"Just" a Bird

  Almost 5 years ago I had been thinking about getting another bird. I have always loved birds, and been fascinated with them---how wonderful it must be to fly! Then my friend Lori decided she wanted another bird, and she contacted a lady on Craigslist who raised parakeets. Lori asked me to ride along with her to pick up a bird, as it was a half hour ride and she wanted company. The lady had three birds for sale. They were only three weeks old, and they were all hand raised, because their mother had rejected them. One was pure white. She said she might keep that one, and I hope she did, because it obviously loved her.The other two, which she hadn't originally thought were even going to hatch, were blue. As we stood in the lady's living room, Lori snuggling one bird to her chest, and I the other bird to mine, I began to fall in love. I was considering taking the bird myself. I even kept thinking of a name, over and over. I would call him Irving Birdwing. But Lori decided she would take both birds. As we drove home we discussed the birds and Lori said I could take one of the birds if I wanted to. I called Ken to see what he would think of me bringing home another pet. (It seemed like every time I went to visit with Lori I brought home a pet: a parakeet once before, a rabbit, a dog.) Ken didn't like the idea. His answer was a resounding "NO". He said we had enough pets and didn't need another expense. "All those 'free' pets have been expensive.", he said. I wanted the bird so much, I overrode his decision. When we got home we opened the box where the birds were huddled neck to neck, and I took Irving out.
  Irving turned out to be a girl, but we kept the name. it suited her somehow.

  Two days after we took her home she got her foot caught in a thread on my clothes, and in her panic to free herself she injured her foot. She couldn't walk on it very well, but still insisted on walking around and climbing her cage, using a wing, one foot, and her beak. A few days later, when we had been out for the day, we came home to find she had hurt her tail, probably from falling while trying to climb her cage. Now she couldn't balance  either. I felt so guilty. I had taken her when she could have gone home with Lori, and now I had certainly doomed her to death. We took her to the vet, who recommended  we put her down. "You have to consider quality of life over quantity.", he said. He said it was very doubtful she could repair her nerve damage. His proof that she was beyond help, was that she walked toward him no matter which way he kept turning the towel he stood her on. (She wanted to walk to him!), and that she snuggled in my hands. "I don't know of any bird, handraised or not, that will let you hold it." Well then you don't know much. Irving was still a baby, and loved to fall asleep snuggled in my lap in my bed. Even when she grew up, she would still consent to be held occasionally, and would lean against my face when asked to "Give me a snuggle".
  And grow up she did. The vet said the only chance Irving had depended on how much time we were willing to spend on her. She had to have a fish tank so she couldn't climb,and we had to spend as much time holding her as we would. So we got a tank, and when I got up in the morning I went to her tank and put my hand in the bottom. As fast as she could she would drag herself over and climb into my hand. We all took turns holding her all day long. Ken works evenings, so all day he and I would take turns holding Irving. There was no other way she could groom herself because she couldn't balance, and it kept her weight off her foot and tail. When the kids got home from school, they took their turns holding her. In two or three weeks Irving was back to normal.
  Irving had more personality than any bird I have ever seen. She also showed so much love.

Irving was hard to photograph because she was fascinated with the camera.(Like most female parakeets, she wasn't much of a talker,but she learned to copy the sound of the camera shutter,along with the microwave beep, and the dining room door squeak.)

Trying to photograph her outside her cage usually resulted in this.

 But we did manage to catch this one, before she could get close enough to jump onto the camera! But she was running at it already!

She loved to spend time sitting on my head.

She was not usually a shoulder sitter. She preferred heads, in this case, Emma's.

She would use my hair like a tether rope and slide down by it to nibble at my face.

Although she did sit on shoulders so she could indulge in another interest...

...For some reason she also liked to look in mouths.

 She'd put half her body in there if she got the chance. Very trusting of her, but I nearly bit her head off once when she stuck her head in there while I was talking.
  She had to be a part of everything, and was very curious.

Irving helping to make a phone call in Ken's messy computer room.

