byrds words

Time 2021-10-30 23:06:36

Web Name: byrds words

WebSite: http://byrds-words.blogspot.com

ID:216622

Keywords:

byrds,words,

Description:

keywords:
description:

byrds words

Sunday, November 15, 2015 ApologiesI have not posted here for a few years now. I meant to continue at another location, but that did not happen. My apologies to anyone who has tried to follow this blog.

I do not know when, or if, I shall ever post a blog again.

But thank you for reading my words. I hope you got something out of them that you found helpful.Posted by- byrdat2:12 AMNo comments: Email ThisBlogThis!Share to TwitterShare to FacebookShare to Pinterest Sunday, November 8, 2015 This is not the Usual Byrd's Words. This is series of events I have been following for the last few years and I believe it has to be shared. Please feel free to share this story, just tell me when you do.
- byrd





Miriam by rev byrd tetzlaff
Chapter One
This is a story that needs to be told. Its not my story, but I am the only one thatcan tell it. It is a true story, and it hasnot ended. It is ongoing, rightnow. It sounds like a badly-plotted soapopera, but I swear to you, it is happened and is happening. Thenames of the people and places have been changed, for the sake of safety.
It began several years ago when a friend, named George, wasstill traveling about in the world. Heloved to travel and to meet people in their own lands, to learn about them andtheir history. When he returned to theUnited States, he kept in contact with many of them, via letters, phone callsand e-mail. Some of them were behindwhat was then the Iron Curtain. He saw andheard many things that most people never even dream of. His interest was wide-reaching, and after hereturned, He still wanted to expand his horizons.
One of his friends asked if he would like to be pen pals withan Israeli woman who wanted to improve her English. He said sure, and thus he met Miriam.
They began their friendship via mail and phone calls, becausethis was before the internet had really gotten started. They became fast friends. She was not particularly interested inpolitics, which disappointed George, who is very politically oriented, but theyfound many other things in common. Hewas delighted with her friendship, in part because she had, as he put it, sucha beautiful soul. He just liked talkingwith her. She seemed to have no negativefeelings towards anyone, not even towards the Palestinians who were not popularin Israel at the time. George, whoalways championed the underdog, was quite aware of the politics within Israel,but he respected her wishes and they seldom even mentioned what was going on inher country.
Miriam was an only child of an upper middle-class Israelifamily. Miriam was, when their correspondencebegan, in her late twenties and unmarried.She was a good daughter and lived at home with her parents, who werevery conservative. Miriam was very well-educated. She spoke several languages and taught in alocal school. As far as George couldtell, Miriam did not even date. She waspretty much caught up with her family and her work.
Miriam and George talked fairly often, andGeorge would hear about all her little adventures. Miriam would tell him about her students anddaily life in Israel. As theirfriendship grew, George found he looked forward to hearing from her. It was not a romantic relationship, but itwas a very real friendship.
For several years they corresponded fairly regularly. Then, as things progressed, they graduated toe-mail and phones. But one day Miriamsounded different. George asked whatwas going on? Slowly, she confessed. Shewas dating someone. She was excitedabout it, but had not yet told her parents.She was not sure they would approve.
Her new boyfriend was a Palestinian.
Chapter Two
George was concerned.He had heard how difficult it was for Palestinians in Israel and thoughtit might be very difficult for Miriam if they were to get married. But Miriam was in love.
For some time, George heard about Miriams growingrelationship with El-Amer. Seems thatEl-Amer was an educated person. He had adegree in Engineering, but as a Palestinian, he was not allowed to work in hisfield. So he worked as a laborer, diggingditches. He had an extended family inIsrael and some of them were dependent on him for support. He had two nephews that were eight and tenyears old, respectively. Both of themhad been crippled because when they were younger, the Israeli army caught themthrowing rocks at tanks. As per custom,the army broke both elbows on both boys and did not let them go to a doctor, sothe kids arms healed without being set properly. Neither boy had use of his arms. El-Amer took care of the family as best he could.
Actions like this are not uncommon in areas of the world wherepeople live under constant fear. And inIsrael, both Israelis and Palestinians live with fear all the time. Consequently, they do horrible things to eachother.Miriam had been almost completely unaware of the plight ofPalestinians in her country. But as shegot to know El-Amer, she also became aware of what was happening to his people. And slowly, she began to speak out, first toher friends, and then to her parents.Sadly, her friends and family did not want to hear. In fact they were horrified that she wouldspeak in understanding terms about the Palestinians. Miriam was somewhat confused, because shecould not understand why such hatred existed.
Then, she became pregnant.El-Amer and she planned to get married, but disaster struck. Miriams own mother turned her in.
