“Behold the fowls of the air: for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much better than they?” Mathew 6:26 KJV
A March windstorm has displaced a good-sized birds’ nest from its lofty, once secure place in the sprawling elm on my front yard. A very strong gust must have toppled it.
Scooping this sturdy abode into my hands and examining it, I concluded that probably a family of robins or cardinals had been the occupants.
Delicately constructed with mostly organic ingredients, this circular one-room home was made with massive blades of dried buffalo grass, a conglomeration of twigs, sticks strands of alfalfa, dried out corn husks, cottonwood leaves and mud.
There’s bird spit sown in everywhere, applied as an adhesive, although, now invisible.
Along with all the natural elements is a mix-match of man-made stuff - litter woven in. Studying the materials of the nest builder, to whom I am by now feeling akin, I marvel at how resourceful and forgiving nature sometimes can be.
There are three dirty swatches of yellow and blue fiberglass insulation - most likely from a construction site…
…a shred of plastic from someone’s grocery sack,
…a tangled mass of human hair, maybe from a women’s hair brush,
…some purple and pink dryer lint,
…and part of a plastic ring from somebody’s six-pack.
There’s a tiredness about the nest – a sublime fatigue that I can’t quite get past. I try to imagine the subtext buried deep within – the goings on from last season…
… enduring endless early March days after a long flight north from southern latitudes…
…building a place to stay in temperatures just above freezing,
…singing breeding songs with the winter flock,
…filling the air with joyous sounds that, as a lubricant, releases winter’s frigid hold and invite spring’s return.
My narrow focus leads me to the porch where I lovingly place the fallen nest, as a war-torn soldier, on an empty plant stand. I don’t think the wind will blow it away here, but I provisionally place a heavy rock in its empty shell – just in case. I’m saving the discarded nest for a time, as I always seem to do.
There’s something deep down inside of me that ponders this pitiful artifact: the forces that built it, the way it withstood nature, the mournful litter strung through it, the life it once bore and at last its fatal fall.
I like to think this nest was a good home for a bird family – a place where one cohesive unit ate together, slept together, rose together, sang together, celebrated together, grew together cried together, loved together, weathered storms together – stayed together. I want to believe it was place of honor and respect.
We can only hope for as much.
2011 © Copyright Paula Damon. A resident of Southeast South Dakota, Paula Bosco Damon is a national award-winning columnist. Her writing has won first-place in competitions of the National Federation of Press Women, South Dakota Press Women and Iowa Press Women. In the 2009 and 2010 South Dakota Press Women Communications Contest, Paula's columns took five first-place awards. To contact Paula, email pauladamon@iw.net, follow her blog at http://my-story-your-story.blogspot.com/ and find her on FaceBook.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Nestle, power and work
Nestle [vb] - to settle snugly or comfortably as if in a nest, to press closely or affectionately
The other day, while watching my three Dachshunds wrap themselves around each other, winding into one large ball of fur with three heads, six eyes and twelve legs, I pondered how reassuring it must be to nestle like that.
Do people nestle anymore in this digital age? With most of us living online, our addresses are punctuated with dots and forward slashes, our virtual street names all start with htpp:\ and everyone is connected, yet terribly alone, how could we nestle?
I believe we are living in a weird anthropological time in the history of humanity. Encounters of the flesh have been replaced by apps and applets, bytes and browsers, clicks and chats, firewalls and frames.
Instead of visiting Grandma’s, where dotted Swiss curtains hang helplessly in the south window of her musty nineteenth-century home, we revel over the latest text messages and Skype videos.
Remember what it was like to nestle - curling into a fetal position, resting under the protective presence of another’s reach, leaning into another’s providential shield.
I believe in nestling. In fact, I think if we all nestled more, we would feel more self-assured, more loved, more empowered.
Power [noun] - position of control, authority, influence over others
Speaking of power, there should be a universal law against using the vocabulary of freedom to gain power in both political and personal relationships.
When it comes to power, my work ethic appears to control my life. I’ve often wondered why, until recently, when it dawned on me that my parents often expressed their love for me through work.
Work [noun] - activity in which one exerts strength or faculties to do or perform something
My parents worked to provide good food and plenty of it.
They worked to have a big house, to buy nice clothes, to drive me around in a new car and to pay the utilities bills. Most of all they worked to protect me.
Considering that my parents expressed their love in this way, I now realize why I experience difficulty turning off my compulsivity to work.