  We tweeted back and forth constantly.
  One day, when Irving was about 9 months old, I had spent the morning working around the house with her on my head. It was so normal for us I didn't even think about it after a while. I found a lady bug and went to throw it out the back door--forgetting Irving was on my head. Of course, she flew out the door, and continued down the street and around the corner. It was November, and there was a freezing cold rain falling. I ran after Irving, but she was nowhere to be seen. I stood in the street and screamed to the family for help. Ivy was in school, but Emma was home from college and Fuzz was doing computer school and only went in for German class in the afternoon. Ken was home too, since it was 10:45 AM. They all ran out. Fuzz went all the way to the corner, barefoot and in pajamas trying to see her. Ken told me she was gone and there was nothing I could do, so I should come in. But I couldn't leave her out in the cold, She probably wouldn't survive. And she was so friendly, she would land on our dog's head. She would certainly be eaten by something. I was so upset I tried to tweet to her and couldn't get it out. Ken told me to calm down and tweet to her. I grabbed my coat and started down the street tweeting. When I got to the corner I heard her tweet back, but from waaaaaaay down the street. But I kept tweeting and in a second I heard her very close. She had come back.
  I found her on the roof of a house on the next corner and across the street. I couldn't see her, but we tweeted back and forth for a while. Fuzz had put on shoes and a coat at my insistence, and was out looking too. Emma had gotten dressed and came to the house where we were. It's a good thing no one was home because we stood outside their house tweeting and calling, "Irving!" Emma brought Irving's cage over in case we could coerce her back into it. But Irving stopped tweeting back. I wasn't sure if she had flown away or decided to do what she did at home after a bath: take a nap until she dried off, and no tweets until she woke back up.
  Fuzz thought he saw her fly around the back of the house, but he wasn't sure. We decided he would head down an alley on the other side of the side street, and I would take the alley behind the house where she had been. I started down the alley tweeting, and there she was,on a bush behind the house. She flew from bush to tree, to tree, to tree, until eventually she was 2 more house down.
  The whole family spent the day trying to get Irving to come down. But it rained all day. It was freezing cold. A group of sparrows were in a bush under the edge of a shed, but Irving was in a bare tree in the cold rain. I tweeted to her on and off all day so she wouldn't forget I was there. Eventually we realized Fuzz was late for German, and Emma ran him to school, still in his pajamas and boots. She came back with a net, but that didn't work either. I had to explain to the lady whose tree Irving ended up in, why we were all behind her house, with two vehicles, (Emma's and ours.),and a 16 foot ladder up her tree. Irving had parked in their tree and decided to take her nap until she dried off.
  The vehicles were to survive the cold, because it was COLD. I soaked two coats and a large tablecloth standing in the rain. Ivy had been picked up from school in the afternoon and joined the vigil. It got late. Ken had to be at work by 5, so he had to go home to get ready for work. Emma had to go to the bathroom. Fuzz had already gone home when he got mad because I wouldn't let him break his neck climbing a wet tree to try to catch Irving. Eventually,it was just me and Ivy, but Emma left the truck so we could stay warm. It was beginning to get dark.
  The rain stopped, and Irving began to tweet back, and shake the rain off her feathers. Pretty soon she would be dry and fly away forever. I decided to try again to climb the ladder up the tree and try to get her to come to me. I got to the top of the ladder and tweeted. She tweeted back. Then she flew. I thought."This is it. She's gone." But she only flew in an arc, and landed on my shoulder. I got her on my hand and she gave me a kiss, and flew onto my head. It was literally a blur after that, as I was crying so hard I could hardly see. I talked to her all the way down the ladder, although I'm not sure how I got down.I had been straddling a huge puddle in front of the door of the truck, getting in and out for the last few hours, but I have no memory of the puddle at this point. I only remember gliding over to the truck and getting in with Irving on my head, and shutting the door. Once inside she hopped onto my chest and I clutched her in my hands. Ivy got in with her cage and we were home free. I immediately put Irving in the cage and Ivy said, "Aw, you're not going to put her in the cage are you?!" "Are you kidding?!"
  She had given up her freedom to come to me.
  Everybody got colds after that: except Irving.
  A couple of years ago or more Irving began to lay eggs. They weren't fertile of course, but birds lay them anyway. I constantly worried that Irving, being so small, would become eggbound, unable to deliver her egg. It's fatal. Every time she went into egg laying mode, I worried. We aren't sure if that was the problem, because she was still eating, and active,but Irving kissed me goodnight for the last time last Friday night.
  When there's a death, never tell someone, "It's just a bird." Or a dog, or a cat, or whatever. Animals are part of the family. They give us love, and we fall in love with them. I never had a pet show me as much love as Irving did. I never had a pet who loved me more than anyone else. Irving was my baby. We had a bond I've never had with any other pet, as much as I loved them all. Irving was special.
   I will bring home no more pets. I don't want another bird. I'm finished.

