Saturday Morning Thoughts

Papa used to sit in the yard for hours as he grew in years. I still see him there, hat cocked at an angle, cigarette in hand, somehow lost in another world and completely unaware that the ashes were sprinkling his trousers and burning small holes as they slowly lost their fire. As a teenager, I’d leave the house with friends and we’d all call good-bye to Papa as we pulled out of the drive. He never did more than nod his head and sometimes raise his hand, cigarette held high like a flag of victory. Hours later when I returned he would be just as I left him, although many times his chin was resting on his chest, his hat having slid forward to shade his face like a canopy. It was a wonder to me that he could sit for hours, seemingly doing nothing, thinking nothing…how boring. I wondered that he could be satisfied with passing a day in that manner.

I had my coffee on the deck this morning and sat patiently waiting for the chickadee to return to the birdhouse with its offering of a sunflower for its mate. They are nesting and he stays quite busy flying to the birdfeeder, quickly snatching a seed, then up to a low-hanging branch to case the joint and make certain no one or no thing spies him entering the incubator. Then he hurriedly flies directly into the small opening and exits almost immediately to repeat the pattern.

Leaving for work a few weeks ago, I asked George to clean out the bluebird house as I knew it was nesting time and I love having our renters for those weeks when they grace our home with their presence. I spotted them out and about in the yard and even say them peeping into the little house a couple of times. But patient as I was, I never saw any sign they were moving in. This past week I spied the chickadee and the puzzle was solved. They had been beat to the punch. I felt disappointment that I wouldn’t be watching the bluebirds falling in love, building their love nest and settling in to raise their family – last year they raised two families. But now I’ve grown attached to the chickadees and wish them and their soon-to-be babies all the happiness in their new home.

Some strange looking caterpillars have taken up residence in the dogwood tree which extends out over the deck. They keep falling to the ground and endlessly roaming around looking for something to eat on the bare wooden deck or someplace to hide, I can’t decide which. I see them crawling over the cushions in the chairs and worry that I’ll accidentally sit on one. We have a pattern. I spy it, grab a large leaf, coach it onto the leaf and go in search of a safe place to park it so that it will be safe from the birds. Last evening, I found myself carrying on a conversation with one particularly active one as it ran from one end of the leaf to the other while we traversed the yard in search of a safe haven. I worry about me sometimes…yes, I do.

The tulip tree has almost finished its song, with two lone blooms finally beginning to take their bows. The dogwoods are in full bloom and straining to prolong their show as long as possible, but I know that they also will take their curtain call within a week or so.

Grass is beginning to turn green, fig trees, lime trees and the beautiful rain tree we planted a couple of years ago are waking up and preparing for the long spring and summer ahead. Bumblebees are buzzing, no-see-um’s are making their presence known, butterflies are learning to fly and my knowingness tells me that the mosquitoes are revving up their engines as well. I love this time when everything is waking up, stretching into bloom. It’s like old friends who’ve been on a trip and return bringing presents and settling back into their old routines. Welcome Home!

I know now that my grandfather was doing something, he was talking, he was thinking. He was enjoying a world that I was far too busy to see. He had a kinship with the trees and the flowers. He had a special friendship with the birds. And I think he probably even shook his head and smiled as we pealed out of the driveway, somehow knowing what we thought of him and how everything comes full circle. He understood life in all of its forms and was enjoying it on a level I had not yet learned to do.

I pride myself on being somewhat intelligent and most of the time I feel I make good decisions. I made a conscious decision about a year ago to take up smoking again. Yes, I did. There’s nothing I don’t know about the danger of it. I began smoking when I was 14 years old – when smoking and drinking beer were at the extreme end of the behavior bar. Those things and illicit sex were about as bad as it got in those days. It was cool. Everyone did it. Movie stars smoked, billboards proclaimed the joy of puffing on a stick of tobacco wrapped in white paper, magazine ads flaunted sexy men and women with smoke slowing wafting around their heads as they soulfully gazed into each other’s eyes…it was the thing to do. When I walked up to the counter and asked for "Virginia Slims, menthol, soft-pack", it was as if I had never quit. I’m not saying I’m proud…I’m just saying.

Well, my plan is to give up the damn things again, but not today. I’m in the process of restructuring and beginning anew in some other areas right now…one thing at a time. But until that time, I wonder if I’ll become Papa. I wonder if my grandkids will look at me sitting in my chair in the yard wondering how I can pass the time that way…doing nothing…saying nothing…thinking nothing. I wonder if the ashes will fall and burn holes in my clothes. God, I have to get a hat!