It is illegal in Israel for a Palestinian and an Israeli tomarry. Miriam was taken by theauthorities and told that she should have an immediate abortion and what wasthe name of her Lover? Not wanted to gethim in trouble, Miriam refused to tell them who the father was. And she did not want an abortion, she wantedthe baby. Her family coldly informed herthat if she were to be so ill-advised as to have the child, it would be takenfrom her and placed in an orphanage.
For the first time in her life, Miriam was faced with just howbad things were for some people in her country.She decided to flee. She quietlygathered up a small suitcase, took her meager savings and bought a ticket toSyria. She left alone, because it wasnot safe to contact El-Amer - he would be arrested.
She traveled to Syria. But as she disembarked, the authorities theregrabbed her and put her in prison. Hermother had reported her flight and the Israeli government had put out a warrantfor her arrest. Because of her ties withPalestinian persons, she was labeled a suspected terrorist.
Prison was horrendous.Because she was an Israeli who had been with a Palestinian, the otherwomen in the prison hated her, and she was viciously attacked by them severaltimes. Badly beaten, she lost the baby and with it, her ability to have other children.
Chapter Three
Syria has no real love for Israel and after a while the courtsof Syria set her free because there was no evidence that she had actuallyplotted any terrorist activities.
Alone, in a foreign country, Miriam was devastated. She had lost her baby, her own family hadturned her in -- knowing full well what would happen to her -- and she had nomoney. She was afraid to get in touchwith El-Amer, because he would immediately be arrested and most probablydisappear. She did the only thing shecould think of to do: she contacted George.George immediately wired her funds.Reluctantly, she took a few dollars to keep herself alive, the rest sheput into a bank for safe-keeping. Shevowed to pay George back, every penny, even though that was not what hewanted. And she managed to get word toEl-Amer where she was.
Meantime, El-Amer had been nearly frantic trying to find outwhat happened to Miriam. He had been allowed no information about Miriam or herwhereabouts. When she finally managed tocontact him, he rushed to her side, knowing full well that by fleeing Israel,he would never be allowed back into the country. He and Miriam were now refugees. They were like so many in this day and age, landlesspeople, with no papers, because now they belonged to no country that wouldadmit they used to be citizens. Legally,they ceased to exist.
They traveled together to Lebanon, where they joined otherrefugees. Miriam was now an Israeli,surrounded by Palestinians, a Jew surrounded by Muslims. Not all were accepting of her, but to hersurprise, some were. She was greetedwith reservation, but kindness. She talkedwith El-Amer about converting to Islam so that she would fit in better. He shook his head and told her that she wasJewish and that was OK by him. He didnot think she should convert for political reasons, she should convert only ifshe truly believed.
That started Miriam thinking about her own life andher cultural heritage. She had always been proud of being a Jew, but now, she hated whatIsrael had done to the Palestinian people. From her fellow refugees, she heard horror story after horror story about what has happened to so manyPalestinians at the hands of the Israeli government. She, personally, renounced her country's actions and becamequite bitter towards Israel. She beganto wear the habib as a gesture of respect to her Muslim neighbors, and graduallyshe was more and more accepted.
Eventually, her neighbors came to her to ask if she would teach theirchildren different languages. Sheagreed, so while El-Amer was out doing whatever work he could find, she taught Palestinianchildren how to speak Hebrew and English. And slowly, they began to build alife together.
Chapter Four
Miriam and El-Amer lived in a tiny place amidst the refugeestruggle.
While Miriams heart hadhardened against Israel, her natural generosity could not be restrained. She adopted a stray dog, and then later addeda stray cat. This put a huge burden ontheir finances, because they were poor beyond what most Americans canunderstand and these new mouths to feed often cut into their own food supplies. Even under these conditions, they would nottouch the money that George had sent them. (In fact, El-Amer sends George asmall payment every month to reimburse him for the money they have already usedto get Miriam out of Syria. Georgeprotests, but to no avail.)
I should mention here that the entire time all of this wasgoing on, Miriam did keep in touch with George as best she could. He set up a bank account (just in case of emergency)with the remaining funds for Miriam -which she never touched. They wouldarrange for certain times that he would be home when she could go to an aidstation and call him collect. He did notdare tell her how much it cost him, because she would have insisted on payingfor the calls. He simply told her thathis cell phone included the calls for no extra charge.
But the flood of new refugees to Lebanon is ongoing. Every day, more refugees pour into Lebanon,and not in an orderly fashion. Crowds ofpeople, walking slowly with little hope in their steps, fill the streets. Somecarry small bags or suitcases filled with their pathetically small hoard ofbelongings. Others have no such wealth,but travel only with the clothing on their backs. And each of them has a story, and each tale isworse than the next tale.
