A smattering of wet snow innocently offered itself for inspection this morning.
And nearly got the better of me.
But not quite. I’ve become an expert at balancing as I sliiiiddde.
.
Possum prints. It’s nice to know they are around but we haven’t seen one in months.
What I did catch sight of briefly this morning was a red-winged blackbird.
Usually they are in flocks but maybe this bird was scouting the rumours of early Spring.
While hanging out with starlings.
.
Those masters of drama were congregating in a hedge recently…
.
“Some dude here giving a talk?”
.
“That would be me!”
.
“Excuse us! No late arrivals!”
.
“Stoopid boys and their stoopid talk!”
.
“Can’t you look before you tweet?”
“That was my wife.”
“Now I’m in for it!”
.
It has been too long since I had the delight of a bird perching on my finger.
Although my parents were not animal lovers, they did like birds and they almost always had budgies.
Most of them were blue and except for one or two, they were called Peter, after my brother.
The only budgie that didn’t get let out of its cage was the Barbados bird because the doors and windows of that house were always open and not screened.
But that little chap, pictured here, was surrounded by greenery and seemed quite content.
.
Peter may have been the bird’s given name, but Dad often called them something else and he painted cartoons of them for me.
The prodding object was a wire brush my mother used to clean the cage. No, the birds were not stressed!
When I first went to boarding school, Dad used to write to me as if from the budgie which is probably where I learned to make animals “speak”.
Dad was a talented artist, photographer and writer and he could be very funny.
.
He would have been surprised to hear me say it, but I had an uncomfortable relationship with my father, yet I spent my life trying unsuccessfully to please him and when I come across this photo taken in 1958, it always makes me both happy and sad.
He so seldom smiled at me as a child.
.
After my dad took employment overseas in 1956, the four of us were only ever together for very short times.
Peter worked for a bank in Africa. When he was on home leave one year, I arranged for him to fly out from London. My own flight from New York arrived in Barbados an hour or so before, so we met up at the airport and went to surprise Mum and Dad.
It was late afternoon and Mum protested that she didn’t have anything for dinner. But she was about as pleased as I ever saw her. I was a frequent visitor, but she had not expected to see Peter.
.
Mum and Dad in their beautiful tropical garden. In many ways I think those were their happiest years.
They were still young enough and healthy enough to enjoy life which in Barbados was very nice, even though the small apartment complex they ran was very hard work.
This is how I prefer to remember them.
That’s a rare talent, to be able to paint an expressive budgie face!
Starlings
The starlings are singing!
You could call it singing.
At any rate, they are starlings.
-James Schuyler
Thank you, Carolyn, for the beautifully and movingly told memories of your parents!
I love your tales about birds, starlings in particular.
Joanna
Nice to remember them as they would have liked to be remembered. I only have bad/sad memories of my dad, as we never really got on. Fortunately, the memories of my mum are the complete opposite.
Best wishes, Pete.
It’s fun to look at old yellowed photos of one’s parents. I do this a lot and am privileged that my mother is still around and able to answer all my questions about their photos. It looks very cold in your part of the world and I hope the red-winged blackbird has conveyed the message that Spring hasn’t arrived yet.
Nights are still cold but we are in a “warming trend”. I saw photographs of people walking around in shirt sleeves in Chicago recently. In February. It’s bizarre. But the Pacific Northwest has colder than normal weather (ever since I left, I seems!)