The Hummer

I can’t sleep. Never can sleep past five in the morning. The sun wasn’t even awake yet, but I was. I slowly swung my legs over the side of the bed, feeling every year, stiff as a board. Slowly. That’s how everything has to be done now. No fast moves, even if my brain says stand up, that’s no guarantee my legs would be performing as instructed. Slowly standing up, bracing myself on the bedside table, making sure dizziness doesn’t overcome me and throws me off balance. Now for the first time I picture my brain and body as a big office, filing cabinets, wires, lots of wires going everywhere. I believe at least a few wires are unplugged or burnt out, worn out from overuse, no longer in touch with the rest of my body.

Every morning I slowly maneuver to the bathroom and wonder what new wires will give out today. Oh – and I think someone is cleaning out the filing cabinets without permission. That shit is coming up missing. I laugh at my own analogy and that itself seems to plug in some joy for a change.

Alrighty then – everything seems to be moving when demanded. So far so good, Time to celebrate since I was up right and not six feet under. I peed, let the dogs out the back door to do the same. Bet they won’t stay out long but I hope they make yellow snow now. I went to the kitchen, got the coffee started, and opened the drapes. No sunshine today. The skies had lightened a bit as the sun rose behind the clouds.

I slowly {see, there it is again} walked to the den, over to the window, pulled the drapes back, the drawstring having been broken since 1975. Not top priority on the repair list, obviously. A light dusting of snow covered the ground overnight, giving us a fabulous White Christmas. How about that, I could count on one hand the number of times we’ve had snow on Christmas in this area. Whoopi. Wonder what the roads are like. Might be spending this one alone.

The phone rang as if on cue. It’s only 5:30 – I thought I was the only one up at this time. Where the hell is that damn phone? I finally found it in the chair cushion and swiped to answer and nothing happened. I swipe again, and again. Finally, “Hey Dad Merry Christmas. Have you looked outside?”

“I can’t hear you. Bing Crosby is singing White Christmas right now darlin’.” See. Haven’t lost my sense of humor.

“Well the snow isn’t the problem. It’s the ice under the snow that’s the problem. Some roads are even closed because there have been so many wrecks. Dad, I don’t know what to do?”

“I’ll tell you what to do - stay put. I don’t want anyone wrecking or getting hurt. And we both know I’m not driving on it because you wouldn’t allow that. So you listen to me and I’ll listen to you and we’ll live to see another day.”

“I know you’re right. But I don’t have to like it. I’m not happy about you spending the day alone today.”

“I won’t be alone. I have three dogs that think they are people, so today we’ll pretend they are. Might even play a game of poker like all those tacky paintings, eh?”

“Dad, it’s not the same, especially today.” There it is, always in our thoughts, on the back burner but never far from warming up. My wife of 49 years died on Christmas Day seven years ago and the holidays were always hard on us all.

“I know honey but there’s nothing to be done. Just means I can stay in my PJs all day. I’ll be alright. Y’all can stop by after the roads clear. I have a little something for the kids.”

“Dad I told you not to spend money on gifts. We’ve got everything we need.”

“I didn’t spend any money sweet girl.” I hoped she wouldn’t challenge my answer because I didn’t want to tell her I’m giving them cash. Yep – still tricky too.

“I’ll be fine. Just do that face talk thing with me later.”

“Facetime Dad.”

“Isn’t that what I said?” We both chuckled, said our love you and hung up.

I really was ecstatic that I could stay in my pajamas. I’ll put my robe on but I’m not getting dressed. I love my kids and their kids, but I’m old! Can’t stay around all that activity for more than an hour without wanting to scream, It’s not the people – it’s the noise. Hell I don’t even hear my own voice more than once or twice a day. Wait, that’s not true. I talk to myself all day every day. Doesn’t everybody?

In the kitchen, I can smell oranges, and I wonder if I actually have oranges or just the orange-smelling furniture polish. Or air freshener. Hell I can’t remember having any oranges since that food giveaway six months ago. God why am I obsessing over the frickin’ oranges?