There was one young mother with two small children, a girl almost three years old and a boy of around a year. She was fleeing because her husband had goneto work and had never returned, so she had no means of feeding her children. Thatis all too common an occurrence. Peopledisappear in countries where they are not wanted. As the small family trudged along the road,some tanks pushed their way through the crowd.People who did not move out of the way fast enough got hurt. The young mother with two children was shotand as she lay dying, her belongings were looted. No one picked up the children.
I am not clear on how Miriam found out about thechildren. I dont know if she witnessed theattack, or if she heard about it later, but by some means, she found out aboutthe children and she grabbed them.
If Miriam had not taken the children, one of several fatesawaited the kids.- They might have diedby the side of the road with no one to feed them. -They might have been caught up to be soldinto slavery. The boy probably would nothave lasted very long, but the girl would have become a prostitute. Young children are eagerly awaited by predatorsfrom every county.-Or if they were verylucky, they might have been taken to an orphanage where hundreds of childrenare taken care of by dedicated but vastly over-worked caretakers.
But these children were lucky.They ended up with Miriam and El-Amer.Miriam, who had lost her own child, El-Amer who was a caring and responsibleperson, the two of them took in these children as their own, despite the hardships and poverty they faced.
For a long time, Miriam was afraid thechildren would be removed from her care.She spoke with the social workers in the camps about the children. There was a long time of silence with no wordabout the childrens fate. Then one daya social worker dropped by to say the children were theirs to keep. Miriam cried out in relief, but then asked,if anyone should come looking for the children, what should she do? The social worker lifted an eyebrow and said Butwho would care?
That night, Miriam cried for the children, because it wastrue. Who would care for them? These beautiful children, lost because ofhatred, prejudice and war. Who wouldcare for them? Who would care for any ofthe children caught up in conflicts they had no part in?
Chapter Five
That is the latest I have heard from George about Miriam, El-Amerand their two children, a dog and a cat.They live as refugees, a family, doing the best they can in an ungodlysituation not of their making.
Miriam calls George periodically and lets him know what is happening. He looks forward to their conversations. And he keeps the money El-Amer sends him in aspecial account, hoping to someday be able to return it to them when they livein a free country.
El-Amer and Miriam celebrate Christmas, because it is such alovely Holiday, but Miriam confesses that she does not understand how theAmericans celebrate. She cannot fathomthe amount of money that Americans spend on a holiday that celebrates the birthof one who was so poor.
George wants to send the children some gifts for Christmas,but being a bachelor, he has little idea of what would be age-appropriate. Plus he has no idea what could get by thecensors. He is fully aware that anypackage he might send will be opened and inspected, and very possible confiscatedand possibly even used as evidence against Miriam and El-Amer. So George has to be very careful in what hemight send them.
George would like to travel over to Lebanon to see them inperson, but he has been told it would not be wise, for him or for the smallrefugee family. Both could get into bigtrouble for their connections with each other.
I await updates from George about Miriam and her family. It links me to a part of the world that isvery real but beyond my personal experiences.It reminds me how lucky I am to live in a part of the world that isrelatively safe. It makes me pray forthe people who are caught up in ugly political battles that result in violence andcrimes against humanity. And it makes me want to Do Something for that littlefamily.
But all I can do is to get the word out, because so littleinformation in American gives any real insight into what is happening overthere. We Americans are told that thePalestinians are the Bad Guys. We donthear about the Palestinian homes that are bulldozed while they owners are awayat work during the day. We dont hearabout the water and electricity that are turned off permanently in the desertareas where the Palestinians live. We do not hear about the Palestinians that are displaced from their homes because of Israel's insatiable hunger for land. Weare not told about the people who disappear and are never heard from again.
Despite what is happening, I want the Israeli State tothrive. I want it to prosper and tocreate positive relations with its neighbors.I want all that -- but I am opposed to Zionism.
The Palestinians have just as much a right toa peaceful life in a safe homeland as do the Israelis. I dont know how that can be accomplished,given the current statement ofaffairs.I dont know if it should be one state or two. I dont know if it needs to be mandated by anoutside authority or if they themselves can somehow put aside the wrongs thatBoth Sides have perpetuated.
But I do know that all the Children of Abraham should have theright to live in peace, safety and religious freedom. All the Children of the Earth should have theopportunity to create a Good Life for themselves and for their children, regardlessof race, religion, national origin, sexual orientation or cultural status.

