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Musings from the Laundromat: Pigeon edition
I do! I do! Before the new company opened, one of the owners and I shared a sparse room with quite a view – it was our temporary space to transition and get the new venture up and running.
It had a huge window, and outside, was a nest.
The owner of the building had gone to great lengths to install pigeon spikes. A deterrent that did not deter what first was a roadrunner, who had no success breeding up there – to a pigeon who did.
I watched that little guy grow a little more each day until he was practicing ‘flapping’ on the edge of the column and then one day he had left the nest
Why don’t you see them? Because they don’t leave the nest until they’re full-grown! The mom was still feeding her squab when he looked bigger than her – although, he still had a little tuft of yellow baby hair on his head.
Here’s a picture I didn’t take of a baby pigeon:
Fast forward.
Okay, so we’re in our new digs now – and everything is up and running. The suite we vacated next door was being cleaned and prepped for new leasing. I caught wind of the fact that the complex owners right hand man had orders to demolish the nest.
I managed to snag him for a quick chat. “What if there is a baby up there? She’s sitting on something again!” The answer was distressing – it would be, um, ended.
Now, considering I took and shared those photos of the roadrunner feasting on a small bird not so many posts ago, you might think it strange that I was so bothered by this news.
That bird had no chance, already caught and nature was in session.
Deliberately climbing a ladder to kill a bird is another story altogether.
I pleaded to no avail.
A week later I saw this and my heart sunk:
My assumption was that they dislodged the egg. Although, it was empty. Which, i didn’t notice at the time.
Another week and I see a ladder by the column. A cleaning lady was outside – I ventured out to inspect the nest.
A baby! The egg must have been discarded by the bird, not the right hand man.
I vented in the office – until someone came outside with me to plead my case once more.
She mentioned moving it – not killing it – but you can’t do that. It takes the mother pigeon quite a while to recognize her baby by anything other than where she last left it. This is true. Move it, she won’t smell it or hear it – she’ll just think ‘where the hell did it go? I know I left it here!’
I promised to clean the pavement until the baby could leave the nest – then remove the branches.
She was all for it – I just hope the right hand man agrees.
Musings from the Laundromat: The Parenting Paradigm edition
I’ve figured it out.
The parenting paradigm. This progression of unconditional love and support to ‘If he leaves a dirty dish in the sink one more time, I shall end him’.
I’ll preface all of this with, if my son needed me to die today in order to live – I would not ask a question except “Where do I have to go for this to happen?”
If he needed a body part and I had to saw if off myself – okay … probably that would be hard to do – but I’d let people hold me down and do it without any anesthesia.
My son is my most favorite person – my raison d’être.
Then he got older. And more capable. And more independent.
Which is great! But as I strained to lug two laundry bags inside today, and realized that 3/4 of it was his – and that he is not even here … well.
Know how we panic then experience such emotion when an animal is killed in a movie, but not so much a human?
Yes you do.
I’ve figured it all out.
Once someone is capable of taking care of themselves but won’t – then it’s on them.
A small child – innocent animal – they can’t do it. They depend on us. Count on us. Love us with pure abandon.
Which, is why I broke down and cleaned out Nic’s hamster last night. Poor thing.
I remember how he begged to have her for his birthday – we stood in the pet store, his 19-year-old hands sweaty with birthday money and he pledged that THIS animal would be different. After all, he was a MAN now.
When I returned home from work Friday, he had left for the weekend – and little remnants of his visit were everywhere. Curiously, none of them cedar chips – which invariably end up on the kitchen floor during a cage cleaning.
Our current situation is this – he works Friday, Saturday, Sunday and Monday in a neighboring State. Then he comes home Monday night and goes to our local college Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. I think. There may be one more day in there. Anyway, he stays with my mom while he’s working. The excuse was ‘to save gas’ although, I think that was the beginning of another necessary paradigm shift – the spreading wings part.
It’s working out for me. I get the weekends alone and still get to see him during the week in-between video games/calls to his girlfriend and Skypes. So basically when he’s hungry and rooting around in the kitchen, or bored because he’s had his fill of online entertainment. It’s working out for my mom for sure – she get’s grandma time. And it’s working out for Nic. So it’s win-win-win really.
But before he left this time, I asked him to please clean his hamster and before he came home this time, I had asked him to please keep the house as clean as it was.
Neither happened.
