BLUEBIRD

         'June is bustin' out all over,' that's what Miss Brady had the chorus sing for the Spring show back in fifth or sixth grade. It might have been Mrs. Brady, I don't remember, but it sure wasn't Ms. Brady back in 1954 or so. She was big on show tunes, medleys from Oklahoma, Carousel, South Pacific and the like.

         It must have been fifth grade, for in sixth grade we studied Latin America and did "Flying Down To Rio", our arms extended like airplanes as we dipped and swooped, some of our voices changing as the plane lost altitude. There were no showgirls to dance on our wings but the audience did not notice.

         'What a mockery!', I thought as this May turns into June. The Northeast is cold, April is returning and the sweatshirts I hoped to put away must be washed and worn again. The drought has ended with a vengence. The crows complain that the grass is over their heads. I tell them I will leave a note for management.

         The Memorial Day weekend was a big time opening for the weather. Thunder, lightning and heavy downpours set the prelude for a hailstorm on Monday. Through it all I kept my appointed non-rounds. I did nothing about the bay window which will not close fully; November seems a far way off now. I turned mouse killing entirely over to Susie Cat; she was going to launch a hostile takeover anyway. I wrote a perfunctory piece or two and through it all, life went on.

         An Eastern Bluebird came for a visit, landing in the half cherry tree that stands twenty feet from the front door. The tree is not a hybrid, but rather one whose southern-facing branches died the year we moved in. I removed them, an easy task since the tree is little more than five feet high. I knew he was an Eastern Bluebird from one of the bird books that my sister gave us for Christmas a year ago. The year before that, she sent a book on living and co-existing with outdoor and indoor creatures. I keep finding it on my couch. I suspect the mice are putting it there at night.

         Yesterday the bluebird moved to the half-dead birch tree that stands near the deck in back. We are very good at growing half trees. This one has a dead top, but luxuriant growth on the sides, like some balding men. The birds love it, congregating at this outdoor water cooler to swap stories.

         I pointed out the bird to Margaret, my employee, who had never seen one though it is the state bird of New York and she has lived here since the 1970s. She followed it avidly with her eyes. Her face lit up. It was nice that the ability to light up faces is still with me. Had she been here the day before, she could have seen the goldfinch also. I suppose birds are bustin' out all over.

         So are groundhogs. One jaywalked across McCagg Road yesterday as I drove toward my house. I saw it from a distance and slowed down. It was in the middle of the road, ignoring the steady flow of once-every-five minute traffic. He changed his mind, and headed back to the same from whence he came, the side of the road I was driving on. I stopped to let him go.

         I was returning home from one of my two daily visits to my wife at the assisted living facility. Over the weekend, without activities and physical therapy, she barely strayed from bed and seemed to be perpetually dozing. Her body was in this world, but her mind seemed to have moved on. Her feet were swollen, but she seemed at peace. She had lost the fear which kept her awake, and had little desire to eat.

         Tuesday Brenda the physical therapist, returned and had her pedaling away on a bicycle-like contraption, and then lifting her legs with weights on them. That night she was asleep when I came again, but this was the sleep of effort. She woke as I left, complaining of this or that and continued complaining yesterday. She is still of this world.

         Yet the bluebird, the goldfinch and Susie's dead mice mean nothing to her but that this man she knows and loves is talking at her. Time is becoming a foreign concept to her; my drive home is always more sober than the trip to the home. Only the groundhog lightens the mood.

         At home, it is business as usual. Susie wants to be fed, the dog needs water. There is dinner to be put on my table, dishes to be washed and a floor to be swept. The dog and cat will not wait, but the others can be put aside while I search for email. Among the spam for debt reduction, sex toys, and sales at Staples is a message from a fellow tax practitioner not too far way, offering and soliciting help for or from my practice.

         I respond in a friendly way and after further emails, we find that she and I can probably help each other greatly. Another friendship made over the ether. Business is bustin' out all over. Perhaps the bluebird of happiness will land on my shoulder yet.

Valatie May 31, 2001