My Friend’s Books

A dearly beloved friend sent me her book list on something called Goodreads today.  I think it’s one of those things where you buy Some Kind Of Electronic Device (nook? kindle? ipad?) and can then download books to read.  This, of course, is not going to work for ME because? even today with the sun out the internet is still it’s spotty little self.   A spectacular list it is, too.  Hundreds of books! many of which I haven’t read which means I am raring to go.  So, it motivated me to decide to go to the closest two big libraries, one of which I actually live in the same county as, and get something I’ve had almost my whole life: A library card.  When I can do this is the big unknown quantity, but perhaps the same-county-as-library will work, as soon we must venture down there to get kibble for the birds.  The local library in my little town, after a visit and perusal, is not going to quite cut the mustard but I still donate books to them.

Meanwhile, since I am really trying to block out the fact that Clarence Thomas has been a (HOW CAN THIS BE?) Supreme Court Justice (” “) for TWENTY FREAKING YEARS, I am going to,  for a bit of however long my connection to the Outside World lasts this evening, discuss those two kibble eating sparkling lights of my life, Boo and Poppy, the Sun Conures.  Boo, of course, is Boozilla.  Poppy is her older (three days) sister, who maintains the household sobriety.  They are becoming adults now (we think they’re seven- how we could forget given that we hand fed them, I don’t know.  Chalk it up to the stress.) and their behavior is shifting.   They can tolerate more light every day (before, they insisted on being covered up between sorties), and their training of US proceeds apace.    Boo, who likes cheerios, now gets hand fed every morning.  Or else.  They fly around the yurt as though it is St. Mark’s Square, and sit on our shoulders eating their grapes.  They peel the grapes of course, like everything else including cheerios, and the skins of the grapes get dropped on our shoulders like falling stars.  It is really quite amazing to look into their eyes, and realize they’ve learned our language and can speak it quite articulately.   Being as they’re girls, they lay eggs.  We admonish them to keep it to a minimum but it is what it is.  Boo produced a splendid one this morning, rolled it around with her beak to show me when I lifted their covers for breakfast , then promptly pooped on it and told me in no uncertain terms to get that thing out of there.  I often think of their mother, Ed (the father was named Trixie.  Obviously we didn’t know, um, who was who.) who sang the most amazing song while they were hatching.  It was as though she was telling them the story of creation, of all birds and all life, for the very first time, and her voice became sweet as well as raucous for a song that lasted, at the same time, forever and for a moment.  I hear that song often.

Meanwhile, the question of how one maintains progress, shift, stays on track and out of the gutter, looms large.  But it, like the internet signal, fades in and out, and once again it is time to make dinner before we lose everything in the ethers.  It’s been a long day, once again, and thus we bid you a good evening!

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