Anything less is unacceptable.Posted by- byrdat12:09 PM1 comment: Email ThisBlogThis!Share to TwitterShare to FacebookShare to Pinterest Sunday, October 4, 2015 Undocumented
Undocumentedby revbyrd tetzlaff
Take whatyou like and leave the rest. Or dont.
I am an American Citizen, not because I have earned it, butsimply because I was born here. Both myparents were born here. Three out offour of my grandparents were born here, but my grandfather came over fromGermany to avoid the Kaisers draft. I amnot certain if he had papers. He marriedsomeone who was part Native American, but that fact puts my citizenship indoubt, rather than solidify it.
I tell you this because the rest of this article is aboutundocumented persons in this country and I want you to know who is speaking.
I am a citizen and I personally want to welcome the undocumentedpeople that are living here. It is you and folks like you who have builtthis country. It is you and folks likeyou that most of the rest of us are descended from.
And I want to apologize to you for all thebad things that this country does to you in my name.
You add to our strength and you will do work that me and myfellow countryman will not do. You willput food on our tables for a reasonable price.The people who hire you will take advantage of you and have you workingfor slave wages with no health care, no decent place to rest when the day isdone, no bathroom breaks or chances to rest.They will work you until you are almost dead, and then they will shipyou off, saying how terrible it is that you have taken advantage of our generosity.
If you have children while here, they may be citizens, but many willhate you for having Anchor Babies even though those children will not giveyou any measure whatsoever of safety. Infact, those children may even cause you great sorrow, because if you aredeported, they may be taken away from you and put into foster care rather thanreturn with you to a country that is as foreign to them as it would be to me.
All your life here, you will live in fear of the shadow ofdeportation, knowing full well that your family could be torn apart. You need not commit any sort of crime, youcan be perfectly law abiding, church-going, volunteering, putting your children through school whileworking for far less than minimum wages, even paying taxes - and you can stillbe shipped off.
You will not be able to drive legally, nor will you be able totake advantage of any of the many benefits you be accused of using. You willnot be able to take better-paying jobs even if you are qualified, because youdo not have a social security number.You will not be able to buy a home, even if you could pay for itoutright, because, again, those pesky papers you do not have.
True, you may not be paying taxes on your wages, but that isnot your fault, that is the fault of the people who hire you, because they aresaving themselves money twice: once bynot paying you living wages and once by cheating the government when theychoose not to pay taxes on the little you do make.
If you decide to try to become a legal immigrant, you will be stoppedby the fact that we still have racist quotas here about who can or cannot applyfor citizenship. And your country willprobably already have the quota filled up for many years yet to come unless youare from Western Europe or England. Ifyour skin is even the tiniest bit brown or yellow, we will make is verydifficult, if not impossible, for you to take the proper legal steps and thenwe will blame you for not taking those steps.
It does not matter that the country you fled from has becomewar-torn because of politics that you have nothing to do with. It does not matter that your country has becomea living hell because of drug lords that are funded by Americans. It does not matter if your life is in dangerbecause of your sexual orientation, the hatred of which has been fanned byAmerican Missionaries. It does notmatter if you fleeing from religious oppression (unless you are a fundamentalistChristian), because much of that oppression is funded and/or encouraged by Americansanyway. Even though we claim to be acountry with freedom of religion, many of my fellow citizens will gladly persecuteyou in your home country and then refuse you asylum here. As a country, we dont care. That is your problem, not ours.
The vast majority of my fellow citizens have no concept of theissues you have faced and no idea of what really goes on in the world. Most of them have done nothing to earn theright to live here and over half of them do not understand the structure of howour government works or the rights that we all have under the Constitution. The vast majority of them are descendants ofundocumented immigrants, but since they were from Europe, that makes it OK. Thefact that they stole the land from the original inhabitants and usually murderedthem in the process - does not botherthem in the least.
In spite of all this, I still want to say Welcome to you, theundocumented people. I hope you do welland prosper as so many of you have done, through your own hard work and effort.
I hope you find friends, because in spite ofall the bad things I have told you about this country, there are good anddecent people here too, people with loving hearts and open minds, people that arecapable of putting themselves in anothers shoes and not judge, people whoactually occasionally try to live the principles of the religions they say theybelieve.

