THE BIRD IS NOT FINE!

When the twins were four I came home from the grocery store some Sunday afternoon to a bird cage.  It wasn't a new cage.  It was from the junk yard.  The birds were new.  Petey was green and Sweetie yellow.  Southerners rhyme everything.       

   "Oh, Mommie!  Look what daddy bought us.  Birds!  Aren't they cute?  Petey is Hayley's and Sweetie is mines.  Do you like birds Mommie?  We can get another one for you or I know!  They can have babies!  Daddy made sure one is a girl and one is a boy."  I look over at Chase.  "Nice birds.  Who's gonna clean the cage?" 

   Never been a big fan of birds because they have swooped me for years on my running loop during nesting season, with serious intent to maim.  As a teenager I house sat for a family that let the bird fly loose in the house.  It was disgusting.  And what about the expression 'free as a bird'?  Hello?  But Chase found an empty cage and needed to fill it.  

 Birds, turtles, rabbits, guinea pigs, dogs, cats, my mother down the street.  What the hell.  Come on in and join the party. 

   Two years into the birds Sweetie flew the coop via the back patio.  I didn't see the escape.  Grateful for small favors though the birds never reproduced and so we only had one bird left. 

   One afternoon while doing chores I glance at Petey and it is obvious he has an issue.  A closer look reveals his foot is drooping a bit.  Nothing horrible and he is eating out of his bin like normal.  Hmmmmm.  I have always heard that if an animal is eating he is not sick.  I make a mental note to keep an eye on him.  All is the same.  He is eating with a droopy foot.  I ask Chase what is wrong with the bird.  He says "Aw, nothin he is fine." 

   The following week I pass the bird and notice the dangling foot now has an open wound.  I call Chase at work.  "Hey what is up with the bird's foot?  It looks worse than before.  It is bleeding some.  He needs to go to the vet."   His response is typical.  "Oh relax, he hurt his foot but he is fine." 

   The next day after putting antibiotic on the birds foot I see he is licking it.  The bleeding stopped but it is still droopy and looks worse.  I call Chase.  "OK you gotta deal with this.  What is wrong with the bird?  You need to take him to the vet."  Again no concern.  "The bird hurt his foot on the cage door.  It doesn't look so good but you're over reacting.  He is fine."

   Twenty four hours later I race to the vet with the bird because I realize in horror, he is not cleaning his wound.  He is eating his own foot!

   The twins are sniffling with concern as I balance the baby on my hip and set the cage on the counter.  The handsome vet walks in the room.  He softly picks up the bird.  He swiftly cleans the area and gives the bird medicine.  He makes a little splint and matching cone for his neck so he can't reach his injury.

  The girls watch in suspended quiet as he does everything possible to help the bird.  Then he clips the nails.  Poor bird has a heart attack and goes belly up.  Without going into details of the cpr, may Petey rest in peace.   

   OK two things here.  One, I don't ever want to be in a cage with Chase taking care of me.  Two, appetite or not it doesn't matter what the situation is, if you are eating your own foot you ain't "fine" !

THE SADDEST HOUR

His blonde curls are too still as she pushes the stroller.  He isn't pointing at the seagulls or running along the water's edge.  He doesn't cry.  Her baby is dying.  He has only one moment left.

   She hears his last breath.  A tiny gasp for air.  The sound impales her soul.  Her eyes take in the collar of his little plaid shirt.  But she can look no more.  She keeps walking.  His blue blanket flaps in the breeze, transfixing her stare.

   Life drains from his face with no frantic help to save him.  He no longer cares to suck his thumb as he slips from life on earth.  She rolls on.  Her entire being begs to hear his sweet silenced voice........."Mommy! Ruck!"

   The beach is filled with quietude in an understanding way.   A cherished friend moves to say hello, but this last time she does not stop to visit.  She sees the baby motionless in his stroller.  There are no words to comfort her neighbor, now plunged into deep despair.

  Every day they walk for an hour.  Today will be the same.   Her heart rips as each step reveals her new existence.  Alone is a mother with no child to love.  She grips the handle while tears spill down her face.  And moves on.

  His hands are so still beside him, no longer clutching Thomas the Train.  In death the blue toy lies abandoned in his lap.  Hunter sits in the carriage but he is gone.  His little heart stopped beating.  His innocent life has departed.  His last walk is the saddest hour.  The saddest hour I ever seen.    

"YOU CAN USE MY TOOTHBRUSH"

OK that's sexy,with him.  Padding across the soft floor I feel his eyes on my naked body.  Picking up the toothbrush in slow motion, so I don't knock anything off of the sink as he rolls over to watch me move.  Squeezing the smooth blue gel on the brush, his smiling doll face reflects in the mirror.  "Turn it on" he twangs.  While studying his toothbrush I reply  "Oh I see." 
    I flip the switch.  And yes, the tooth paste flies all over my face.  Every time I use it.  Next time I'm gonna remember to put it in my mouth first.   

IT IS NOT COMPLICATED

He is watching t.v.

FIRST TIME IS FOR LOVE

"Oh no its raining!" I say to Annie as we pull out of the drive.  Sprinkles of water gleam where they land on my car.  Looking over at my best girlfriend in the whole wide world and she doesn't let me down.  In her ever rational attitude towards life, proclaiming confidence is a given.  "So what?  The sun is peeking out.  Not to mention Rhett could care less if you were bald much less having a frizzy hair day.  Besides, I heard rain brings a marriage good luck."  We smile because she is always right.  Then cruise down the street towards my wedding.

