Near Misses or Missed Chances


THIS I BELIEVE: There are tests in our lives which may pass
unnoticed. But how we react may well change the course of our
days.

Yesterday, early, a man in late middle age, with a cane and a limp,
came through my front door. His story was simple, after 37 years
of marriage, his wife was leaving him. I wanted to help him. But
he lives in Tennessee, and we don’t practice there. So I showed
him the office across the way where a Tennessee lawyer works. He
wanted me to drive over there with him, but I could not leave the
office unattended. Plus, I don’t get in cars with strange men. The
stairs were clearly a problem for him so I let him go out my back
door so he could go down a ramp instead of the stairs. I saw him
emerge safely from the bottom of the ramp, then I forgot him.

Later, I got the bank deposit ready, left spouse in charge of the
phone and went to the bank. There was no line and I was back on
the cross street in no time. One car was in front of me waiting for
the light to change. The light changed, at one time I saw the car
brake lights go off and a truck coming in the opposite direction hit
the white line and lock it up. The truck hit the front of the car,
knocking much of the front end off. I stopped and parked in the
road to see if I could help, but the driver of the truck was already
checking on the car and calling the police. So I got in my car and
returned to the office. Once there I called the police station and left
my name in case a witness was needed. As it turns out, I was. The
truck driver said that the car ran the light, not him. So I said, yes
you can list me on the report, and no that is not what happened.

Much later, spouse had gone and I was alone in the office once
more. I heard a key in the door and thought spouse had come
back. When the door did not open I went to it and opened it. It
was not spouse. The man jumped into a white truck, slammed it in
reverse, then squealed down the ramp. The back door is remote, I
am usually the only one parked there, I almost always keep the
door locked and no one could see if something happened back
there.

Be as wise as a serpent, as gentle as a dove. Easier said then
done. Maybe I should have disregarded my safety rules and driven
the man across the street. Maybe if I had I would be dead now. If
I had been the first car at the light and not the second, I might me
dead or injured now, or maybe I would have seen the truck in time,
or been looking off into space and missed the light turn and nothing
would have happened. If the back door had not been locked, the
man could have come in. Clearly nothing good could have come of
that.

So, did I have a day of barely escaping disaster? Or did I, by
helping the man in the morning a little bit, avoid death in the
evening?

The Sea, the Primordial Sea

Last night I returned from the sea. I watched the sun come up over
the ocean. I saw the sky run from indigo to silver, passing through
orange, red, golden, turquoise, aqua, blue to silver white. The
colors suffused the water and the breaking waves were rainbows.
Pelicans flew against the sky and the early morning sand pipers
started their dance in and out of the foam. I walked into the
primordial waters and felt as if I was the beach, the lightening sky,
the birds, the waves, the deep.

I think that if I were with the sea as I am daily with my green world,
the last of my fears and ego would wash away and I would be left
pure and empty. On the beach there is no other reality then the
crashing never ending beginning of the world.

Office Spaces

Some offices seem to have an almost
unlimited ability to absorb furniture
and furnishings. The office I worked
in from 1989 to 2003 was one of
those. We had 1600 square feet
broken down into one huge private
office with private bath and two 14
by 12 foot offices. There was a large
secretarial area, a large waiting room,
a storage room and one more bath.
The hallway was large enough for
bookcases and some narrow tables.

Over the years I was there, furniture
came and a few pieces, a very few,
left. The boss loved antiques and
auctions. I had prints, plants, chairs
and bowls of potpourri. We all had
books, thousands of books. There
were lamps on every table and desk
together with ashtrays, magnifying
glasses and coffee cups. The walls
were covered in prints and paintings.

It sounds crowded, but it wasn’t. It
was the American version of the
English country barrister look. It
was warm, comforting and
established. Clients loved it and it
certainly made the long hours we
worked a little easier.

Later I worked in a CPA office that
had a more current style. There were
no antiques and no substantial
furniture. It looked nice enough
when it was clean, which was
virtually never. The rest of the time
it was overflowing with papers and
files and tatty brown envelopes. It
was not an emotionally comfortable
place and lacked a sense of the
wholesomeness of my previous
environment.

