I recently wrote a Blah, Blah, Blog accompanied by a photo of a trio of newly hatched Robins. Three huddled, featherless babies lay in their beautiful nest nursery in a cedar bush in my backyard; hovered over by Mr. and Mrs. Robin in vigilant watch-bird mode for worms, insects, and loudmouth and dangerous Blue Jays and Crows along with other predators.
My friends, forget about your alarm and security company, Mr. and Mrs. Robin exceeded all expectations. Any would-be predators didn’t stand a chance. The parents proved their worth in birdseed. They took over my backyard as the Dangerous Drones of Cedar Bush.
It is now Day 11 of the baby Robins’ birth. TA-DA!!!!!
All decked out in their beautiful feathered coats. They sit in their Royal Nest Nursery. Mouths always opened ready for the feed. ( I spend a lot of time checking them out… and when I say open all the time… I mean open all the time.) For the last 11 days Mama and Poppa have fed and protected them.
Today, for the first time, I have noticed a change. I can go right up to the nest and no parental dive bombing.
I have come to a brutal conclusion. My baby birds’ childhood is almost over. In too short a time, if they want their beaks filled, they are going to have to leave the nest and fill it themselves.
LEAVE THE NEST???? OMG! They’re still babies. What do they know about life? What do they know about men? (one of them must be a female)
As long as I did what they wanted me to do, my parents fed and protected me at the beginning, and as I remember would have done so forever.
OOOPS!!! On second thought…
Hey, my adorable use-to-be-babies, shut your beaks and test your wings. You can always come back for a visit. The cedar bush ain’t going away. This is your chance to be you. Take it!
In my backyard, I do not allow any FEAR OF FLYING. (sorry, I just couldn’t resist)
So sayeth Frank Loesser, master songwriter and very early prognosticator of climate change…
In response to the fact of those words, those in the
Northeastern part of the country in downturned grimace, would reply, “Duh!! You don’t have to be a rocket scientist to
know that. I’m still wearing my long
johns. My boots haven’t left my feet. My rain hat hasn’t left my head.”
We are all looking somewhere over the rainbow for a warm,
dry, light at the end of the tunnel.
I am hopefully going to supply that for you.
Yesterday, as the rains continued to come, and the cold
continued to chill my bones, I
forced myself to walk around the
garden. Pretending the rain had stopped,
I sat down on a nearby bench. The bench
was in front of a large cedar bush. As I
sat down, I was attacked by a robin… well, not exactly attacked, but rather
aggressively buzzed around. Scared me
silly. Why was this bird attacking me?
This photo will explain the why….
With or without my will and my way, this photo of new life
hiding in the bushes, if I do not get in its way, this beauty of Spring birth
and life itself goes on. It happened in the cold and the rain. It happened with climate changers, yay and
Mrs. Robin didn’t ask to inhabit the bush in my garden. She didn’t sign a lease. She just moved in.
So, in truth, I had absolutely nothing to do with this event.
For being a platinum card control freak this was a great relief. I don’t have to feed them. I don’t have to babysit.
I can sit in my garden, away from the cedar bush of course, in the rain or shine, cold or warm, and know in some immutable way, life goes on… and it happened when I wasn’t even looking!
In profound surprise, humility, and love…. Sally-Jane
My recent blog post has provoked responses that mean so much to me. Who’da thought….
I have been having stimulating dialogue with friends and family that hopefully will move us to rethink who we think we are. For me doing that might lead to some deepening of my sub and conscious awareness.
The two pieces below are particularly thought-provoking.
I have a new
friend. He is nice. He is black. I am white. I didn’t mean to but I offended
Here is the
In December 2018,
I saw the film, Green Book. I flipped. I loved it. No, I mean I really
loved it. I was in the local movie art house and there was hardly anyone
else watching with me. I would say maybe 10 people at most. I laughed. I cried.
I thought Viggo Moretensen and Mahershala Ali were beyond brilliant. I ached for
each of them in the many cathartic moments of the film. I was enraged at the
America that made it necessary to publish a horror like Green Book.
I was beyond the stratosphere at the music. Don Shirley’s classical music background blending with a jazz originality to create a sound that kept my head, my hands, my feet, and my heart moving constantly every time he played. (Just so you have all the information… the pianist, Kris Bowers, composed the movie score and played the piano parts and he too is brilliant.)
I’m glad the theatre was empty. The way I was swinging with the music, I may have been asked to leave.
And when it was over, I stood up as in those rare standing ovation moments at the theatre. I say rare because for me to stand means to know you have witnessed a genius rarity not likely to happen again. I yelled, “BRAVO!” I applauded. I was ignored as the very few fellow audience members left, walking rapidly, perhaps nervous that some cuckoo was on furlow for a matinee.
I practically danced up the aisle. As I left the theatre, the ticket taker was standing at the door. She is black. I stopped. I took her hand. She withdrew it. Undaunted, I gushed my enthusiasm for the film. I asked if she had seen the movie. She looked hard at me. She said in a very clear voice. “No! I don’t watch rubbish.”