  Annie messes with the radio dial. Then hits on the the fateful song.  "Gooooo-ing to the chapel and I'm gooooooo-nna get mar-a-aried" greets us from the dash as we squeal in delight.   My blue beetle bug rolls through the sunny south Florida rain.  Yet my heart is waiting ahead of me, in the gentle hands of the man I love."

THE LID IS OFF

And no way will it fit back on.  There is too much in the jar.

WHO NEEDS ENEMIES

He'd sell my soul for a dollar, and she'd gladly hand paint the 'For Sale' sign.

THE HOT FLASHES AIN'T THE PROBLEM

Girls hear about menopause their whole life.  Youth pays no rightful mind.  The change of life doesn't have a place among Barbie dolls, tree forts and forty-five's, marbles and The Monkees.  The sixties were the best. 
   Still, through the years I heard the words hot flash.    Mother's magazines told of hot flashes.  I remember mention of them in the movies, as a teenager when the seventies brought cool bell bottoms and colorful Hang Ten tees. 
   But no-one, no where, ever mentioned hair growth.  OK this is what happened.
 
   One innocent fall morning I drive to my running loop.  The sun is high beaming down strong and hot through the truck's visor.  Adjusting the mirror to wipe peach lipstick across my lips I notice something.  Huh?  What is that? 

    Moving my arm up again to repeat the same motion I still see it, waving in the air.  What is that?  I brush my arm off thinking it must be a dog hair.  Looking again it is still there.  Whatever it is is stuck to me.

   Sliding my glasses on and holding my arm up to the sunlight the problem is instantly clear.  Oh my, I have long hair on my arms.  Great.  Just great.  Now I'll have to shave my arms on top of everything else.  Goodness I am already going through razors like I groom dogs for a living. Unbelievable.  I am sprouting hair like a thirty year old Cuban man.  Muy malo.
    Speaking about Barbie dolls, when Mattel designed their mature, older Madge Barbie they did not make her real-time.  Definitely a good marketing move.  After all, who would buy a Barbie covered in hair?  And what would her accessories be?  A mini fan, block of ice and a years supply of Nair?  You could throw in some yellow 'do not cross' scene tape for her mood swings.  No wonder Ken is hanging out with Malibu Barbie instead.  

   What was our maker intending with the hair?  Oh, I know, must be to soak up the sweat.

   Putting my rosy glasses back on I will concur with my lovely niece.  She so sweetly pointed out "Auntie, at least it's blonde." 

   Yea, blonde..... like Rapunzel.   On my arms.

WHAT DID I DO?

I walk into the familiar office.  There is one other client and myself.  Each of us has a mutt.   The lovely young staff is absorbed working so I relax to wait my turn.

  The air is cool, the atmosphere quiet.  Standing with my back to the man and his pet I gaze at the clouds through the window.  After a few moments my mind wanders, wishing I were somewhere else.  Then all of a sudden the man behind me starts demanding, in a stern loud voice "LADY! LADY!"   Hmmmm?

  I'm thinking God, what did I do?  But don't move a muscle, because I do not appreciate his tone.  Then he says again with more agitation "LADY! LADY! LADY!"  Now I'm thinkin what is his problem.  And in the next moment while more "LADY!LADY!LADY!" is coming out of his mouth, I flip around.

  And quickly realize, he is speaking to his dog.

I COULDN'T HIT THE FLOOR IF I FELL

A clumsy oaf doesn't any where near cover just how ungraceful, I am. 

   I once dated a man who told me in exasperation after I bounced off some piece of furniture, "Ivey Mae you need to be more deliberate in your movements."  Hhhhhmmmmpf.  I'll make sure to keep that in mind.  

   My parents have lovely daughters but graceful, dainty and soft spoken, we are not.  Let me give you a few examples.

   Lucy brought her high school dance team to the floor in one fell swoop.  The young ladies were dancing in a circle with their arms intertwined. She lost her footing but held on tight.  Then, hollered as she pulled them all down at once.

    We can't just fall.  We have to alert even those who aren't looking when we hit the ground. 

   They don't come any sweeter than my petite sister Rosemary.  Her size made her the perfect choice to portray ET in a school play.  This is what her Drama class thought.  They should have asked one of us.

   So imagine.  The grand finale for the end of the year production.  ET has 'phoned home' and is on his way.  As he takes flight between the bulky costume, klutz gene, and impeded vision, instead of soaring off safe into the horizon...... ET landed in the orchestra pit with a rebel yell. 

    Lorraine was dancing a solo in the junior high Christmas Gala.  This is a yearly event so the auditorium is always full.  Twinkling blue lights swirl the room and Winter wonderland plays in the air.

    The music slowly softens.  A spot light shoots out.  All heads turn to see my sister, an enchanting snowflake.  Her frosted beauty held the crowd spell-bound as she  glided down the center isle of the grand venue.   Then, she slipped and yelled "Oh shit" as she hit the floor.  My mother was thrilled.  Not a good car ride home, for anyone.

    OK I may not have been a straight A student, like all of my sisters.  And it took me twenty eight years to get a two year degree.  But at least I had sense enough not to get on a stage.