Thank Mr. Keurig for your wonderful invention of pods and the single cup of coffee. I get mine and sit down at the kitchen table in the bay window that overlooks the back yard. Everything looks so quiet in the snow. Are all the creatures hiding in a cold spot or have found some warmth? I worry about the birds. I’ve heard they go into a state of torpor to survive and eat berries from trees and bushes. They eat fifty percent of their weight daily. That’s a lot of berries and reason enough to keep the feeders full. And water – water was harder to provide when the temperatures dropped. But they need water just like we do. So I feed them, despite the horrible mess they make on my lawn. And I keep the birdbath full of water. It’s my little contribution.

In the summer my 10x10 garden is host to hundreds of birds and butterflies. Outside the kitchen bay window, I feed the hummingbirds, orioles and uninvited guests like woodpeckers. I could spend hours watching the hummingbirds. I would have a dozen on my feeders, and another dozen fighting to get a spot. It takes two gallons of feed each day at the peak of the season. They tend to nest, become less active when the temperature reaches 110 degrees, just like we do. The heat and humidity force us all to slow down. They love cloudy days, early morning and evening, and I can tell you their visit to my window on those days saved me from the sads as I call it.  But that’s a whole other story.

I realize I haven’t filled the feeders in a couple of days. No need to fill the hummingbird feeders because they are lounging on the warm beach somewhere. But I need to put more seed out for the other scoundrel birds. So, ignoring the voice in my head that says don’t do it, I put my coat on over my pajamas and step into my boots. I grabbed my walking stick and the bag of seed and headed out the door as the dogs ran over to me thinking it was time to play. Walking slowly, of course, I recall my daughter’s warning about the ice underneath the snow and say a quick prayer that I don’t fall and break a hip. That’s a death warrant for sure. Keep my weight balanced and ease down the steps, stick, sack and all clinging to the railing. Yep – there’s ice there, I bet driving is a bitch. Black ice they call it. Well, me and my loved ones are staying off the roads, so all I need to concentrate on is this bird rescue mission. I get to the feeders, fill them, add water to the bird bath that is already a few issues solid. That’s the best I can do.

I make my way back up the steps and into my warm kitchen, dogs in tow. All four of us act as if we’ve just climbed Mt. Hood outside of Portland. Don’t know why that was the first one that came to mind but there you have it. We’re all old and would no sooner climb a mountain than we would swim with the sharks, being equally deadly to an old fart like me.

I fix another cup of coffee and sit down in my spot at the table. The sparrows have already made their way to the feeders, pecking and slinging seed everywhere. A beautiful male cardinal landed on top of the feeder, the one shaped like a house. You know what they say about cardinals. They are a sign of a loved one visiting you, someone who had passed on. I don’t necessarily believe that but it’s such a nice thought that I smile thinking of Georgia, my wife. She was worse than me about wasting a while afternoon watching the birds. Neither of us felt like it was wasted though – it was magical. I hear myself call her name out loud and I can feel the tears filling my eyes. Nope. Stop it. No sads today.

The mail cardinal has been joined by his wife, or maybe a daughter, its colors muted and less showy. But then, wait, what was that? I think the tears have messed with my vision, so I take off my glasses, wipe the tears with the arm cuff of my pajamas and clean the grime from my glasses, using my shirt tail. Normally I would have a handkerchief, but my relaxed attire doesn’t call for such.

With the tears wiped clean and my glasses cleaner than they’ve been in days, I stared back out the window at the flying feathered entertainment. Wait, what? There is was again. I thought I saw a hummingbird. That can’t be. Our region is far too cold for a hummer. Well I’ll be shit! It is a hummer, sitting on the perch of the feeder and sticking his peak into the reservoir. I’ll be damned. “Well Merry Christmas Mr. Hummer!” What a gift. If that’s Georgia on the seed feeder, I’m tickled to death that she got to witness this unexplainable visit too. What a gift to ward off the sads. Merry Christmas to me.