Like a perpetual switch, I find pleasure and satisfaction in work - scrubbing floors, cleaning toilets, washing dishes, raking leaves, sweeping sidewalks, folding clothes, organizing files, writing stories, writing more stories, and on and on.
Funny thing about work...as much as we love our jobs, we work our entire adult lives so that we can stop working and retire.
Some of us are counting the years to retirement.
Some of us are counting the months.
Someone I knew at work had been counting the days until his retirement. On December 14, he had only 160 or so to go.
When I heard that he recently was diagnosed with inoperable cancer, I slumped with sadness for him and for all of us. He died on March 6.
No matter how we measure life, we know two facts: life is way too short and goes by far too fast.
This is why we need to nestle more, love more and work less.
2011 © Copyright Paula Damon. A resident of Southeast South Dakota, Paula Bosco Damon is a national award-winning columnist. Her writing has won first-place in competitions of the National Federation of Press Women, South Dakota Press Women and Iowa Press Women. In the 2009 and 2010 South Dakota Press Women Communications Contest, Paula's columns took five first-place awards. To contact Paula, email pauladamon@iw.net, follow her blog at http://my-story-your-story.blogspot.com/ and find her on FaceBook.
The other day, while watching my three Dachshunds wrap themselves around each other, winding into one large ball of fur with three heads, six eyes and twelve legs, I pondered how reassuring it must be to nestle like that.
Do people nestle anymore in this digital age? With most of us living online, our addresses are punctuated with dots and forward slashes, our virtual street names all start with htpp:\ and everyone is connected, yet terribly alone, how could we nestle?
I believe we are living in a weird anthropological time in the history of humanity. Encounters of the flesh have been replaced by apps and applets, bytes and browsers, clicks and chats, firewalls and frames.
Instead of visiting Grandma’s, where dotted Swiss curtains hang helplessly in the south window of her musty nineteenth-century home, we revel over the latest text messages and Skype videos.
Remember what it was like to nestle - curling into a fetal position, resting under the protective presence of another’s reach, leaning into another’s providential shield.
I believe in nestling. In fact, I think if we all nestled more, we would feel more self-assured, more loved, more empowered.
Power [noun] - position of control, authority, influence over others
Speaking of power, there should be a universal law against using the vocabulary of freedom to gain power in both political and personal relationships.
When it comes to power, my work ethic appears to control my life. I’ve often wondered why, until recently, when it dawned on me that my parents often expressed their love for me through work.
Work [noun] - activity in which one exerts strength or faculties to do or perform something
My parents worked to provide good food and plenty of it.
They worked to have a big house, to buy nice clothes, to drive me around in a new car and to pay the utilities bills. Most of all they worked to protect me.
Considering that my parents expressed their love in this way, I now realize why I experience difficulty turning off my compulsivity to work.
Like a perpetual switch, I find pleasure and satisfaction in work - scrubbing floors, cleaning toilets, washing dishes, raking leaves, sweeping sidewalks, folding clothes, organizing files, writing stories, writing more stories, and on and on.
Funny thing about work...as much as we love our jobs, we work our entire adult lives so that we can stop working and retire.
Some of us are counting the years to retirement.
Some of us are counting the months.
Someone I knew at work had been counting the days until his retirement. On December 14, he had only 160 or so to go.
When I heard that he recently was diagnosed with inoperable cancer, I slumped with sadness for him and for all of us. He died on March 6.
No matter how we measure life, we know two facts: life is way too short and goes by far too fast.
This is why we need to nestle more, love more and work less.
2011 © Copyright Paula Damon. A resident of Southeast South Dakota, Paula Bosco Damon is a national award-winning columnist. Her writing has won first-place in competitions of the National Federation of Press Women, South Dakota Press Women and Iowa Press Women. In the 2009 and 2010 South Dakota Press Women Communications Contest, Paula's columns took five first-place awards. To contact Paula, email pauladamon@iw.net, follow her blog at http://my-story-your-story.blogspot.com/ and find her on FaceBook.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
You know you're getting old if...
...you take a nap after lunch.
...the point size on your computer monitor is 16 or larger.
...the books you read have enlarged print.
...residents in nursing homes look young to you.
...you walk around with your purse wide open.
...when asking for scratch paper, you get blank stares.
...you know what chicken scratch is and you cook from scratch.