Now, in my own space, I try to
achieve the generous, accumulated
feel of the old place without going
the old boy route. As an old girl, I
really prefer lighter colors, flowers
and light to tobacco brown, dark
wood and closed blinds. Much of my
waiting room and my office are done
in leftovers from my house. It looks
nice for visitors and feels good to me.

The waiting room has a pair of french
wing chairs, a plain console table,
plants, potpourri, magazines, throw
pillows and bird prints. I am going to
add a few good straight chairs when I
can find some that suit.

My office has a antique knee hole
desk, a midcentury modern credenza,
a gate-leg table, a bookcase, a pair of
club chairs with needlepoint throw
pillows, candles, plants, lamps and
more potpourri, Impressionist prints
on canvas and scads of botanical
prints, many vintage. There is a huge
cloisonne bowl, a Chinese porcelain
stool and lots of books.

I am gearing up to redo the “manly
office” in the back. Dark greeney
black walls (no windows) very old
oak desk, oak bookcases, antique
British side chairs in dark dull wood
and worn brown leather, antique
brass lamp, dark original oil
paintings, a 400 year old chair from
Wales and some Chinese export
porcelain. In this case the “redo”
consists of actually painting the walls.
It’s a huge job, since half the walls
are paneled in that nasty 70's stuff
and half are painted burgundy. I
might also slipcover the ugly black
modern desk chair with a dark
tapestry style cover.

Offices offer an opportunity to
provide employees and clients with a
comfortable supportive environment.
Antiques, traditional art and healthy
plants and books counter the
flourescent lights and technology
necessary to operate a business.

Chicken Fighting

Recently there have been victorious accounts of chicken fights raided, arrests and EUTHANIZED birds.

Now, like most of you, I don't hold with organized animal fighting. The little bit that accidently occurs is bad enough. I do eat eggs, lots of chicken and some beef. I bet you do to. This may sound like I can't string a paragraph together, but stay with me here and reserve judgement for a minute.

In the US, we raise MILLIONS of birds for eggs and meat. Most of these MILLIONS live in horrible conditions and are badly stressed. The stress is so bad that hens are culled when they finish their laying cycle. At that time many are thin, wounded and often have broken bones. Meat birds live an even more horrible life. They are breed to mature so fast that their legs cannot keep up with their weight. Again they are badly overcrowed, stressed and then killed at 6 to 12 weeks. That's right, weeks.

So the hens make it to about the first birthday and the little meat birds might make it to 12 weeks (most do not). At no time in their short lives do they recieve decent treatment. Do some research on it if you don't beleive me.

Of course, some organic or free range egg producers do a little better. But again few keep hens longer then a year or two and little roos in a commercial production setting never see their first birthday.

Now, hobby and exhibition breeders keep birds, often for years. Some hens live to be more than 10 years and some lay, in a reduced capacity, for many many years after the first molt. Some keep a special roo as long as it lives. But even so, most baby roos of all breeds, kept for any purpose, are culled. That means, gentle reader, that most are killed.

The next fact about chickens is that roosters fight. All breeds, commerical and otherwise. Some are better at it then others. But mature roosters, of any breed, cannot, except for the rare exception, be kept together with out serious, often fatal results.

The second fact about chickens is that some chickens, again we are really talking roosters, will "fight" humans. These mean birds are found in all breeds. In fact, white leghorns, a breed heavily used to create commercial egg layers, are often considered the nastiest of roosters. Game bird roosters are no more prone to people hating then any other breed. Bird to bird aggression is no indicator of bird-human agression.

Now, consider the gamecock. His owner knows his genetic history back for generations. The bird could well represent a particular line kept in the owners family for multiple generations. The hens often run loose or in a semi free range. No one kills them when they molt. Some of the little roos don't make the grade, they go the way of most little roos all over the world. BUT A GOOD MANY get to grow up and have a life. They are lovingly cared for, protected, known as individuals. It is safe to say the greatest numbers of senior roosters in the United States belong to gamecock breeders. Hobby owners, like me, might keep a favorite rooster as a pet, but we don't indivdually have numbers of mature adult roosters.