Goodnight my Irving girl. I love you forever.

Birth, Death, Growth, and The Return of Skipper Saturday

  Some of you may have been confused as to the order of the last few Doll-A-Day posts. I had three ready to post when all the recent events started happening. They got posted all at once afterward, just because they were there. Then I noticed they were in the wrong order, and I attempted to correct that by putting them back in draft and reposting them. They were being stubborn and refused to go where they were supposed to. As that wasn't my biggest concern at the time, I gave up. Somehow with all that they got sort of mixed in with the other posts and some of you may be thinking, :How was she messing with those posts at a time like that?!" Well, I wasn't. It just all got mixed up with all the removing and reposting.
  I've been hemming and hawing over returning to the blog. Do I start Doll-A-Day again? Do I wait? Or do I just let that boat sail completely? Should I at least do Skipper Saturday as a regular thing? The page views are higher today, so are people looking for my Skipper posts? (Those of you who have been regular readers ought to know better than to look for the day's post early in the day!) I've been trying to be 'normal' after Dad's passing, but whenever I do 'normal' things, I feel I shouldn't be yet. When is it ok to go back to normal? I had this same problem when my mother passed away. But hers was sudden, so I hadn't had time for early grieving. I feel as if I have already been grieving for a long time, which I have because I started months ago when Dad's health started to fail. My sister is having a hard time. It only fully hit her last night. Maybe it will hit me like that out of the blue one day, but I think I will just continue in my funk for a long time. But I've been trying to ease back into doing the things I always do and carry on. So I decided to post a Skipper today.That will be a separate post, so make sure to check it out.
     Ken's nephew became the father of a baby boy recently.Yesterday I was shopping for baby clothes. I miss having little ones. Mine are so big now, and NONE of them want to have children. I kind of feel like I made having children look as if it was no fun, for them to feel that way. (Which it was. I LOVED having kids.)They assure me that's not the case. They just don't like kids and/or don't want to have to take care of any. Fuzz says it's because kids are horrible, especially babies. He said babies are hard to deal with.I tried to tell him that babies are easy. It's when they become teenagers that they become difficult! It's so much easier when they are little, and you can keep them with you, safe and happy. When they get bigger and start going out into the world, where you can't always know where they are and that they are safe, and having problems that you can't solve for them; that's when it's hard.
  Our giveaway winner, London Peony has contacted me with her address, so she will be receiving her miniature checker set very soon. Thanks for entering London.

"Crown me!" says Leptospurmum.

I'm considering doing a Christmas giveaway, but this time somebody needs to give London Peony some competition, otherwise she'll be over run with cool stuff I'm giving away. Come on people! Doesn't anybody else want to play with me?
  In other news, as they say, my pear tree is full of baby pears...

...my tomato plants are getting bigger...

...and I think that corn I planted is finally starting to come up.

Corn?

I just hope it's not too late. The mulberries, which are usually finishing up by this time, are starting to get ripe, and, as usual, my garlic is threatening to take over the yard!

The computer insists on loading this one sideways. But you get the idea...

 The garlic is only rivaled by the the wild strawberries, which, unfortunately, are inedible.

Gol durned wild strawberries have flourished, whereas my edible strawberries, that I paid money for, died out.Figures.

Oddly enough, the leeks, which NEVER get full sized anyway, are starting to seed already, as is the garlic. What?! 