...someone says, "I'll dial the number," you know what they mean.
...your 1970 sewing machine doesn't look like an antique.
...you still say, "Roll down the car window."
...at one time, you had a gas station attendant who hand-washed your windshield, checked the oil and pumped your gas for 20 cents a gallon.
...buying five-cent Hershey's Reeses's Peanut Butter Cups seems like yesterday.
...you know why people used to dropped their watches.
...your first washing machine had a ringer.
...the way you prefer to dry laundry is by hanging it out on the line, even in winter.
...you have clothespins and still use them.
...you sift your flour and grate your cheese.
...you know how to poach eggs.
...a catalog store is something you can define.
...shopping in the Montgomery Catalog Store on Main Street once was routine for you.
...the thrill of going to the Five and Dime on a Saturday afternoon is fresh in your mind.
...there is a crank pencil sharpener in your house and you still use it.
...you know what a blackboard is.
...the first lesson you had in cursive was on a blackboard.
...you know what cursive is and still use it.
...letter writing on stationary is one way you communicate
..."text" was not a verb when you were a teenager.
...you still have a set of Encyclopedia Britannica on your bookshelves.
...the encyclopedia salesman and you were on a first-name basis.
...you know what a bomb shelter is.
...air raid drills in school are vivid in your memory
...your doctor is younger than you are.
...the mayor's name is Katrina.
...your senator's name is Sean.
...the governor's name is Chris.
...you're the oldest person on the block.
...you're all alone with no one to share family news.
...you don't mind growing old because you're tired.
...you finally realize that having grandchildren is the one good thing about growing old.
2011 © Copyright Paula Damon. A resident of Southeast South Dakota, Paula Bosco Damon is a national award-winning columnist. Her writing has won first-place in competitions of the National Federation of Press Women, South Dakota Press Women and Iowa Press Women. In the 2009 and 2010 South Dakota Press Women Communications Contest, Paula's columns took five first-place awards. To contact Paula, email pauladamon@iw.net, follow her blog at http://my-story-your-story.blogspot.com/ and find her on FaceBook.
...the point size on your computer monitor is 16 or larger.
...the books you read have enlarged print.
...residents in nursing homes look young to you.
...you walk around with your purse wide open.
...when asking for scratch paper, you get blank stares.
...you know what chicken scratch is and you cook from scratch.
...someone says, "I'll dial the number," you know what they mean.
...your 1970 sewing machine doesn't look like an antique.
...you still say, "Roll down the car window."
...at one time, you had a gas station attendant who hand-washed your windshield, checked the oil and pumped your gas for 20 cents a gallon.
...buying five-cent Hershey's Reeses's Peanut Butter Cups seems like yesterday.
...you know why people used to dropped their watches.
...your first washing machine had a ringer.
...the way you prefer to dry laundry is by hanging it out on the line, even in winter.
...you have clothespins and still use them.
...you sift your flour and grate your cheese.
...you know how to poach eggs.
...a catalog store is something you can define.
...shopping in the Montgomery Catalog Store on Main Street once was routine for you.
...the thrill of going to the Five and Dime on a Saturday afternoon is fresh in your mind.
...there is a crank pencil sharpener in your house and you still use it.
...you know what a blackboard is.
...the first lesson you had in cursive was on a blackboard.
...you know what cursive is and still use it.
...letter writing on stationary is one way you communicate
..."text" was not a verb when you were a teenager.
...you still have a set of Encyclopedia Britannica on your bookshelves.
...the encyclopedia salesman and you were on a first-name basis.
...you know what a bomb shelter is.
...air raid drills in school are vivid in your memory
...your doctor is younger than you are.
...the mayor's name is Katrina.
...your senator's name is Sean.
...the governor's name is Chris.
...you're the oldest person on the block.
...you're all alone with no one to share family news.
...you don't mind growing old because you're tired.
...you finally realize that having grandchildren is the one good thing about growing old.
2011 © Copyright Paula Damon. A resident of Southeast South Dakota, Paula Bosco Damon is a national award-winning columnist. Her writing has won first-place in competitions of the National Federation of Press Women, South Dakota Press Women and Iowa Press Women. In the 2009 and 2010 South Dakota Press Women Communications Contest, Paula's columns took five first-place awards. To contact Paula, email pauladamon@iw.net, follow her blog at http://my-story-your-story.blogspot.com/ and find her on FaceBook.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)