough to get, lest I get off the subject of gratitude and just being grateful.

I'm not proud of all of the choices I've made on my journey - some of them were made when I should've known better, I'll admit it. But I own them and I blame no one else but myself. I don't exactly need - or want, to share those choices/decisions with anyone and everyone, but they're mine. I have close enough friends who know of some of my worst moments - and they're close enough to view those choices with at least a fraction of the regret that I have for them. I'm grateful for friends who still call me their friend with an even though moment or two.

Friends and family are what I'm most grateful for, but I have a side of the family that I favor over the other. Thankfully the good side of the family instilled the notion that family is everything. Then there's being thankful for some longstanding friendships that are an extension of my family. The brothers I never had via bloodlines, the sisters I have outside of bloodlines. Deep within my soul these are people that don't make me feel as old as I'm getting. I'm not sure how to explain that feeling, and I guess it's just because I have known them for most of my life.

Then there are the friends that I spent time briefly with, yet they made a mark so deep into my soul that knowing them a third or quarter of my life and only being in close proximity to them for a year or two, still makes them feel like people I've known most of my life. I have one such friend in that category - if you want to call it that, who I've seen twice in the last year, three times in the last 15 years. We talk on the phone several times a year - and now we text. Until last August, I hadn't seen this friend since '03. Nothing had changed about our conversation flow - we talked like we always had years ago when we worked together. Time has brought some changes to the table, but not to the bond of friendship.

I think friends who make marks like this in our lives are with us despite time, miles and other things that can distance to people - at least that's how it feels to me, and it's taken friends like I have to realize that....along with a few years that hopefully come with some wisdom. At any given moment, even on my worst of days, there are more things to be grateful for than I can count. If I can't count 'em all, I should at least recognize a few of them. We lose momentum when we let ourselves lose sight of the things we should be grateful for - at least I know I do. Who wants to lose momentum? Not me, that's for sure. Boom, there you have it - my thoughts on a beautiful Monday morning as I write through the coffee. If you're reading this, I hope you have a fantastic week. Peace, good people.

CRO

Life's Ultimate Promotion

I have this saying about Grandparents: Being a Grandparent is life's ultimate promotion. The wisdom of my own Grandparents still amazes me to this very day - and they've been gone for years. The longer my own earthy journey continues, the more I'm amazed by how wise my grandparents were. If they were ever wrong about anything, it was never in front of me. I felt loved unconditionally, every single minute I was around my grandparents - they wouldn't have had it any other way. Family was everything to Don & Louise Vincent, and what a family they had.

I carry as much of my Grandparent's wisdom around as I possibly can, as a grown man I'd give anything to talk to them again, to say what they knew - and although nothing got by them, and they knew I loved them as I knew they loved me, I would've loved to say to them in no uncertain terms what it took me well into adulthood to realize. Imagine the chaos of eight kids, everything shared, passed on and serving a purpose. There's no room for waste with a household the size of the Vincent family!

Louise Vincent didn't work outside her home - eight kids is a full time job, and she killed it on the daily. Never had a driver's license. Never drove a car - at least I don't think she ever drove a car. So what did she do? She raised her family. She kept her home spotless - I don't ever remember her house being messy, nothing was ever out of order. From my earliest memories of being in my grandparent's home, her house was always spotless. That's no small feat with that many kids around.

With a family Vincent-sized, it's a given that there would be large family gatherings. The house that sat at the top of the hill in Loudonville is still clear in my memory. By the time they'd moved to that house, not all of my eight aunts and uncles were living at home. There were still enough people in the house that it can't have been easy to keep that house as clean as it always was - and it was indeed always clean. Always.

I have trouble deciding what I'm going to make myself for any given meal at times. Louise fed eight kids - and she could cook! Don Vincent kept order at her dinner table - quietly. He never was one to raise his voice - he never was one to have to. Oh you just knew. I've heard stories about how some of my aunts and uncles were...well, snapped back into order at the dinner table. By the time I was old enough to remember sitting at that table, there was a constant unspoken law of order. I don't know how my grandfather did what he did, never raising his voice, seldom raising a hand. He didn't have an intimidating stature - until he needed one, and you just knew not to push it. He'd set you straight with one clam look. If you had any smarts, you didn't make him have to speak - and if you'd gotten to where he did speak up, that would've been your last opportunity to straighten up, because action would follow. Again, I'd heard stories - but I think by the time I was...well, old enough to test certain household rules, both of my grandparents had seen it all before. There was nothing any grandchild was going to throw at them that they hadn't seen before - eight kids, do the math - and that's a lot of math. A lot. Math had to be their strongest subject.

The advice my grandmother gave out was magical. Calm, delivered with a strong Catholic faith. Louise Vincent's faith never wavered. She was right about every little tidbit of wisdom she ever shared with me - and with eight kids, no one was better at sharing than Louise Vincent. To this day, Vincent's are great at sharing. Everything. How can anyone grow up in a household that large and still feel that there's plenty to go around? Sharing.

Being a grandparent is an honorable role. My grandparents fit that role perfectly. They were all too willing to sidestep things that my parents were not so willing...you know, allowing some things that neither mom or dad may have done - but at no time did they ever undermine my parents. They were often willing to say yes, but never did so unless it was okay with my parents - ultimately, you'd want such moments of permission and/or special consideration to fall at a time when the call could be made without having to ask mom or dad. Grandparents are wonderful at saying yes. Don and Louise Vincent were no exception - but they were not suckers by any stretch of the imagination. In the unlikely event that you pulled a fast one on either of them, let's just say that your success was very short lived. Very short lived.

I have always felt incredibly humbled by my elders - that continues to this very day, despite the fact that I'm a grown man. My grandparents knew that I loved them, because I learned how to love my family from them. As a child it wasn't something I thought about focusing on - but that's often how grandparent wisdom works - you soak it up when your around them and you reach adulthood and you start to realize all the ways things like that happen. The love of my grandparents, the love they had for their wonderful family, was warming - like sunshine warming your very soul.

Thoughts like these loom large in my heart these last couple of weeks. I have dear friends who have had to say goodbye to a mother and grandmother who touched so many lives and was like an extension of my own family elders. Another dear friend is facing saying goodbye to a grandmother. My entire heart aches for the people in my life in the midst of this. I never liked saying goodbye to my grandparents any time I was around them. I just wanted to stay, to bask in the love they surrounded me and the rest of our family with. There is no safer place than that. I can still do that, having been given enough of that love to carry it on my own journey - but that gift is exactly what I would like to tell Don & Louise Vincent that I'm grateful for in no uncertain terms. There was so much meaning and genuine any time I was around them, and the longer they have been gone, the more I realize how much they gave their family.

For those of you facing this sad and difficult part of your journey - I wish you peace, and may you know that you will carry the love and wisdom given to you. Every day up to this one is what has made the journey worth it - let your fondest memories comfort you, beyond the scope of what is right in front of you. My reflections as I finish the coffee portion of this beautiful Sunday morning. Peace, good people - for those of you in my heart that I've shared these thought with, you know who you are - I wish you peace and comfort.