My puny leeks. That pointy thing at the top will soon be a ball of tiny blooms, which will drop utterly worthless leek seeds back into the ground, where they will not grow next year.

There's a pumpkin plant, (or is it cucumbers?) growing of it's own accord amongst the Myrtle.

This is sideways too, but you would never have known if I hadn't told you.

 I still have Amaryllis' blooming, but the Rose of Sharon and the Sweet Peas are taking their time. The tiny blue flowers I used for a lot of doll photos lately are, I think, Forget-Me-Nots.(Now that I think about it, I did have a packet of Forget-Me-Not seeds. I must have sprinkled them there.)

 Emma commented how fitting that is, considering they are growing at the edge of our 'pet cemetery'.
  So, lots of growing going on, but whether or not it produces anything remains to be seen. I'm famous for my black thumb,so I'm not counting on anything.
   Anyway, I have done some yard saling the last couple of days. It looks like Monster High,and Lalaloopsy dolls are beginning to hit the yard sales in a big way. I snagged 2 full size Lalaloopsies, (Ok. One of them was naked.),a mini, a plush, and several pets this weekend.

  Just to update on my recent cheese related injury: I am still limping and the toe is still swollen and still hurts, but it's almost back to it's normal colour. And you thought fats and cholesterol were the biggest dangers of cheese...
  Check out today's other post for Skipper Saturday.
 

Dad

  Regular readers will know that my Dad passed away a week ago Saturday. I am trying to become 'normal' again, but how do I return to the blog? It seems trivial, unimportant. I feel I should be 'serious'.
  Writing about a celebrity who has passed away is easy. You report the facts, list some of the things that made them special to you. And that's it. But how do you write about your own father? There are so many tiny things, a lifetime of things, that only matter to yourself, so many things and instances that make someone who they are or make you love them.No one else can ever understand what he meant to you, even if they feel the same about their own father.
     The 'facts' are these: Dad was born in Kentucky in 1923.He was proud to be a 'Hillbilly'. His mother died when he was a baby, and he was raised by aunts and grandparents.

Dad at age 10, in his father's tie.

He fought in World War II,

Dad in front of the wash houses, Bar-le-Duc, France, around 1945.

...came home after the war, and married my mother.

Mom and Dad

He worked as a pest control engineer at Wright Patterson Air Force Base, and retired after being hit by a train. (No kidding! Luckily he was in a big truck at the time.)

Dad holding me on my pony, with my sister and her pony,1964.

My parents divorced when I was small, and at 12 I moved to live with Dad. I never wanted to live alone, and I felt no need to leave home until I married at 27 and a half. (It was my home, after all.) I didn't think I'd ever find anyone.My Dad wisely said,"I knowed you was going to marry Ken." I asked him why, and he said, "Because you went out with him." I had never gone out with anyone until Ken. Not that I was asked out very many times anyway, but 'dating' didn't interest me. I only wanted there to ever be one guy and I wouldn't have gone out with Ken unless I already had feelings for him. Dad knew me pretty well. I saw my dad cry over 4 occasions: when his brother died, when my mother died, when our hamster died, and when I got married. I cried too, since I cry at everything, happy or sad, and the picture of him walking me down the aisle shows us both in tears.
  My dad wasn't perfect. In fact, sometimes he was downright impossible to live with. He could be moody, and I swear he was bipolar. But he could also be wonderfully silly. He had a generous heart. He was always there for me when ever I needed him.(When I was pregnant with Emma he came over before I got out of  bed every morning and brought me a bowl of cereal, so I didn't get up without food in my stomach, because we had been told that made morning sickness worse.When I was in the hospital about to give birth to Emma he was constantly in and out, bringing lunch to Ken, and bananas for me.He was obviously very nervous and the bananas were an excuse to come in and see how I was doing.)

Dad, and me. I was pregnant with Emma. Christmas, 1990.

  He was a tease. He loved to aggravate.He loved children and dogs. He often carried his chihuahua in his coat.He ate his dessert first. If you said you liked something, it was yours.He appeared to not be sentimental, but his briefcase of 'important papers' contained his Army discharge, his tax papers, his retirement information, and cards and drawings my sister and I gave him as children.