It is nuts to say that the deplorable conditions commercial birds are kept in and the short brutal lives of most male chickens is ok, but that a three year old healthy rooster should be killed because it is a gamecock.

I think that if you asked the bird, would you prefer to be born in an incubator, raised in a box and when you are eight weeks old hung upside down and your throat cut OR born in a pen with a mother, live a bit scratching around and learning to crow, then get sent to live on a tether or in a roomy pen for a year or so, then maybe die in a chicken fight, or maybe live on to be a papa and watch the seasons change and the sun come up and the sun go down... Well which would you choose?

Some days are not diamonds

Spouse did not have to work today. So I spent early morning with him, not peaceful, not quiet. He likes to talk in the morning, I do not. Then he found out that a big project he has been working on has completely blown up, never to be realized. He is devestated. I am unhappy for him. He is defensive and sharp when he is upset, so I am walking on eggshells again, which doesn't work because it makes him think I am keeping something from him. He is a totally lovely man. Sweet and usually charming. Generous to a fault, kind, funny, protective. But when he is unhappy, love is not enough to cheer him.

My bifocals will not be ready for another week, which means I will not have them when I leave for Florida next Friday. At least I have the driving glasses, I can see the ocean even if the lunch menu is blurry. Actually I exaggerate. I can read the menu next week just like I do now, glasses off, paper three inches from my nose. Good thing I type without looking.

So, sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.

Looking at Posts

Wow, what a lot of typos, spelling errors and qustionable grammer. I would never send out a letter or pleading so full of mistakes. But here, it feels safe to just type. Probably an error in thought process, but it feels nice for now.

Also I am struck by how pleased I seem with the daily round of nature. I actually am that way. The sweetest part of most days is the early morning hour I sit in the living room with my coffee and my cat watching the world wake up. In that hour, the room goes from almost full dark to light enough to read small print without a lamp. The birds sing and flit around just beyond the big window. In the last half of my happy hour squirels play in the dogwoods outside the small windows and the crows have their morning business meeting. The cars, people talking as they walk, school bus and children's noises, dogs barking and the occassional very loud boom thump a lump from a passing auto take nothing away from the bluebirds and maple tree.

Day in and day out, rain and shine, cold and heat, spring green, fall's gold, winter frost, I watch them all. A few years ago I had a crisis, a serious one. The kind that makes your doctor prescribe antidepressents and make counseling and hospital noises. I flushed the prozac after I read the insert and just started sitting with myself in my living room. At first, I had to read to sit, but now I can just be there. I don't think about anything much, no life review, no mental juggling of bills, no rehashing of old arguments. I just sit, and look. Over time I got better. Crisis passed, life went on. I suppose its a little like mediatation, which I never could stick with for long.

Just so, I also have a morbid streak. I am able to see the dangerous bad thing lurking around any corner. You can put an eye out with a paper airplane. Ask my mother, ask my sons. Everyone knows this. I had a bad few days of chest pain a while back and all I could think of was how awful it would be to die with the kitchen half painted. I have an irrational fear of leaving things undone. I would prefer to know the exact moment I will die so I can be sure to have the house dusted, the yard mowed, all the laundry put away and the checkbook balanced.

Spouse believes that he is more or less immortal, a view I tend to not share, McClouds excepted. Last week I was bothered by the idea that if he died before me, and if his parents were still alive, they would want to take him back to the horrid place he sprang from and bury him in cold ground where the sun would not shine. See, morbid. Happy but morbid.

Morning Fog

The fog is so thick today, even now at mid morning, that the world disappears just past my fingertips. For some reason it makes spider webs strung between trees, shrubs and house more visable. Chickens did not start the suns up crow fest until about 8:00 and then cut it short, maybe the fog confuses them. It is lovely. Maybe not on the scale of the first hard frost or the first good snow, but certainly as nice as thick sparkling dew on spring crocus or moonlight on still water.

