Tag Archives: Life

Why I love my wife. A Christmas Day Story

Sunday, December 26, 2010

Saturday afternoon, Christmas day, my wife and I, as is traditional for many people of a certain ethnic group – Here’s a hint: We’re not Asian. – went to the movies. I’ve been working like a beaver… I actually have very little knowledge of how hard beavers work, but will assume the metaphor is valid. …for what seems like forever, and had been looking forward to the break, to anything that could get my head out of my office, literally as well as figuratively, and back to thinking on a positive track.

We saw “The King’s Speech,” featuring an amazing performance by Colin Firth as The Duke of York, struggling, in the words of the script, “to find his voice.” Wow. It’s literally breathtaking to see anyone, in this case an actor, take his craft to take such extraordinary levels of accomplishment. When the titles rolled, the entire audience at the crowded theater applauded in agreement, but that’s not the point, and wasn’t the highlight of my day.

Our tickets were for the first, early afternoon show, hoping to avoid the afternoon zoo of minivans and SUVs we expected to be headed for family entertainment at the 14 screen multiplex. Traffic, on our way to the theater, was minimal. So far so good. In the vast theater parking lot, there couldn’t have been more than 50 cars, employees’ included. Certain we’d have our choice of seats, we even loitered for a couple of minutes in the theater lobby, scoping out the posters for coming attractions while we waited to meet another couple that was joining us. The place was pretty much empty.

As fate would have it, every one of those cars in the parking lot apparently belonged to other people of the same ethnic group, all of them already seated in Theater 13 where they were showing our movie. “Hmmm.” Unable to find any decent seats where all four of could sit together, the other couple split up, leaving my wife and me no choice but to sit in the very front row, in the flat portion of the theater, about 10 feet from the screen, which was in front and above us – and what seemed like 10 inches from the front speakers. (If you’re verbalizing any comments while you read this, you’ll need to speak up.)

At least we were sitting next to each other and could hold hands during the show. (“Heck, I’d pay good money to hang out with my wife for a couple of hours,” I rationalized. The movie really wasn’t the point.) And so we leaned back, our heads resting on the back of our seats, and started watching the previews, our heads turning as if we were center court at Wimbleton, to stay with the English context of the movie we were there to see.

“What the hell,” I said to myself, figuring that I would tough it out, but worried that my wife, who needed the break as much as I did, would be disappointed – and then she turned to me, in light coming off the screen and within the din of the front speakers, and smiled. “At least we have plenty of leg room,” she laughed at me, and me back at her.

Abso-freakin’-lutely.

-wf

The Woodpecker

Hello. No, I’m not a birdwatcher. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, although I do watch the birds that stop by my bird feeder that I can see out the bay window when I write at the kitchen table. (They’re the birds that gave me the idea for the name of this blog.)

Just as it was starting to snow this afternoon, a woodpecker that lives in the woods behind our house stopped by.

I think he’s a male (because his head is all red) Red-Bellied Woodpecker,* and I wonder if he watched Woody Woodpecker cartoons when he was growing up, the way I did when I was a kid.

*Page 102 in Stokes’ Beginner’s Guide to Birds.

-wf

Political Quote of the Day: “They’re all a bunch of yahoos.”

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

That honestly profound observation in the headline was made by no more or less an authority than… than my wife. In her own, wonderfully direct way, she has summed up what’s wrong with our government.

It’s not about who we elect. Not really. Maybe it used to be, but not anymore. No. The media, obsessively focused on the politics of it all, may lead us to believe that it’s about ideologies, about inherent differences between Democrats and Republicans and now the Tea Party movement. Those differences are overblown, interesting at most, and pretty much irrelevant as a root cause for the mess we call “Washington.”

There are deeply rooted structural problems with our government which, until they are fully appreciated and corrected, will continue to prevent that government from managing effectively.

We have way too many players constantly running for office, who are, for all meaningful intents and purposes, clueless. What we have, is a simple political tradition which has evolved, which has been perverted to the point of requiring a very different skill set to get elected, than it takes to do what we need our representatives – the President included – to do after they are elected. The result is a superficiality of government which invariably misses the point.

All the pundits, analysts and victory speeches aside, after yesterday’s election, the only thing I know for sure is that I love my wife. If only she had political aspirations.

-wf

New Friends

The nice thing about writing on my kitchen table, looking out over the top of my screen at our deck and the woods behind the house, is that occasionally I make new friends.

We have deer, lots of them, adults, manly deer with antlers…

..and new ones, not so steady on their spindly legs, that still have their spots. Our deer and I have a great relationship. I let them live in the woods behind our house and, in return, they keep our bushes trim. (If you’re ever in the neighborhood, we’re the house with the bushes that have been eaten down to little nubs.)

There’s a red fox that follows me sometimes when I run, in the dark, early in the morning. (I wonder what he’s thinking.) And there’s a raccoon that comes up on the deck now and then, walks right up to our windows and looks in at us.

Most of all, there are lots of birds who come to visit our bird feeder on a regular basis, and squirrels who eat what they can of the seeds that fall to the deck. Recently these guys have shown up.

No, this isn’t the bird feeder which was the genesis of my blog name. Hummingbirds watch Food TV and like simple syrup, not seeds, so I got them their own feeder. It’s faded, but they still think it’s a flower.

And here’s my Goldfinch. In person, especially in bright sun, he’s electric yellow.

Mrs. Goldfinch showed up a few minutes later…

..but, judging from their body language, I’m not sure how well they’re getting along.

And we have a chipmunk.