One of my favourite pictures, Dad, me, and Emma,Emma's third birthday party, June, 1994.As usual, Dad has his party hat on top of his regular hat.

    He sang silly songs and did silly dances.He could play a little guitar.He loved the music of Sam Cook,and George Jones.He was a pest control expert who knew all about insecticides and how to get rid of just about every bug. When we were kids he made walking toys out of a wooden spool,a stick, a rubber band, and soap, and the wind-up equivalent of a whoopie cushion out of a  rubber band and a washer, and some long forgotten objects. He played basketball in school and he loved the Boston Celtics. 

Dad, in one of his Boston Celtics hats,with Emma and a new baby Fuzzy, 1995.Our red hair came from Dad.

He was a worrier. He was at least an hour early for appointments.When he needed to do something, he wanted to do it NOW.When he found something he liked: shirts, shoes, or jackets, he bought it in multiples. When he found a food he liked he ate it constantly until he got tired of it.If he knew one of us liked something, he provided a steady supply. When Emma experienced the awe children have for being able to eat something naturally growing outside their door with our black raspberries, Dad found a patch and picked so many black raspberries we couldn't eat them all,his hands always covered in deep scratches from the thorns.

Easter, 2007. It rained, so we had to have the egg hunt inside. We hid some of the eggs on Dad.Ivy is searching him for eggs here.

  Eight years ago he got pneumonia, and was diagnosed with dementia, which I had suspected for some time. When he recovered from his illness he was no longer able to live alone. He came to live with us,and our roles reversed. It was time for me to take care of him. I did alot of fighting for Dad, to get him the proper care,etc. When his dementia worsened his doctor's told me it was time to send him to a nursing home. But Dad sat there begging to go home, so I took him home. He lived with us for 2 and a half years, until his dementia reached the point where he needed to be watched 24 hours a day. It broke my heart to put him in a nursing home, but it was no longer possible to take care of him myself. I would have needed a staff of several people. To Ken's credit,he was the best son-in-law ever, taking shifts with me to watch Dad 24 hours a day for a few weeks until Dad entered the nursing home.
  I really feared the nursing home. So many people just fade away after going in. But Dad wasn't a quitter. He spent nearly five years in the nursing home, and would have turned 91 on the 21st of June. His dementia worsened over those five years, but I am thankful that up to the end, he almost always knew who we were. He stayed mobile up to his last week,walking the halls, and talking and joking with the staff around the nurses station all day. His nursing home staff were a wonderful group of people.The last few days a constant stream of staff came into his room to see him off, and some even kissed him goodbye. Many of them confessed to breaking the 'no favourites' rule with Dad. I would have believed they said that to everybody, but their fondly told stories of him and the tears in their eyes suggested it was true.
  I also feared his death. I thought I always wished for him to just go quietly in his sleep, not knowing, and for me to just receive a call from the nursing home telling me it was all over.I thought that would be less painful.It didn't happen that way though, and I'm glad it didn't. We knew for a couple of months that it would be coming,even though we thought we had more time. In the end I spent most of the last 4 days, (and all of the last 3), with Dad in the nursing home,feeding him while he could still eat,holding his hand, and sleeping next to his bed on a stack of mattresses so he wouldn't ever be alone. My sister and I were there when he just stopped. It was, of course, one of the hardest things I ever did, but it allowed me to have no regrets. I spent the last eight years taking care of Dad, and I finished my job all the way to the end. Knowing it was coming and being there for him made the end easier for me. I had time to prepare, and grieve in slow motion for months. By the time it happened,I was running low on tears, having been using them for so long already. My mother died suddenly and unexpectedly, and the pain was so much worse. I never got to say goodbye, and I think that made it harder to bear. With Dad I had a chance to let him know he was loved, and I was there to make sure he didn't have to go alone. I was even able to do one more thing for Dad, and act as a pall bearer, something I would never have thought I could have done. I think he would have appreciated it.
  I feel somewhat lost now. Even though he didn't live with us throughout my childhood,I've never been without Dad, and we were so close. I can't imagine never seeing him again. This is going to take an awful lot of getting used to.