Tribute to Tikvah the Towhee

I wrote the following on February 27, 2008. Six months later, I'm still not used to her absence. Did you ever love a wild thing?

She was pretty much useless:

1) She only had one leg.
2) She couldn't even fly that well, for a bird -- she often came in
low, and toppled a bit.
3) She was plain to look at, and had one persistent feather that jutted
out the side, like a stubborn cowlick.
4) Towhees don't make breathtaking melodies, like mockingbirds do.
5) She stopped having babies several seasons ago.
6) She didn't know she had a name (Tikvah, meaning Hope) and we
couldn't pet her or hug her.
7) She barely knew we existed, and never said 'thank you' for the
expensive bird food we bought her.
8) After a storm I always had to go pick up the downed branches and
twigs, lest she trip over them on her one unsteady leg.
9) I constantly had to rush out to protect her from the cat next door
and, again, did she once say 'thank you'? No.
10) Now that she's gone, she's a real pain in the ass, because every
time I look in the back or side yards, fresh tears come.

Damned little nuisance.

"On Your Left!"

It happened again yesterday. I was walking on the Sonoma Bike/Pedestrian path, deep in thought, lost in other worlds and old worries. The path was nearly deserted; I felt alone with the exception of one lone killdeer softly calling out in the adjacent field. Suddenly, the near-silence was shattered by the harsh voice of a woman streaking up behind me on her Schwinn, yelling, "On your left!" Jolted out of my meditation, I jumped and lurched right, my adrenalin-drenched heart pounding. I was still trying to regain my composure when she was but a dot in the far-ahead distance.

"On your left!" bugs me. Although I'm sure bicyclists have the noblest of intentions and desire only to protect me from harm, these warnings still feel, at some level, as if they are demanding, "Out of my way!" And, even though I'm subjected to these bellows several times on my five-mile walks and should be used to them by now, they always startle me. The human voice is not the most melodic of nature's sounds.

But I'm open to other options. I find the bicycle bell much more civilized and quaint and European. Can we compromise with a bell?

Meanwhile, if you're speeding down a bike path one day and, just as you come abreast of a pedestrian she shrieks in your ear, "On your right!" and you startle and fall off your bike (unhurt, of course), that won't be me laughing. Oh no, I wouldn't do such a thing. RoadPeace forever, man.

"On Your Left!"

It happened again yesterday. I was walking on the Sonoma
Bike/Pedestrian path, deep in thought, lost in other worlds and old
worries. The path was nearly deserted; I felt alone with the exception
of one lone killdeer softly calling out in the adjacent field.
Suddenly, the near-silence was shattered by the harsh voice of a woman
streaking up behind me on her Schwinn, yelling, "On your left!" Jolted
out of my meditation, I jumped and lurched right, my adrenalin-drenched
heart pounding. I was still trying to regain my composure when she was
but a dot in the far-ahead distance.

"On your left!" bugs me. Although I'm sure bicyclists have the noblest
of intentions and desire only to protect me from harm, these warnings
still feel, at some level, as if they are demanding, "Out of my way!"
And, even though I'm subjected to these bellows several times on my
five-mile walks and should be used to them by now, they always startle
me. The human voice is not the most melodic of nature's sounds.

But I'm open to other options. I find the bicycle bell much more
civilized and quaint and European. Can we compromise with a bell?

Meanwhile, if you're speeding down a bike path one day and, just as you
come abreast of a pedestrian she shrieks in your ear, "On your right!"
and you startle and fall off your bike (unhurt, of course), that won't
be me laughing. Oh no, I wouldn't do such a thing. RoadPeace forever,
man.

Letter to the Editor

This is a letter I submitted last month to the Editor of the Santa Rosa Press-Democrat. Unfortunately, he chose not to publish it. Too bad: I really wanted to apologize.

ROADPEACE

Editor: This is a letter to the blonde woman driving her white SUV down Fountaingrove Parkway this morning (Monday, 1/7/08). I was driving in the right lane and when I saw that it was coned off, I indicated and started to move left. You were in the left lane and I, perceiving -- perhaps incorrectly -- that you were speeding up to make it difficult for me to merge, raised my hand in an angry, frustrated (but not obscene) gesture of "What are you doing?" You gestured angrily back to me. We were then both stopped at a red light; I felt remorseful and wanted to connect with you. I considered giving you the "peace" sign but felt shy and uncertain. Before I could act, the light changed, we moved on, and you turned off at Round Barn. I felt bad and wished that I had at least tried with the corny but heartfelt "V." I don't want the sentiment of "peace on earth, goodwill towards others" to end with the holiday season, and I apologize for my angry gesture.

Sometimes Occam is Wrong

The other morning I was stopped at a traffic light heading out of town. It was a breezy day; as I watched, a gust of wind blew from its frame a large, handwritten advertising posterboard which a local merchant had placed in front of his shop. The posterboard landed in the right lane of Highway 12. I thought to myself, "In a little bit the owner will come out, see the ad, figure out that the wind dislodged it, and set it to rights." However, just as a pickup truck approached from the other direction, another large gust of wind picked up the posterboard and plastered it against the large grille of the truck -- just as the light turned green and the truck sped through the intersection and away into the distance.

This time I thought, "The poor shopkeeper is going to be convinced that someone made off with his carefully hand-lettered sign. That, after all, would be the simplest explanation: vandalism." I almost wanted to park my car, find the poor guy, and explain what happened just so he could retain his faith in humankind. But my light was green: I had things to do. I could only hope that it didn't ruin his day. Or that maybe the trucker would discover the sign and return it. As a friend of mine says, You never can tell.

I invented it!

I invented a bumper sticker today which I plan to develop into reality at Cafe Press. I absolutely love this:

"I'M PROBAMA AND I VOTE"

Neal says in order to stay true to the original form of such sentiments, it would have to be:

"I'M PRO-BAMA AND I VOTE"

I don't know though....I think with the hyphen people may be wont to pronounce the "bama" as in "Alabama"?

What do you think?

Either way: Copyright Ann Clark, The Sacred Wilderness, February 8, 2008. There; that oughtta cover me.

[When I told Neal I needed to go online right away to post this to my blog, he said, "Welcome to MY brain," referring to my need for an immediate cerebral transfer. I replied: "Well, I have a my-brain headache," which was a total non sequitur, but we decided to put it in the show, anyway. Next time, I'll tell you about "the show."]

First Post

This is a test. Thank you to my husband, Neal, for setting up this blog for me. I was doing a crossword puzzle (in ink) at the time.