Welcome. I hope you find peace andsafety. I personally am glad you arehere. I hope you get to stay.
So Be ItNamasteAmen




Posted by- byrdat10:13 PMNo comments: Email ThisBlogThis!Share to TwitterShare to FacebookShare to Pinterest Thursday, July 16, 2015 Ongoing Feral Sagaher Highness, Lady Pearl
OngoingFeral Saga
The Ferals are an ongoing tale of Sorrow and Delight.
The sorrow, of course, is when one disappears and you neverknow what happened to them. Also, oftenIll see a cat with a freshly-killed bird in its mouth. Im glad they are eating well, but I lovebirds and am sorrowful for them.
But not all cats are good hunters. Just the other day I saw Zeena looking veryunhappy at a slow-moving spot in the road.I walked quietly over to where she was and saw that there was a mole creepingtowards Zeena. She was scared of it andwas backing away. The mole, being blind,had no idea it was going right towards a terrifying predator. Zeena, however, was no threat to this mole.He calmly kept up his pace until he reached the side of the road and got lostin the tall grass. Zeena just looked atme and cried. Then she took off in theother direction, just in case the mole might change his mind and come back.
I feed the Ferals twice a day, between 7 and 8 oclock. Every morning and night, they get fed. They are pretty much used to it by now andare usually hanging out in the front yard, waiting for me to dish out thegoodies. I do a quick head count andthen leave out one more pile of food than there are cats. That way there is little waste. But sometimes a cat will be busy elsewhereand get to the yard too late.
I dont want to be running outside to feed them every ten minutes, so I wouldprefer it if they would show up on time for dinner. But how to insure that everyone knows it's feeding time?
Then it occurred to me that I needed to call them to dinner. I looked around and found an old bell, thekind that hotels used to use. You hit it on the top and it dings rather loudly.
I started ringing the bell once when I get tothe porch to gather up the food. Then after I have dished upall the food and am about to go out in the yard to give it to them, I hit thebell twice more. It Works! When I first hit the bell, cats come runningfrom all corners of the mobile home park.By the time I get to the yard, I can get an accurate reading of how manycats get fed that particular feeding time.
But the other day, I was inside when I heard the bellring. Curious, I went out to see what itwas. Lo, there was a cat (Pearl ,I think), sitting on the gate, reaching over with her paw to hit the dinner bell.

Yes, they did get an extra treat that day but then I movedthe bell to another, less accessible, location.Posted by- byrdat2:40 PMNo comments: Email ThisBlogThis!Share to TwitterShare to FacebookShare to Pinterest Monday, May 18, 2015 Understandings
(writtenby someone who is chronically disabled, but might well bearound for another 20 years or so)
I consider myself a deeply Spiritual and somewhat Religiousperson. For me, Religion has to do withHistory and Dogma. I have no Dogma foranyone to follow, nor do I follow anyone elses dogma, but I do love thehistory of my church. I identify withthe movement and consider myself to be a tiny part of it. I support it and want it to continue.
So, that makes me Religious.
But as to Spirituality, aye, theres the rub.
You see, I think that Atheists might be right. If you look at science, Atheists may well becorrect that there is no Creator or Prime Mover. It doesnt make sense when you think of howvast the universe is, when you think of billions of galaxies colliding intoeach other, when you think of the vast expansion of time just on our ownplanet. No, God doesnt make sense.
But when I watch the hummingbird at my feeder, when the feralcat comes into my home and fearfully, hesitatingly, trusts me enough to ask forfood, when my own cat comes to me - sure that he will be welcome - and curls upunder my arm before he purrs himself to sleep, I cannot help but feel as if Ihave been Blessed. Sometimes, I feel thatpower, feel it as if it had form and substance.It is a Presence. It is just. ..There.
I truly think that the Agnostics have it right. The idea that we cannot say, that it is notpossible to know, whether or not there is a God or whether we go on after thislife has ended that is reality. Wecannot say. We do not know. Whatever we think we know is simply a matterof faith, either way. So I often wish Iwere an Agnostic. But I am not.
Sadly, I am a confirmed Theist.
I dont want to be a Theist.And I dont mean the same thing that other people mean when they saythey are Theists. I truly do not thinkof God as an old man in a long white beard.Whatever created the universe is female, but I dont really think of Godas a woman either.
When I think of God, I think of a warm, loving wind that wrapsitself around me, gently, very gently. Ithink of a soft but powerful voice that speaks to my heart and my head at thesame time. I am not protected by it. It is not the Cause of whatever happens. I canstill experience anything, for good or ill.But I am not alone and whatever It is, cares for me.Sometimes, It helps me with answers. Sometimes It just waits for me to catch up. I dont think of that warmth as being theGrand Creator of all things. I dontknow what It is. And Im not sure that it matters. Its enough that It is just what walks withme, to witness and to care.
I do not believe in Heaven or Hell. Those concepts have no meaning for me at all. I think they are strange constructions thathumans have put in place to justify their actions. The idea of Heaven and Hell? Very foreign to me. I wasnt even raised with those ideas.
Most everyone I know wants to go on after this life. They are terrified of Ending. I dont really understand, but I accept thatthey feel this way. I just dont happento feel the same.
I do believe that we go on.Just, I dont want to believe that.When this life is over, I want it to end. I dont want Me to continue but I think Iwill.
Now, you have to understand that I like myself. I am really quite happy with the person Ihave become. I love my humor, my abilityto see beauty, my patience, my love of animals and movies and history and otherpeoples stories. I like so very muchabout me. My hopes and dreams. Mywisdom and awareness. I think I ampretty wonderful and I am so glad I have lived long enough to have a chance toappreciate what I have made of myself.
And I truly like my current life. I probably shouldnt. I do have some guilt about that. I dont think I am supposed to be happy whenI have dont have the energy to do more than turn my head to watch thehummingbird feeder. I dont think I amsupposed to be happy when almost to the last person my friends are gone and Ioften go several days without seeing another live human face. I dont think I am supposed to be happy whenmy body is hurting or when I look around and see so much chaos because I donthave the energy to clean or the money to hire someone to do it for me.
But I am happy, most of the time. I am happy because I have my animals besideme. I have books I havent read, moviesI havent seen. I have more artwork todo when I have the energy. I can seetrees from my window and watch the wind playing with the leaves. I have a water fountain on the porch, closeto the French doors so that when the doors are open, I can hear the watersplashing. I have a blind dog thattrusts me. I have music. And in all probability, I wont live longenough to see the coming destruction of my country and of the planet. I am so very glad I wont see that. Most of the time I am at Peace, with myself and with the world.
But with all this quiet joy, I still dont want to go on. I have had a good life, but when it comes forme to die, I just want it all to stop. Iam ready for whatever comes, but a part of me hopes that I will simply sleep,dreamless, and never wake up. That willbe enough.
Peace be yours.


