Here In Heaven, We Wait
As a reward for finishing Flesh Circus revisions last night I allowed myself the first story in the new Peter Beagle anthology this morning. It made me cry over my orange juice and English muffin. I swear, Beagle is one of maybe a handful of authors who can make me cry because a story is so right and so perfectly, beautifully constructed. (Others include Tanith Lee, Sarah Dessen, and Robin McKinley.)
Also, the Jehovah’s Witnesses came to the door this morning. Two men, one older one younger, both in suits. White men in suits make me nervous, so I said, “What are you selling?”
“Nothing…” The younger man was taken aback and shuffling his papers.
I realized they were proselytizers and felt charitable enough to take a flier and say, “I know you have to hand these out. You guys want any coffee or a glass of water or anything?”
“No, no…” They both looked stunned. I told them to be safe out there and shut the door.
Hey, I fight proselytizers with kindness. (It’s like fire with fire. Only it’s popgun versus nuclear bomb, in this case. Plus, it’s part of my own vows.) They’ve stopped sending Mormon boys here because I feed them and send them home with a head full of questions that are Very Bad For Their Faith. The Baptist ladies are very nice, and we quote Scripture at each other while their kids play. However, they stop coming when they realize I have no intention of being anything other than a comfortable pagan with epicurean tendencies and a kettleful of Stoic proverbs. There’s a new crop every season.
I swear when I went into the grocery store last night the trees were bare, and when I came out they were packed with tightly-furled flowerbuds. Yesterday evening the plum tree in the backyard was naked, but this morning it is covered with the tiny maroon buds that aren’t flowers yet, but close. I won’t feel all the way better (early spring is a profoundly depressive time for me) until the plum tree actually does flower in a cloud of pink with purple undertones, but I’m getting there. Barring a sudden frost, spring is here.
Every winter feels like the last. I suppose that’s what winter’s for.
But this morning while I was on the treadmill, a bluejay hopped around in the plum tree for a bit. Yesterday he hopped for a full ten minutes before gliding up to the birdfeeder hanging right outside the window; today he hopped once or twice on branches that are limbering up amazingly with fresh sap. Then he soared neat as you please across the back yard, and I could see every feather as he fanned his wings, braking in midair, and landed on the feeder. He eyed me between scoops of seeds, deciding I was crazy (what human isn’t, to a bird?) instead of predatory, and further deciding the glass meant he didn’t have to worry about one of the cats, who was cheerfully and obliviously sunning himself on the sill. A few more scoops of seeds into his long bill, a long string of scolding audible even over the treadmill’s noise, and he exploded away, winging furiously across the yard to disappear in a tall bank of juniper bushes, where I suspect he has made a temporary home. He is probably hoping a lady jay will be along soon to share a better nest, probably in the plum tree when it leafs out. That’s prime bird real estate in summer.
I keep meaning to put a bat house up in those branches, since that corner of the yard wouldn’t mind a little guano.
Maybe this year I will.
I think we’ve survived another winter. But I’ll wait for the plum tree. Just to be sure.
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March 26th, 2009 at 12:07 pm
For me it’s the red winged blackbirds that really mean spring is here. I saw them catching bugs out of the air yesterday and my heart just felt so much lighter.
March 26th, 2009 at 1:19 pm
you wicked woman you, I dont think the Witnesses are allowed caffiene.. grin.
I have my jays, but I have been enjoying all the smaller birds, the finches, the wrens, and whatever that other little bird is that comes about. I am going through bird seed, suet, and seed cakes like crazy.
March 26th, 2009 at 2:58 pm
The two shortest visits to my home by missionaries of any faith both involved my having a sword in my hand when their car pulled into my driveway. On the first occasion, I was unpacking my car after arriving home from an SCA event. The second, I was taking advantage of some warm Spring morning air to sit on my porch and sharpen one of the swords in my collection while I sipped my morning coffee.
Both times, the missionaries exhibited a very odd look on their faces and left as quickly as they could. On both occasions, I was polite, smiling, and behaving in a totally non-threatening manner. I just *happened* to be holding a 4 foot long broadsword at the time…
Dan
March 26th, 2009 at 6:57 pm
I get a lot of scammers at my door. The two barking dogs help but a sword would be faster! Go guy!!
April 2nd, 2009 at 12:56 pm
You deal with proselytizers more humanely than I do. I just tell them I’m pagan…”You know, a SATANIST” is actually what I say, because it pushes their little buttons so. Then I slam the door. But I have relatives in a certain proselytizing faith who keep putting us on the list to visit. It gets old.