Chicken Stuff

While little beta roo was out yesterday baby alpha roo acted most distressed. When they were reunited they were the picture of brotherly love. By 6:00 pm alpha roo decided maybe a litte interfamily murder would be in order. Little beta roo was plucked out and put in a third pen, all alone, and a little bloodied. This morning all was well, except beta roo's comb is flopped over and one eye is swollen shut. Otherwise all is well. Such is the life of chickens.

Tiny Bird

This morning I propped the front door of the office open. Shortly thereafter a sparrow flew in. Sparrow will not fly out. He has been all over the office, on every picture frame, bookcase and bowl. He has pooped on a file, no problem. Right now he is resting on a basket rim, on the floor. I have closed the blinds so he will not bash his little brains out on the glass and have closed off the rear of the building so he cannot disappear there. He looked very dear perched on my reading chair, and neatly clever looking down from the bookcase. But he needs to go now and rejoin his tribe. Fingers crossed. Worst case scenerio, I have to wait for him to roost tonight then put him out. But if I do, where? On a pine branch, on a shrub, where does he usually sleep?

Ho Ho Ho. The phone rang, the wee one took off for the lobby. Then he saw the wide open door and away he went!

A very good weekend, chickens, strange calls and sadness

Well, R finally fixed my account so I can get in. (I have been locked out through a goof of mine for the past week or so) On Saturday I got up, finished the painting I was working on, put a coat of primer on the armoire, took a shower, went to the art store with R, then on to the Hunter. We stayed at the Hunter until they closed. R made some photographs, including one of me I liked. From there we went to visit Mom then I rushed home to rendevous with spouse to go the Barking Legs to the Diana Jones and Jonathan Byrd show. It was great! When we got home at 11:00 p.m. I painted most of a new acrylic work on the sheet of black illustration board I had bought that morning. THE BEST DAY I HAVE HAD IN A REALLY LONG TIME. I spent the entire day, from waking until sleeping doing exactly what I wanted. Maybe a first.

On Sunday I finished the acrylic painting, painted the armoire, painted two iron stands, cleaned the kitchen and the bathroom. I did not make the bed, or cook lunch, or go to the store or anything I ususally do on Sunday. I listened to my new Diana Jones CD and the Jonathan Byrd CD. A very good day.

But when I went to bed last night I was still sad. I had not seen my oldest favorite son and my favorite daugther. I have not seen them in a few weeks and I miss them alot. Hopefully I can think of something nice to fix for lunch next week and lure them off their mountaintop for a few hours.

This morning, I accidently let the baby beta roo out. It only took me ten minutes to catch him. (Betty took 45 minutes the last time she escaped) The babies weigh about what a big dove does and are just about too cute. Imagine a bright colorful rooster, complete with big high tail and bright red comb. Imagine him strutting and crowing and acting like he is the biggest animal in the barnyard. Now imagine him 8 inches tall. Enough said.

Today I had a string of strange, unsettling and unprofitable phone calls. A man who has a human squatter in his storage building. A woman with a bankruptcy problem in another state. So on and so forth, ALL DAY LONG. I rushed out and got Chinese take out, wolfed it down and chewed between phone calls.

Saturday night, Diana Jones sang one of her songs that just slayed me. She attributes the idea to a statement Aniais Nin made about William Blake "He was cracked, thats how the light got out".

Here it is:

CRACKED AND BROKEN

I want to know you, know where you've been
Know how you came through
The sound of your voice, your original sin
Where we are is where we begin

Cracked and broken and beautiful
Cracked and broken that's how the light shines through
Cracked and broken and beautiful

I want to see you
In the full of the morning, in the last of the evening
Unfurled and uncovered
And in the same light I want you to see me

Cracked and broken and beautiful
Cracked and broken, that's how the light shines through
Cracked and broken and beautiful

And I want to feel where our edges are rough
What our corners are made of
Where you and I start, where we both come apart
And where we both come together again

Cracked and broken and beautiful
Cracked and broken, that's how the light shines through
Cracked and broken and beautiful

When china breaks
It's never the same
When I felt your love
My heart became

Cracked and broken and beautiful
Cracked and broken, that's how the light shines through
Cracked and broken and beautiful
Beautiful.

Diana Jones / Yar Jones Music / ASCAP

AMEN.