Some of my Feral family

Posted by- byrdat11:53 AM1 comment: Email ThisBlogThis!Share to TwitterShare to FacebookShare to Pinterest Tuesday, February 10, 2015 Papa Memories(this is rather long, but you might find it worth the read)

Memoriesof Papa
Papa always claimed he could remember the celebrations thatheralded the end of WWI. He was only alittle tyke at the time, but he swore it was true. And he claimed that it was during thosecelebrations that he saw his very first automobile. It began a life-long fascination with mechanical things.
Many decades later, after his children were mostly grown, Papastarted buying very old vehicles and fixing them up. His first was a 1911 Maxwell touring car, witha large back seat. He fixed it so themotor was humming, the lights were shinning and the paint job? Well, he painted it a lovely blue. It ran like a dream. Next, he purchased a 1923 Ford and fixed thatup. The old car bug had gotten tohim. So he went on to purchase a 1909Maxwell with a mother-in-law seat in the back, and another ford and finally he gota hold of a 1902 Oldsmobile, complete with a place for the buggy whip on thefront of the chasis.
He would spend many happy hours back in the old garage fixingup the cars til they worked like a charm.
But that was not enough for Papa. He was also a bit of a showman. He loved to grab one of us kids along withour friends - and put us in the front seat.Then he would crank up the car, jump in, and we would ride out onto thecountry roads. He would honk the horn andchildren would come running out as we passed.Women who were outside hanging up their laundry would stand there,open-mouthed watching us. Dogs would gocrazy because they could almost catch the vehicle which was running at thedizzying speed of 15 miles per hour! Papaloved it.
After a while, word got around and Papa got invites to paradesfor his marvelous cars, and he eagerly took them up on it. When the first Milwaukee Fourth of JulyParade happened, they put four of Papas cars right up front. There was only one car ahead of him, an 1898Olds. Only, the Oldsmobile broke downhalf-way through the Parade, but all of Papas cars made it for the entirelength of the Parade.
Word continued to spread about Papas genius with old-timemechanics.
One day, someone showed up at our door and asked forPapa. He and Papa started talking andthey walked out together to the old garage to look at his old cars. Some time later, Papa came back alone, hisface bright with a grin that threatened to stay. Avis, Avis, He excited called to Mother, Youllnever guess what! No, we could nothave guessed.
It seems that Papas visitor was from the circus, and thecircus Calliope needed fixing. Now aCalliope is the really loud instrument you always associate with the magic of acircus. It has a keyboard like a pianobut has pipes like an organ. You wouldpump it up and shove up the lever. Thenyou could either play it by hand, or you could set up the rollers to have itplay itself. It had been very popular to call folks to comeand see the wondering circuses as they passed through small Midwestern townsduring the Great Depression. But decadeslater, by the time Papa got a hold of it, not a lot of folks knew much aboutCalliopes.
Sure enough, it was delivered a short time later, a beautifulCalliope that lived on an open-air brightly-colored circus wagon. This one had several different rollers toplay a ton of different songs. But justthen, it couldnt make a peep.
Papa got to work on it.He spent hours figuring out the mechanics and all the details that wentinto making it run smoothly. Every oncein a while, he would test it, turning on the player rolls. When he did, the noise was deafening. We got reports that you could hear it all theway across the lake.
There was only one problem with the Calliope, the fellow wholeft it forgot to leave his name or address, or maybe, as a true circus person,he did not have a permanent address.Whatever the reason, Papa had the calliope for years to come and it wasadded to the list of vehicles that we put in all the various parades andcelebrations.
But Papa had other interests as well. He and Mother were very interested in othercultures. They travel quite a bit, butthey were also very interested in having folks from other countries come intotheir home so they could share American culture with them. One Christmas, Itsoko Katsubi came to ourhome and showed us how to do Origami, another Thanksgiving, someone from Israelcame and spent a lot of time with Mother, going over little-know details aboutthe understanding of the Torah. We hadguests from Mexico to Japan who were welcomed to join us for many major Holidays. So it was not surprising that eventually weended up with a foreign exchange student from Turkey.