If you’re interested, I’ve named him “Adrian,” as in “Adrian ChipMONK,” after the character played by Tony Shalhoub in the award winning series, for the way he (the chipmunk) overcame his fear of the much larger, more aggressive squirrels to compete for deck space.

A couple of baby squirrels have shown up in the past few weeks. (I know, I know. I need to fix that nail, but then I’ve been telling myself that ever since I pried it up last winter when I shoveled the deck so my birds and squirrels could find food.)

The other day, a hawk tried to pick up one of the baby squirrels. He made a run for it, the squirrel did, but wasn’t very fast and hadn’t learned to be as bold and clever as he would be some day. I went out and chased the hawk away, thinking the little squirrel needed help. He was barking, making that noise squirrels sometimes make when they’re upset about something. It seemed like the right thing to do. I figured the hawk would find something else to eat, somewhere else. My little squirrel won’t live forever, but it wasn’t his day to die.

So what, you thought I was kidding about the raccoon?

Now you’re probably thinking I live in the woods, in some rural place, maybe on a reserve where they film Disney movies. Turns out I live in the suburbs, between to major cities, with a traffic, “honk honk, beep beep,” millions of people and more concrete than trees, which probably explains why I enjoy hanging out with my woodsy friends whenever I can. They’re my buds. Sometimes I wonder if they think they’re hanging out with me. …Nah, it’s because I feed them, isn’t it?

-wf

Trouble Sleeping

Short Fiction for Guests of the WoodFeeder
Monday, September 6, 2010

12:35 AM, early Wednesday morning.

“Are you awake?”

“Hm,” was all his wife, lying next to him, her face down in her pillow, could manage to say. [Translation: “No.”]

“Jimmy Fallon’s coming on.”

“Hm.” [“Who gives a crap? I need to sleep.”]

“You know that new girl I told you about, the one they hired in public relations?”

Nothing.

“Well, she comes in my office today. I’m busy like a beaver editing a screenplay. Doesn’t even bother to knock. She’s wearing one of those v-neck tops, without the undershirt thing. Lot’s of cleavage showing, looking even more boobous than usual. I’m guessing she has a platinum card at Victoria Secrets. …You following this?”
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The Hangover

(Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea, eating the worm.)

Short Fiction for Guests of the WordFeeder
Sunday, September 5, 2010

“Hey.” The short line in front of him at the familiar shop down the street from his office had moved quickly. More than most days, today he needed the perfect cup of coffee. “I’ll have my usual.”

Fifty-two minutes earlier…

Naked, in someone else’s bed, in a bedroom and apartment he didn’t recognize, Anthony Null went from a dead sleep to wide awake the moment he heard his watch alarm go off. Pushing himself up onto his elbows, he paused for only a second before swiveling onto the edge of the bed, his bare feet pleased to feel the cool of the floor. He pressed the big button on his watch to shut off the sound. Disoriented, he looked around to see his suit and other clothes strewn about the old hardwood.
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I, Your Son

Short Fiction for Guests of the WordFeeder
Sunday, July 18, 2010

“Shhh!” He held his finger up to his lips, cautioning the girl he was showing around their laboratories to be quiet. The large room, covering most of the fourth floor of the new graduate Physics building was usually off limits to visitors, but he had a special unlimited access pass that even their extraordinary security had to respect, and managed to get one for her, too. It was a pick-up trick that had never failed him.
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First Date

Short Fiction for Guests of the WordFeeder
Sunday, July 11, 2010

It was 5:22 AM Tuesday morning, according to the glowing numbers and letters when he pressed the button on his watch, 8 minutes later than the last time he’d checked.

“Enough already. I’m getting up,” Kenny advised himself out loud, even though he was the only resident of his studio apartment, the largest unit he could afford in the slightly better than crummy neighborhood he’d settled for when he moved to the big city. His first real job out of college, he wasn’t about to put in the hours, the “sweat equity” his father called it, only to max out his potential in a small town company. “Maybe I’ll have time to catch a nap before I leave.” He had the one air conditioner in the window, but it was too noisy to run when he was sleeping, and then there was the fan on a stick he kept in the corner moving slowly left to right, right to left. Kenny got up, turned on the air conditioner, opened the blinds a bit, and waited a couple of seconds for the compressor to come up to speed. “Com’on, baby. One more day.”
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Question of the Day: Are we going to be breathing oil?

Friday, July 9, 2010

Hi. As I understand it, oil floats. At least some of the oil that’s leaked from the Deep Water Horizon wellhead is floating at or near the surface of the Gulf of Mexico.

Open water storms, including hurricanes, pick up moisture from the bodies of water over which they form and from which they derive their energy. Once they make landfall, that water becomes the rain that falls on our yards and streets, and on the crops growing in our fields, and that floods our streams and rivers. More importantly, it is the rain that touches our skin and permeates the air we breathe.

As workers who cleaned up after the Exxon Valdez will tell you, breathing oil isn’t good.

My question is, will the rain from storms crossing the oil in the Gulf contain even microscopic volumes of oil? To what extent does this oil-involved rain pose a health hazard, over what geographic area, and what are we going to do about it?

Anybody out there know?

Oh, in case you’re assuming our crackerjack government is on top of the problem, don’t hold your breath – unless, of course, it’s raining.

-wf

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Long Distance

Short Fiction for Guests of the WordFeeder
Sunday, July 4, 2010

“Norm honey, aren’t you going to answer it?”

Becky, the girl Norman Allgood had been dating for the past few months, had seen that look on his face before, whenever the subject of his parents came up. But lately, when the other cell phone he kept in his desk drawer would ring, the usual angst was laced with… with fear? Fear wasn’t something most people see in their friends, and she wasn’t sure, and couldn’t imagine why it would be there.
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