Friday, August 02, 2002
What would you attempt to do, if you knew you could not fail?
Yesterday on my way home from the gym, I noticed a small, baby pigeon that was flailing a bit on the sidewalk. Instincts told me to just leave it, let nature take its course, but then something in me just couldn't leave an early, frail life on a cold, hard sidewalk. I looked up and figure she must have fallen from her nest in a tree nearby.
I scooped her up with my sweatshirt, brought her home, then set her next to a warm lightbulb with water and hamster food. She drank a lot and seemed to be doing better throughout the day. I felt great about saving a small life and hearing her "cheep", cheep!" Seeing her flap her little wings with excitement when I imitated her back . It was a happy day, but last night she began to fade but I needed go to bed at 3 a.m. She was breathing heavily, laboriously, when I left her so I just prayed and went to sleep. This morning at 8, she had given up and was cold and sleeping in a better world.
I think she may have had internal injuries that she simply couldn't overcome. The poor dear. Not even a great name like Princess Lady Pucky Lucky Pigeon could help her pull through, nor could AxL's (my dog) persistent and loving guarding of her. I find solace in knowing that at least her final hours were better than fearful ones on the street and I pray that her last few hours were peaceful ones, where two very different species were together for a bit with the simple bond of being two creatures of the same planet.
Even though I only knew her a short time, I do miss her and my hope of seeing her one day fly out my window into the big blue sky has quietly passed along with her. She rests in a small shoebox, awaiting burial later this evening when I can drive to a peaceful place with a view and bury her properly and befitting of a Princess Pigeon.
Goodbye my Lady, may you be soaring in endless skies where the bread crumbs never cease to be plentiful. I will miss you, my fragile, feathered friend.
Monday, July 29, 2002
My earliest memories: Suddenly, one day, I was aware. Although I'm not aware of when I was aware nor what I was aware of, I'm just aware now that I was one day, aware. There were cool leaves on plants, grass had a certain smell, the family labrador's fur was black and Cheerio's were haute cuisine. I could've still been soiling my diaper at this point, but don't recall as my early memories include my own pint-sized toilet, right next to the Big Porcelain Flusher in a tiny bathroom, in a tiny house, in a tiny neighborhood in my tiny world. I watched Captain Kangaroo, the sun was warm and rain was welcomed because my early memories include watching Winnie The Pooh And The Blustery Day on TV. Oh, how I wished it would rain so hard that I could ride with my stuffed animals in an upside down umbrella as if it were a Gloucester dory. Chistopher Robin was a hero of mine, having his own 100 acre wood and all. I had a 100 square foot back yard which is not quite the same but full of wonder for a 2.5 year old all the same. Gentle Ben, Flipper, Johnny Quest, Wild Kingdom, Gilligan and Jacques Cousteau all filled my days like the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches that filled my stomach and the Colgate that filled the bristles on my toothbrush. I had pajamas with feet in the bottom of them and to this day, I'm not sure why they don't come in adult sizes as those little vinyl coated feet mean you never have to figure out where you left your slippers before you walk on a cold floor.
My days were carefree except for a nagging feeling that I was "aware" and that I was meant to be a superhero of some sort. Thirty-five years later and I'm still not a superhero but I've not stopped looking for my niche. I spent my mornings, before the crack of dawn watching the station identifier on television before the Star Spangled Banner would come blaring over the tube to signal the start of another 1960's day in America. My dad was a detective on the Seattle Police Department's Vice Squad and my mother was a cocktail waitress at a Chinese restaurant named The Chopsticks. Nothing existed outside of Seattle except for what I saw on TV. My younger sister was yet to be, my toys were perfectly lined up on my shelf in my room and there were always white boxes of cold Chinese leftovers waiting in the fridge in the darkness before each dawn.