His name was Suleymon and he was a devout Muslim. Mother, who was a devout Christian, used toget together with him and they would compare notes about their variousreligions. But instead of trying toconvert one another, Mother and Suleymon both used the experience to teach oneanother about the beauties and intricacies of their respective religions. They loved it and really enjoyed their timetogether.
By that time, Papas boys were long grown and gone, so Isuspect he was feeling a little sad that he had missed so much of theirchildhood, because he had been working so much.Now that he had a little more time, he loved to spend it with Suleymon,teaching him all sorts of American idiosyncrasies. Especially, they loved to learn the meaningof American phrases, such as Low Man on the Totem Pole or Getting caughtwith your pants down. Suleymon and Papa would laugh for hourstogether over the silliness of American language and culture. Then, Suleymon would share similar things withPapa about Turkish culture.
Over the months, Suleymon and my folks became very close andreally enjoyed one another.
One day towards the end of Suleymons time with us, Suleymonwalked into the living room to see Papa, sitting in the big chair, looking verysad. Whats wrong, Papa? Suleymoninquired. Papa looked up at him a sighed.Then he motioned for Suleymon to sit sit, and Papa told him a story.
It seems that Papa and Mother had a neighbor by the name ofAlice. Now Alice and her husband werewonderful, gregarious people who loved to laugh. After a short time being neighbors, theyfound out that Alice and Papa shared a birthday. The first year after that discovery, Aliceand Mother sent out invitations to all Papas friends, inviting them tocelebrate his birthday, only they had signed the invitations with Papas nameand added P.S., please bring Expensive Gifts.
Amazingly, not one of Papas friends said anything to him about it, soit came as a complete surprise to Papa when the party happened. He got all sorts of wonderful gifts, like afur-lined (fake) toothbrush, and a diamond (also fake) studded toothpick. And Alice baked him a cake made of mud andsprinkled with little candies all over the frosting. (Papa mention how hard thecake was to cut, never suspecting why, because Mother had temporarily purloinedhis glasses for the event)
That began a practical Joke war between them. Every year on their mutual birthday, Papaand Alice would play jokes on one another and both families would get togetherto help in the fun.
But now, Alice and her husband had moved into town and Papamissed them. Their birthday was comingup and Papa was feeling sad. It would betheir first year apart for the birthdays.Suleymon nodded and they talked for a long time about friends and howimportant friends are.
Then one of them, not sure which, came up with an idea.
Immediately, Papa got Mother to run into town to buy a roll ofnewsprint, then we all got together and rolled out the paper and began to paintwonderful things on it. As we werepainting, Suleymon stopped for a moment and looked at Papa. How old is Alice going to be this birthday Um, 49, I think. Papa answered. 49.You sure? Papa nodded and we allcontinued our paintings.
The next day was a Sunday, a beautiful clear crisp earlyspring day, perfect for a birthday celebration.As the sun was starting its climb, Papa went outside and hookedeverything up, then we all climbed into the truck and Papa drove slowly intotown. The sky was a lovely bright blueand the trees had frost delicately reflecting the pink of the early morningsun. It was so peaceful and calm.
Slowly, and with great care, Papa drove up to Alices newhome. Gently, he backed up into thedriveway. Then he unhooked the Calliope wagon from the back of the truck. He got intothe circus wagon, cranked up the Calliope, then turned it at full volume andlet it rip!
The sound shrieked throughoutthe neighborhood, waking up everyone within miles! The circus music filled the town, calling tochildren of all ages to come and see the spectacle. But before anyone could stop him, Papa jumpedout of the wagon, ran to the truck, and drove off to the nearest pay phone,where he made a call to the police complaining about the noise.
The next day, on the front page of the Delavan Enterprise wasa full color picture of Alice, standing in her driveway, pink curlers in her hair,fluffy slippers on her feet, helpless, looking at the circus wagon that blockedher driveway, complete with brightly painted banners that read
HappyBirthday, Alice! 59 Today!

(Final Note: When Iused to tell this story as part of a sermon, I would always end it with a longpause, waiting for folks to stop laughing.Then I would say
They are gone now,Papa, Mother and Alice. But they leftbehind them a legacy of love, friendship, and laughter. I invite you now to think of your legacy andwhat you leave in the way of memories to those who come after you.