I guess that should have been my first clue. But, I ignored it. I couldn’t wait to get home and call my near and dear ones. If they ever wanted to see or speak to me again they needed to pass the test of seeing this movie.
Fast forward to the next day after the Academy Award ceremony…
Don’t hit me. I didn’t watch. I never watch. They
always leave out the one movie I thought was really great or the actor or the
writer…and basically, I am not sure about awarding best anything to any
artist. The competition is within the artist. Don’t tell me
someone is better than someone else. I don’t believe you can compare
apples and oranges. However, God forbid the money men and women don’t
make their money back on their product. And for them, it isn’t about
art. It is about “product”.
All to say, if they called my name for an Oscar, I’d probably be there.
My new friend and I were talking about the Oscars. Those who know
me know. Those who don’t know me are pretty sure. I have an opinion
on everything. Ask my daughters.
I had read Spike Lee was angered by Green Book’s big win. I opined that it might be sour grapes. I had seen his film, BlacKkKlansman and thought it was great. The perfect example of trying to compare apples and oranges.
My friend said he enjoyed Green Book, but he was also in agreement with Spike Lee. For him, the Academy was doing its usual thing. Rewarding the white man as he rescued the black man. Another movie to make the whites feel good.
I don’t often keep my own counsel. I continued on and on about how Green Book detailed the possibility of a bigot changing his tune. And isn’t that what is needed in a world gone mad with so much hate and bile. A world growing more and more into “them and us”. Separating humans of ever color from each other.
As I pontificated, I assured him, I knew what he was feeling.
There came a very pregnant pause. A close
to delivery pregnant pause. The pause was so awkward it actually shut my
After some time, we broke the pause with
banal conversation. Not going near the subject, we talked awhile and then
After we parted, I recalled what I had been saying. What was it that brought about the pause that did not refresh? As I did, I realized my new friend had been trying to tell me something without telling me something. No matter we are both minorities. I am Jewish and a woman. But I am white. He is black. I cannot and will never know what it feels like to be black.
Later that same day, I wrote an apology. I wrote that of course I could never know how he feels. I have had some of the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune thrown my way, but against being born black in this world, past or present, not comparable.
He acknowledged my apology. We have not continued the discussion. Hopefully someday we will. Slow and steady as the friendship deepens, anything is possible.
I don’t know. I do know there are those who want to see a better world. Me, for one. And for me, a better world would be one where we all wake up one morning and find we are color blind. If that were true, then Green Book and BlacKkKlansman and all movies about race would be Fairy Tales. A collection of very Grimm Fairy Tales.
Is it possible?
As long as we are still breathing the world of possibilities will always exist? Right?
Of course, Right!
P.S. It seems no matter where I turn, going to the movies, reading a book, I am surrounded by with racism, bigotry, and the inherent anger, resentment and frustration.
In a recent biography of Frederick Douglass, David W. Blight writes of an event which occurred in Washington, D.C. on the 11th anniversary of the end of the Civil War as well as the 11th year anniversary of the assassination of Abraham Lincoln. At the unveiling of a monument honoring Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation, with President Ulysses S. Grant and all of official Washington present, Frederick Douglass spoke:
It must be admitted, truth compels me to admit, even here in the presence of the monument we have erected to his memory, Abraham Lincoln was not, in the fullest sense of the word, either our man or our model. In his interests, in his associations, in his habits of thought, and in his prejudices, he was a white man…
He was willing to pursue, recapture, and send back the fugitive slave to his master, and to suppress a slave rising for liberty, though his guilty master were already in arms against the Government. The race to which we belong were not the special objects of his consideration… My white fellow-citizens… you are the children of Abraham Lincoln. We are at best only his step-children; children by adoption, children by forces of circumstances and necessity.
Excerpt from oration delivered by Frederick Douglas at the Unveiling of The Freedmen’s Monument in Lincoln Park, Washington, D.C., April 14 1876
That speech was given in 1876. It is 2019. Have
things changed? Externally, yes.
However, haven’t I been reading how the Executive Branch, the Congress, our Supreme Court are colluding and searching for ways to limit and deconstruct the civil rights legislation LBJ pushed through after JFK’s assassination.
Isn’t this what happened to the promises of Reconstruction after the Civil War?
I think this is the time to bring out my favorite Voltaire quote (a very dear, very old, very close friend of mine),
Look for the Silver Lining was one of my mother’s favorite songs so we know this is an ancient tune. Praise the internet for shortening research time. Look for the Silver Lining, written in 1919 (the year my mother married) by Jerome Kern and Buddy DeSylva for the Broadway show SALLY.
I was not a child until at the very least, 1938. I remember my mother telling me how she went to see Sally in the 1920’s, falling in love with the star of that show, Marilyn Miller and the Silver Lining song she sang.
As I write this now, I ponder, was that the reason I was named Sally? Then why did my mother add the hyphen and the Jane? Since she is the only one knows the answer, I shall add it to my ever-growing mountain of unanswered questions. Am’t I supposed to get smarter as I get older? I used to think so. I think whatever intelligence I thought I had has definitely reversed direction and is heading towards oblivion. And I have to tell you, on certain days I am mightily relieved… oblivion is so much nicer than the news.