One of my first prized possessions was a key-chain flashlight, a miniture version of the real thing. I would wake up and groggily make my way across 60's colored green and orange carpeting to the "den" and my beloved TV. Sesame street rocked for entertainment since I couldn't read and Saturday morning cartoons were years apart since each week lasts a lifetime when you're young. My whole life was ahead of me and I filled my imagination with an entire day of being an astronaut, a scuba diver on the Calypso, a police officer when Adam-12 was on, a cowboy when Wild, Wild West was on and I branched into being a race car driver ala Speed Racer, a zoologist, a bowler, a carpenter, a cowboy and a road construction mogul complete with a Tonka dump truck and steam shovel. Having a labrador named Smokey who doubled as a pet dolphin or grizzly bear, depending on the title of the moment's adventure in my mind was a huge upside to being the first-born child waiting for a playmate to arrive. On the side, I was an airline pilot when I wasn't busy landing on the moon in my cardboard box complete with cut-out ports for viewing the earth thousands of miles below me. Not that I even knew what earth was because nothing existed beyond Seattle, mind you. Garbage men had the coolest job because they could hang on the back of that huge truck and ride down the street. They were strong and could carry monstrous cans on their backs with one hand and they got to be outside when the sun was up instead of being confined to the den before their parents got out of bed. I was the proud owner of a sleek red convertible mustang, pedal powered but sleek nonetheless. I was a spy, I could fly, I roped my cow-dog while riding on my wooden horse and I was a crack shot with a suction cup dart gun. My beautiful artwork was mounted on the refrigerator gallery with magnets in the shape of daisies. Marcia Brady was hot and Captain Crunch with Crunch Berries ran a close second to Spaghettio's with Meatballs for fine dining purposes. In retrospect, I was a renaissance child living in my own little world of unlimited potential. I'd not yet met the real world, I didn't know I couldn't read, I didn't know you had to have a job so you could have a 100 square foot yard or tiny boxes of leftover chinese in your fridge. Life was beautiful, limitless and full of wonder and I was blissful being aware of it all.
As I write this, a new sense of awareness washes over me and I wonder what happened to those days and all the dreams and adventures. They've been all too replaced with a 401k, stock options, cafeteria salad bar, office politics and a dental plan. They've been replaced with the American Dream of "go to college, get married, raise a family, work until retirement, then pray to God that you're IRA pays off and doesn't run out before you're in a nursing home full of tubes watching Wheel of Fortune while sucking your final heaving breath. Wheel of Fortune my ass. Tell you what Pat Sajak, you can kick Vanna White off your show, but I'm not going to sell off my childhood dreams and buy into this American Dream. No way. There has to be more to life than this and I'm either going to find out, or die trying. I'm changing the channel on this corporate fizzle excuse for fulfillment. And with that my child-like compatriots, my disillusioned friends, I'll spin again with more awareness. Feel free to join me if you feel the same.
Per the great advice of my friend, Tom Schonhoff, I will now be doing my first blog journal. In my current life, I work as a business development manager at Amazon.com, however in my dreams, I am an adventurer extraordinaire even though I don't possess any real skills beyond owning a dash of camping equipment and several books about real adventurers. I hope to change all of that, bit by bit, by tackling the adventures on my little list which taunts me daily as I grow older by the second while working away in corporate America. I hope you enjoy my entries as they come up and welcome your feedback, advice, editorial commentary and kudos.
Things I hope to achieve in the upcoming months: publish a short story about camping the Oregon Coast, complete the story of my dog's life, start at the beginning of my life and write about the life lessons I've learned through a multitude of blunderings, learn more than one chord on guitar, revamp my lifestyle to minimize all the weird clutter I've accumulated over the years, get my sailing instructor's certificate, get my scuba diving instructor's certificate, go up in a hot air balloon, complete a two week Australian Adventure by sailing and scuba diving the Whitsunday Islands and Great Barrier Reef, build a kayak in my loft and paddle it to Alaska, ride my bicycle across America and to top it all off, the big goal is to do a circumnavigation of the globe by sailboat in the next five to ten years, finances permitting.
Thanks for taking the time to read my blog, or should I say "blather?"