Tuppence a bag...

I spent the other morning working at Tim Horton’s. They have food there, internet when I need it, and nice tables. People come and go in a constant flux of coffee-seekers and bagel-eaters. It’s a relaxing and productive place to work and there are always people to watch when I raise my head from the papers in front of me and look around. This particular morning, a youngish man approached the restaurant pushing a shopping cart that contained two suitcases and a coat. He was rather dirty looking, and barefoot. He rummaged around behind the suitcases for a few minutes and pulled out a pair of ratty looking shoes and slipped them on his feet. Then he sat down at the mesh table and pulled out some grungy dollar bills. He seemed to count them for a few minutes and then came inside and bought a bagel and a bottle of orange juice, which he took with him back outside. Sometime later, he came in and got a small soda or maybe some water. Then he took off his shirt and, using it as a pillow, rested his head on the table, basking in the warm October sun that always feel so comfortable and fleeting. For awhile, nothing else happened.

I looked up again after reading a paper or two and saw an older man come out of Tim Horton’s and hand the young man a bagel. I could not hear what words were exchanged, but the young man looked as if he were going to cry and I could tell by his body language that he thanked his benefactor several times. The two parted ways. I watched as the young man sat back down, gingerly unwrapped the sandwich, and slowly began to eat. I also watched as he picked off a few pieces of bagel and fed them to the seagulls that constantly hover around that particular Tim Horton’s. I smiled. It was a lovely moment – man being kind to man, and that kindness being passed forward. And then the moment was ruined. An older man inside Tim Horton’s turned to me and began to complain that the young man was feeding the birds. “Isn’t that something,” he said, “a man gives him a bagel and he feeds it to the freaking birds.” I shrugged and did not answer. His cynicism made me sad but it was not, to use a phrase I heard the other day, a hill I wanted to die on. So, I did not argue.

I was relaying the story later to J, who understood my frustration. It was not as if the young man threw all the food away and it is not as if he had not been clearly grateful for the kindness bestowed on him. Rather, as J said, he understood what it meant to be hungry – and even in his own need and dire straits, he shared that kindness with other living beings around him. As I walked away from Tim Horton’s, I should have been touched by the beauty of the moment, but instead I was saddened by how much others feel they need to judge situations and events that they only watch from afar and never truly understand. That young man had little – but he still shared what he had. Others could learn something from him – but instead, the only other one who observed chose to judge him for not valuing a gift in a way that aligned with some arbitrary moral code. I, for one, would rather live in a world of warm sunshine and birds in flight than sit by the garbage can in Tim Horton’s making judgments.

So, feed the birds, young man. Feed the birds.

“We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give” – Winston Churchill

I Like Birds...

We're at that time of the year when it's still cold, but there are birds returning to the trees and the skies and to those invisible places where they perch and sing until it sounds as if they will burst. I don't know where they are when they do this, sometimes, but it is enough just to hear them. Since we live near a lake, there are countless geese around, specifically. Now, I know that Canada Geese make messes and whatnot, but I still think they are fascinating and beautiful. I don't have to clean up after them, though, so that might make a difference. I've driven by the lake recently on a grey morning and noted that the lake was even grayer – dotted with what must have been hundreds of birds. Mostly geese, but with the occasional seagull poised among them visiting with its bigger cousins. I stopped and stood on the little deck that juts out from the gazebo and just looked at them. More were coming in and so for a moment there were geese all around me – calling out to one another and dotting the sky with dark and beautiful shapes. I felt empowered and trivial all at once.

Geese are interesting birds. I don't know a lot about them (or about any birds, really), but I remember once I read that they assign amongst them sentinels who stand guard whilst their flockmates sleep and eat. You can see them if you look at a grounded gathering of geese – they are the ones scattered throughout with their necks craned and their heads swiveling as they gaze the area around the group. I've never seen one call out a warning that I'm aware of, they just watch and wait, protecting the group, no matter how large or small the gathering. They will gather everywhere, too – the lake, the median that divides the drive-thru from the parking lot at Tim Horton's, the ragged cornfields still sporting the truncated spikes of last year's stalks. I'm always happy to see them return.

I'm also happy that the crows stay through the winter. Crows are a different sort of bird altogether. I've always thought that if we were to transform a crow into a human, we wouldn't get Brandon Lee, but rather James Dean. T-shirts with a pack of cigarettes rolled up in the sleeves and a swagger that would give all the T-Birds a run for their money, even Danny Zuko. They really don't care. They are jet black rebels, sauntering around as if they own the world. If you drive too close, they reluctantly get out of the way and often seem cranky while they do it. They will walk rather than fly, as if to drive home how nonchalant and unconcerned they are. Their call is raucous and edgy. They sit in the tops of trees and just send call after call into the sky, that throaty squawk that makes their whole bodies move. Sometimes they are alone, and sometimes they gather in clusters – exuding malicious or mischievous intent. A murder of crows. It is no wonder to me that one of the animal-spirited divine beings of some of the Native Americans is Crow, and for others, it is Raven. I can see it every time I catch the sight of black feathers, which always seem stark against whatever environment they've chosen – whether it is road-side buffet, the tops of barren trees, or just strutting around a random patch of grass.

On the exact opposite of the spectrum of birds are the little ones – the sparrows and the finches. The ones that are coming back to us now in full swing, moving in stuttered, hopping movement that makes 'flighty' an apt, if somewhat pun-ish, descriptor. Tiny beaks and tiny feet, they hop around looking for some great treasure in food or nest-supplies. I also like the bright ones – the elegant cardinals and the trouble-making blue jays. I love them all: the gangly grace of the heron and the ugly confidence of the buzzard, the stately royalty of the eagle and the menacing beauty of the hawk. I even love the goofy persistence of 'sea' gulls and the homebody waddle of the duck.