But I digress (my favorite pastime and present-time, too)!
Here are my suggestions… I chose the song, Look For the Silver Lining because of two recent movies I was privileged to see, both documentaries.
Now for those of you who don’t know me – give me good trash! As a friend of mine once said, “Oh, Sally-Jane, she can be had by the commercials.” That was before I became addicted to streaming. And now I don’t know from commercials… so I save myself for the trash. That is, until seeing these two documentary films.
RBG, the title of the documentary about Ruth Bader Ginsberg, our Supreme Court Justice, who like Atlas single-handedly holds the world safe to keep it from spinning out of orbit. Well, that’s what it feels like for me, my friends. In future history books, she will be known as The Great Dissenter. And I feel, every dissenting opinion she writes will, when we straighten up this mess, be turned into laws that will help not hinder the people. It is also the very candid and real journey of a woman climbing a female sand mountain. I would like to think it’s not as high a mountain as it used to be. But the verdict isn’t in yet, I fear.
This is not just another dance company looking for funds. (Tell me any cultural organization you know that isn’t having difficulty getting funding for their programs. Museums, orchestras, non-profit theatres they are all in trouble). This dance company has a very unusual program. As someone put it quite succinctly, ”this documentary titled, Moving Stories, shows dance as soft power supporting people that political and social failures have hurt.”
The film profiles the Dancing to Connect program of Battery Dance Company. Six empathetic and inspirational dancers from the company each travel to 6 different locations around the world – New Delhi, Bucharest (Roma children), Busam (where traumatized children escaped North Korea), and defectors from China mix with South Korean teens to create motion through their emotions, and a young Iraq hip-hop dancer, given lessons through Skype moves towards his destiny.
Moving Stories is about far more than how Dancing to Connect teaches stigmatized, abused, frightened children to dance. It is about how the children learn to unlock their hesitation and dance together. Together…. oh, what a lovely word!
Just so we are clear. I have not given up my good trash viewing. However, what I have done, for myself, and hopefully, for those who are interested is to signal for all who are depressed by a world gone mad – a light at the end of the tunnel. Otherwise known as hope (and I don’t care what you say this is not a dirty word… another lovely word… how’s this – “Together hope”?) Hey guys, who knows maybe the world has always been mad. Yet another question for my growing mountain of unanswered questions.
Maybe that is why the song popped into my head. Sure the lyrics are cornball and cliché, but isn’t it written somewhere, it’s only a cliché because it is true. Well, if it isn’t written somewhere, it is now.
Here are the cornball cliché lyrics:
Look for the silver lining Whenever a cloud appears in the blue Remember, somewhere the sun is shining And so the right thing to do is make it shine for you
A heart full of joy and gladness Will always banish sadness and strife So always look for the silver lining And try to find the sunny side of life
One more suggestion… Won’t you join me as we sing together in hope?
AS THE DAMSEL OF OLD OR MAYBE AS AN OLD DAMSEL, I HAVE BEEN BESIEGED!
We have read about it happening worldwide. People at home abed or lined up inside and outside hospitals with – I’m afraid if I say it will it come back and bite me again – THE FLU.
I come from good peasant stock. In the home where I grew up, getting sick was not an option. Being one of eight, my mother did not allow it for two reasons: time and money. She didn’t have the time or the money to cater to any illness.
Many is the time I remember being sent home from school with this or that ailment and my mother taking one look and sending me right back. And the tussle would begin. And if memory serves my mother won out more times than the school. This is all to say I had a healthy disrespect for being sick.
Probably because I have been fortunate in avoiding the usual colds and flu until….. the end of December… All I can tell you, my friends, is that January is a complete blur. I think I was around for it. I just don’t have the specifics.
And bugs and viruses (Are they twins or different species? Not sure.) have no respect for people… infants to seniors, rich and poor. In today’s world when it comes to infection we are one sneezing, coughing, fevered, unhappy family. If being part of the global family means sharing our bugs and illnesses, I am going to opt for hermithood.
If it sounds like I am bitching…you got that right. Phew! Glad that’s done!
Now let me get to the gratitude because it is that gratitude that began the healing process. I am firmly convinced that my bitchy attitude made the healing harder. Once I realized self-pity and the ever-present judgment and blame was ruling my consciousness, I surrendered. I think it is amazing that no one called me on my negativity. In recovery, all I got was support and love.
I shall remember, my dear friends, that when a friend or loved one is not feeling well, give them the “ah-ha, oh, yes, I understand. It must feel terrible. Is there anything I can do for you.” And mean it. Because, in fact, that verbal caring goes a long way in recovery.
Yes, my mother’s need for us to not be ill was based on time and money. Time is certainly a factor in getting well. It took me over a month and I am still working on it. And I am not negating money. No, it is essential to recovery. But it isn’t the ultimate.
I would like to share with all those “billionaires” who think that by buying votes they can buy their health. I am here to tell you that can only happen if it comes wrapped in LOVE.
To all my friends and family, Thank You for your time and money, but mostly thank you for healing me with your love and kindnesses which cannot be bought.