So Friday night after telling him I was confused and was he coming home that night? Due to the fact that his TV was on, hamster wasn’t done, trash was overflowing and dishes were on the counter. (And I wasn’t being sarcastic) this chat happened.
it started with me telling him I would clean out the hamster this weekend. Yeah I know, pushover. But remember, we are pulled to caring for the defenseless.
Back to the Parenting Paradigm.
So the more the young is capable of doing, and the older the young get – the more it feels like you’ve got a non-paying roommate that does nothing to contribute to the house and yet enjoys all the benefits of living there.
Nature knows what it’s doing. Because we were all like that to some degree and I’m certain its on purpose. So that when the time comes for the young to leave the nest – us parents willing to saw body parts off won’t be so devastated.
I enjoy my quiet weekends. But I’m not ready for silent weeknights just yet.
I cleaned out the hamster last night by the way … after I gave Butters a bath and cleaned the house – because none of those things were capable of doing themselves.
And the laundry hasn’t learned to fold itself yet – so I’m headed to the dryers and hoping you all had a wonderful weekend.
Musings from the Laundromat: Breaking Silence edition
Zugzwang
I did not leave the house yesterday. I did not speak a word to another human being all day.
There were no possible moves I could make that would not leave me at a disadvantage – so I stayed mute.
I declared the day Netflix/Nap day and Butters and I became Saturday hermits and shunned the world outside.
After six, yes six independent movies – I made my move – in email form, a simple move requiring only a logical, honest response.
And now I wait.
The Movies
I started with Mr. Nobody starring Jared Leto. If you’ve been reading this blog for any amount of time, you know the capacity I have for inner tangents and the propensity to think ‘too much’. What I got out of Mr. Nobody was this odd thought
I thought about all of my exes – yes, all of them. How some of them hated me for ending things. Then I thought of something coming to me before I broke things off with a glimpse of the future for me to consider.
“He has children waiting to be born – and they’re not yours. You have to let him go.”
Next I watched, in no particular order, Prozac Nation, Tiny Furniture, Somewhere and L.I.E. I capped the night off with Muriel’s Wedding because L.I.E. disturbed me somewhat and I needed an ABBA fix.
The Elephants in the Room
No, really, they’re there.
I would stare up occasionally at the ceiling and marvel at the shadows they cast.
Above my bed they hang and dance in their shadow form.
Elephants in the room.
Tangent-minded me thought of a myriad of things they represent.
But for once, I didn’t go too deep.
The silence was enough – to be silent and plunge deeper might have been too far for me to resurface from without that need to gasp for air, lungs burning and stinging eyes.
We’ve all been at the bottom of a pool for too long at some point – you know how that feels.
Too many cups
By mid afternoon I was hungry.
I haven’t really been shopping for myself – all the food in the freezer is for my son, who is rarely home. But I was not going to touch it.
I wanted something warm. I can’t remember the last time I made the effort to cook something more involved than a scrambled egg.
There was nothing.
Then I happened upon a cup-of-noodles that I was sure Nic wouldn’t miss.
I set the kettle to boil and assessed my kitchen.
I glanced at the dish-rack and had a recurring thought. Too many cups. Too many cups and too many utensils.
Who needs such an amount?
Soon it will be just me in the house – and as a grand gesture of sensibility I will remove all but three cups, three plates, three sets of forks, knives, spoons … maybe 4. 4 is a nice even ‘set’ isn’t it?
I don’t think sensibility is the right word. But I can’t think of the one I want – so it shall stay.
The cups and silverware shall not.
I’m downsizing – ridding myself of cupboard fillers and unnecessary space wasters. Of clothes I’ve kept in case I get ‘bigger’ – of dried goods in the pantry I thought I might eat one day.
On a larger scale, I’m relieving myself of internal clutter – persisting thoughts and obsessive compulsive needs.
One box at a time.
Silently.
And am still waiting for a response to my move. For some honesty and closure.
Then I’ll remove another cup.
Wednesday’s Wicked Itch
It started at approximately 2 pm.
All was well in the office – I was working away when I announced, “Something bit me!”
*scratch scratch scratch*
Just above my elbow on my right arm, an itchy spot.
After more scratching and audible discomfort, a theory from a co-worker “Maybe it was a chigger.”
A chigger??
A what??!
*scratch scratch scratch*
Google.
Very audible incredulous gasp.
“Do we even HAVE those?!?!? Gawd!! They look like shell-less hermit crab/tick/spiders!”