I do not know a lot about birds, but the few tidbits I've picked up are interesting and oddly amusing. For instance, it amuses me that they believe dinosaurs may have more in common with birds than with other beasts. It's entertaining also that pigeons and doves are more or less the same bird. I find it fascinating that flamingos are only pink because of the algae that they eat. And I will forever have the image of a chicken in a tree because I saw it once, somewhere. I also chuckle that every big, circling, faraway bird in the sky is a turkey vulture. Just ask my dad. In short, all birds are beautiful and funny and fascinating and with that first robin and that first morning filled with birdsong, I cease to love winter and I long for spring…

In that moment, I agree with e.e. cummings, who once said: "I would rather learn from one bird how to sing than to teach 10,000 stars how not to dance."

Sing on, my feathered friends.

Two Days in the Life

Two Days in the Life of Me...

Today I woke up ten minutes before my alarm went off because my cat can’t seem to get into his furry head that I will get up in time for whatever it is he feels I need to be up to do.  So, I shut my alarm off so I wouldn’t be reminded that I wasn’t getting quite the amount of sleep I wanted, and got ready.  Half an hour later, I was heading out to my car and putting all my stuff in it, meanwhile trying to get the dog to realize it was me and stop barking.  He barks in spurts.  Once…then a pause long enough to make you relax and think he won’t bark again.  And then, bark.  Repeat.

On the way to work, I stopped at Tim Horton’s, with the entire rest of the waking population of the town.  I parked in the closed pharmacy parking lot so I didn’t have to wait in the drive thru line of taking your life in your hands, and went inside.  Much shorter line.  I was tired, so I got a large diet coke and got back on the road towards work.  Twenty minutes later, I was there.  It was now 1 hour after I got up in the first place, and three and a half hours before my first and only class.

I spent those hours making copies, planning activities, designing projects, fleshing out the brainstorm I had about class the previous night, answering email, recording attendance for the last class, checking in on my online courses, poking around Facebook, IM’ing with a friend, scheduling classes for the next three weeks, doing follow up on the two meetings I’ve had this week, assigning groups, answering more email, giving a student feedback on a draft, planning a meeting or two, cross-referencing meeting times to rule out any conflict, thinking about spring semester and potential courses, and generally doing approximately 42,000 different things.  I also had a snack.

When class-time came, I headed downstairs, booted up the technology, promptly confused my students by making my directions too convoluted, got them into groups and clarified, worked with them as they worked together, checked email so I wouldn’t over-satellite, and then listened as they held a fascinating discussion on various concepts relating to social networking:  accountability, responsibility, privacy, security, personal awareness.

I then answered a few straggler questions, headed out to my car and went to a friend’s house to grab some lunch.  After lunch, we went for a brisk 31 minute walk around his neighborhood where I saw no less than four squirrels and one yapper-type dog.  After the impromptu walking exercise, I got back in the car and headed to main campus for my 2:00 office hour that no students would go to.  Instead of talking to students who were not there, I checked my schedule and made sure the meetings I have this week don’t conflict, I found the books I’m supposed to be reading for the Steering Committee I’m on, answered more email, graded some student journals, peeked at the news, made babysitting arrangements with my sister, chatted a bit online, checked some Facebook, made sure I knew what I was doing in class tomorrow so I could later forget to bring home the materials, and added to/updated my to do list for the week.

Then, I left to put gas in my car, pick up the pizza, and head to my sister’s to babysit.  I spend a fun couple of hours playing with the youngest and trying to get him to say hi - which he finally did into a cell phone he was holding upside down and backwards.  My brother and his wife were there, too, so it was more like a family gathering than babysitting.  We watched Unnatural History with the Hero Who Randomly Does Flips.  We also play with around 65,000 toys that all make noise at the same time.  I arrive home at 8:30 or so and spend the next few hours relaxing, dabbling in my online class and in the online components of my face to face classes and finally retire about 11:00.  I try, for the 8th night, to get through the 'J' portion of a word game I play wherein I think of 10 words of 5 letters that start with each letter of the alphabet.  I have to do this or I won't stop thinking.  I think of 8 and fall asleep.

The next day I get up at 6:15 and go to work, stopping at Tim Horton’s to get some oatmeal and am not accompanied by the entire town, so I’m in my office and working on my 8:00 class work by 7:05.  I teach a class, grab a quick drink, teach another class, leave in the middle of both to make copies and have a random meeting in the hallway.  Then I go back to my office and work for awhile, being somewhat surprised that a student arrives at my office hours.  I help her and then am somewhat shocked when another student comes in.  I spend a few moments in a strange sort of haze as I talk one on one with this second student who wants to do better in my class,.  After this moment of Unnatural Office Hours, I head down to get lunch at noon.  I have a working lunch with a friend and head back to my office, grab a few things, then go to a meeting.  And realize as I get there that I was mistaken on when it started.  I attempt grace.  After the meeting, I run to class across the street, and arrive with moments to spare.  Class is interesting but mostly taught by the co-instructor so I feel a tad inadequate.  I attempt grace.

After class, I chat for a few moments and then head out to the mall to pick up my contacts and few other things.  Me time.  I get home about 7:15, spend time chatting with my husband and a friend of his who is visiting, and by 8:00 I’m in my home office playing a game and finishing this blog before grading an assignment submitted by a student who was granted an extension in a graduate course I taught last month, check in on the graduate class I’m teaching, and also my online courses.  I suspect I’ll be in bed around 11:00, but we shall see.  Tomorrow I’ll get up at the same time though I don’t teach and I’ll work in my office until the 2:00 meeting. 

Then, the weekend....which I will find time to rest in between working so that my head stays nicely above water where it should be.