a message?

The sudden presence in my life of many birds and many adorable maternity dresses that I as yet have no need for is remarkable enough to break my 9-day blog-free streak. I cannot not ruminate on the feathers and XL frills that have been dumped in my lap over the past month or so.

Birds first.

It started with Popcorn. Every local kid who has ever tried to save one of these when they fall out of the nest knows that it's near impossible, because they just won't open up to be fed. Heather, our FSC teacher, sent him up to me, having heard somewhat erroneously that I am the campus Bird Whisperer. (I am not. My inability to turn away an injured animal does not a Bird Whisperer make me.) Popcorn survived a whole night in the care of my friend Kristi's overzealous 6-year-old son, and a few more days back with Scott and me. The only way to make him ingest anything was to have him sit in it, basically. We had to fill the bathroom sink and place him in it just to get him to drink water, and put a disgusting homemade mixture I came to call Cat Food Mash in the sink for him just to get him to eat. I took him to the classroom with me every day, and every afternoon, brought him home. The ever-diabolical Callie got him one afternoon when I stupidly turned my back on her. He survived a day and a half more.

The day after Popcorn died, I emailed my colleagues to tell them I was out of business. No more birds, I wrote. My heart can't take it! As I typed, I noticed that there was a huge zebra dove (like Popcorn, but an adult) sitting on one of the light fixtures overhead. I figured it had gotten in when I opened the door that morning. The kids came in, we did morning business, and they left for their resource classes. The bird never budged, though I could see that it was breathing. The kids all thought this was the spirit of Popcorn (sometimes I swear I could be teaching kinder, but I do love their sweetness) so I waited till they left before nudging it gently with a window opener. It FELL OFF THE LIGHT FIXTURE. BAM, on the ground. I screamed. It was still alive, so when I stopped freaking out, I filled a plastic bowl with water and perched him on the rim. I had figured out by then that he'd been locked in the classroom all weekend and probably needed water more than anything else (well, besides needing not to be shoved from a twelve-foot perch straight to the floor.) It drank a little, but seemed wobbly, so I floated it in the bowl like a duck (it seemed like a logical thing to do at the time, Dan) and left it alone for a little while. I did some work but started to worry that it would drown, so I took it out and tried to perch it on the rim again but this time it fell face forward into the bowl, and that was the end of the Spirit of Popcorn.

The next one that fell out of a tree, a mejiro, was whisked away to another teacher, who nursed it for a day, then turned it loose.

A few days later, some kids (who obviously did not get my retirement memo) brought me a baby red-vented bulbul that they'd found under a playground slide. I had my doubts, but of course I let it stay in the classroom and then took it home. This one, christened "Butter" by the kids who still dearly missed Popcorn, opened up WIDE - all the time. He was (is) hungry every second of the day, it seems. Bulbuls are way easier than zebra doves, because they eat, and are a lot less shy. Brought him to school daily until my mom grew very attached to him and suggested he live at her house full-time. This made me happy, because she has a lot of fruit trees and the neighborhood bulbuls come to visit when he's out of his cage, hopping around on the branches.

A few days later, one of my kids' little sister came up at 7:30 with a sparrow clenched in her fist, thrust it at me, and said, "He's blind." The bird could fly just fine but due to the fact that he for whatever reason couldn't open his eyes, he kept flying into things. This one, I did try to turn away. When the kids left, I set it on one of the jalousies, said a little prayer, and sent him on his way. He fluttered down into the yard below, and I shut the window. I told the kids the truth - that he'd flown out the window. The next day, they found the same bird hopping around and brought it to me again. I firmly told them that since he was an adult and capable of flying, he had to be set free. So they set him free, he stumbled into the road, and he promptly got squashed by a car. Right in front of the JPOs on duty.

Then, one of the neighborhood ducks at my mom's got hit by a car. I found it dead on the side of the road one day, his partner nowhere to be found. Everyone loved those ducks - I can't believe someone would hit it and just leave it there. I called my brother and he buried it in the backyard, and it was then that I started wondering if someone was speaking to me.

I mean, seriously. Every teacher, "bird whisperer" or no, gets their share of Please fix this birdie and bring it back to life, but this relative flux of birds lately has got me thinking. These are birds that need nursing, or a gentle touch and a quiet sanctuary in the last moments of their lives. I am not a bird person - I've never wanted to own a bird. I don't technically own any of the ones that have flown into my life lately, but I feel responsible for them all, and I come to love them. I know I stand on a path that diverges in two directions - the first is Crazy Bird Lady (no thank you), but the second is ...?

Which leads me to those dresses. Between a serendipitous trip to the thrift store, a sentimental journey to the back of my own closet, and a fun afternoon at Kristi's, in which we pawed through bags of clothing her mom was giving away (she has excellent taste, that woman), I've put together a collection of really awesome dresses that would look great on me - if I had a beach ball to stuff under them. Roomy, flowy, feminine springtime dresses with bows, empire waists, ribbon detail. Most of K's mom's stuff was a little too big, so I put them back in the bag, but she urged me to take them. "They'll be great maternity dresses," she said. Found a great Donna Ricco dress for $7 at Savers, and when I'd washed it at home and tried it on, it turns out I'll need a beach ball for that one, too. And in my own closet, when trying to get rid of stuff to make room for thrift store and Kristi's stuff, I pulled out a lot of dresses I don't like because they make me look puffy in the front. But I reasoned that I should actually keep them, because 1) hello, Sentimental Pack Rat, and 2) at this rate, i/w we find ourselves on road to parenthood, I won't need to buy a thing, in the way of clothing. Sweet!

Nursing bird after bird and finding myself ready to clothe a mommy-to-be figure are far cries from actually jumping on the rugrat bus, but I found these events thought-provoking. Probably more ruminations on these things in the grand meddied blog, or maybe I shouldn't say that, because when I say I'm going to write something, it never actually gets done.