The probability that we have these is VERY slim considering a) the giggles that ensued after my question and b) the lack of vegetation in the desert.
But now I was even more itchy.
I floated the idea that perhaps it was psychosomatic. Just looking at that freaking picture made me want to scratch.
Suffice it to say, I’m highly suggestible and prone to empathetic reactions to my environment and yes, my imagination.
I’ll get that fear ‘whoosh’ sensation when someone is looking off of something like a rooftop or a cliff in a movie.
I find myself panicking and holding my breath when I’m watching someone else underwater or in a confined space.
I acknowledge this – I was leaving room for the itch to be in my head.
Which, coincidentally, is where it ended up.
It would not quit!
By 3:30 I was scratching my face, arms, tear ducts, eyelashes, ears and head.
By 3:31 I was wishing I could scratch the inside of my nose and wash the back of my eyeballs.
“I’m going to get some Benadryl.”
I’ve heard that Benadryl helps allergic reactions – not that I would know.
I am not allergic to anything.
I could roll in grass if I wanted to – during Spring, after eating peanuts, shell-fish, gluten and dairy while any hair adorned creature sat directly on my face and not have a reaction!
(Except for maybe, “Please get off of my face.”)
“Did you eat something different??”
No, I assured everyone that my boring weekday sandwich and chips were consumed and nothing out of the ordinary reached my mouth.
“Sometimes when you get older you develop allergies.” A female co-worker quipped.
So now I’m feeling old and itchy.
I scratched over to the gas station, ready to lay down big money for a mini-pack of Benadryl.
They did not have Benadryl.
Groan. *scratch scratch scratch*
They did have a box of generic “Allergy” pills that turned out to be overpriced, bright pink and useless.
I’m talking, seriously BRIGHT pink – I don’t think I’ve ever SEEN such pink.
Until the end of the day when I examined parts of my body.
I’m still scratching and am ready to remove my skin, turn it inside out and grate it with a rock at this point.
And on my elbow? A small bite bump.
Whatever got me – I am allergic to it.
If only I knew what it was.
It might turn out to be Wednesdays.
I’ve always been a little macabre – but my handwriting got better
While cleaning like a mad woman this weekend (due to an ant invasion following one of our monsoon storms) I came across some ancient writings. Barely legible – i decoded them. Turns out they were mine. I’m going to share some with you – put your decoder ring away, I’ve translated.
Untitled
Pressure valves and tourniquets
Defensive words and dinner plays
Gulping works with dirty water
Sweaty palms grope virgin daughter
Warnings drilled, opinions form
Cautious cold heart replaces warm
Another Untitled One
Nervous glances give me all I need for long due confirmation
Opening wounds containing memories of nightly degradation
Clammy hands that shake with age rest on his boney lap
Familiar hands that shook me from the safety of my nap …
Programmed
“A toast then, to Mrs. Maple and her generous contribution to the club!”
Lift glass – tilt glass – consume – put down glass – smile
“Her selfless sacrifice continues the tradition of commitment and giving of self”
Applaud – smile – nod in agreement
“Well then shall we retire to the lounge for the festivities?”
Get up – follow person in front – walk to room
“Everyone in? Good. Shut the door please.”
Find a seat – sit – smile
“Let us begin. Mr. Maple, you may bring your wife up now.”
Turn to Mr. Maple – smile – turn attention back to speaker
“That’s it, bring her right in – over there, on the table if you don’t mind Mr. Maple.”
Observe ritual – don’t turn away – don’t flinch – don’t cry
Excerpt from an untitled 8 page writing
… yet I do enjoy the continuity of the source of my complaining. The dependable encounters I’ve grown accustomed to. A home of sorts with no surprises left to find, and people left on guard not willing to trust quickly or care too soon.
I’m guilty of the same crime that keeps me at arm’s length.
We allow the best of our wardrobes out and wittiest comments in discussions. Our best touched by exploring eyes – purposely blinded to miss any deeper layers – any complex facets, faults or hidden failures.
Afterall, why expose anything more than appeasing traits …
Untitled
My eyes remained closed as my mother leaned gently over my bed and brushed a few stray hairs from my forehead. I loved the smell of my mother when she came home from a night out. Chanel No. 5 and fresh air mingled with her personal ‘motherly smell’. I breathed her in as I feigned sleep.
Debauchery Soup 