Then I would play the folk song Where are our Dear Fathers? It always ended up with a lot of watery eyesand a lot of smiles. Lots of sharingafterwards.)
Posted by- byrdat10:00 AMNo comments: Email ThisBlogThis!Share to TwitterShare to FacebookShare to Pinterest Monday, February 2, 2015 Chronic Philosophical Ramblings


I just saw a documentary that gave me a piece of the puzzle.
It was about Sharon Stone.She is not a great favorite of mine, but shes certainly OK (I like herbetter since seeing this show). I likesome of her work, not so much other parts.Anyway, this was Oprah Winfreys Master Class. Talking about using your own life as aclassroom for yourself. And Sharon wassharing her insights of what her life has taught her.

She said one thing that really caught me. She said that at one point, she knew that shewas enough.

That hit Hard. Imaginethinking I am enough. No outsidevalidation is needed. No extra props areneeded. Not to be LACKING anything.I am enough.

For those of us who are Chronic, this is Mind-blowing. For so many of us, the main battle we fight,even more than our disabilities, evenmore than for survival sometimes, what we fight for most is MEANING.That We have Meaning. That our Liveshave Meaning.

But thats just it. WeARE meaningful.

WE ARE ENOUGH.

We are complete, just as we are. We are full human beings. Our lives are meaningful, partly because theyhave to be, partly because we make them so.

The stereotype of a Chronically Ill person is that they are draband dreary and boring. Many of us are fairlyisolated, so you might think we are unhappy.But that is not necessarily true.Many of us have chosen to be otherwise.We have chosen to be meaningful with our lives. And sometimes thats easy for others to miss.

But allow me to enlighten you about the majority of ChronicallyIll folks.We are wise. We arefunny. We have marvelous insights. We see things in a different light. We love to laugh with others, not atthem. Because of our disabilities, manyof us are forced to look at the minutiae of life with new eyes. We know what it takes to wash a dish, to makea bed, to keep a job, to raise healthy loving children. And even if we ourselves cannot do such things,we respect and honor those who do.

Because of what we have faced, we value kindness,thoughtfulness and consideration. Wevalue things that make the world a better place without taking away from others.In fact, what we value Adds to others.

Yes, having money would be nice. Having the freedom that moneycan bring would be lovely.

But I dont really care if my friends have money, it makes nodifference to me. I dont value anyonebecause of their incomes. I dont thinkbetter of someone because they have cash to spare. I dont think their opinions are more valid,their thoughts are higher or their way of life is more fulfilling. I dont think they are better people, justbecause they have Money or Health or both.And I dont think they are any the less, either. They just are. They exist, like poor people do, likemiddle-class folks do, like the educated do, like the uneducated do, like thevery talented, like the very humble. Weall just are people. No one group ismore valuable than another.

No, I take that back.There are those whom I value very highly. And valuable folks come from all of the above-mentioned groups.

I value the person who laughs in delight at sunrises, whomarvels at waterfalls creating rainbows, who giggles at hummingbirds flyingbackwards. I value the person who isthoughtful and sincere and honest. Ivalue the person who cares about others.I value the person who tries to be the best that they can be, regardlessof their abilities or disabilities. I valuethe person who wants to be happy, who wants to be happy so much that theyactually take the steps to enjoy life wherever they are.

And because I can no longer work, because most of my life isspent in bed, I have the time to appreciate others. I have the time to listen to their stories, tohear their struggles and laugh with them at their foibles. And itdoesnt stop there. I have the time torealize how amazing trees are when the wind is fluffing up their leaves. I get to experience how beautiful moss iswhen a rock gets adorned by it. I get toenjoy the antics of squirrels as they play tag within tree branches. I get to open my doors and watch Feralkittens explore my room and find out the joys of soft pillows and bouncy sofas.
As I lie here, I am listening to the snoring of two smalldogs, and I can hear the Feral kittens who have just discovered catnipmice. The sun has snuck through thewindow and is fingering the pattern on the mock oriental rug. The blind dog is trying to ignore the wildkittens playing with his tail. I get tonotice that, because I am bed-bound and I am here.Im not saying this is The Way to live. There are millions of ways to live that givemeaning and worth to who we are.

Im just saying that this way of living also has value, it hasmeaning. Someone should See and Noticewonderful things. Someone should havethe job of marveling at friendship, at beauty, at Peace. It adds to the world when we see thesethings. It creates the possibility/probabilityfor more.And anyone can do that.

We are complete.

Posted by- byrdat2:28 PM1 comment: Email ThisBlogThis!Share to TwitterShare to FacebookShare to Pinterest Older PostsHomeSubscribe to:Posts (Atom)WELCOME TO MY WORLD
I have been disabled for several years now. It's not nearly as much fun as you might think, but there are two very important advantages to being pretty much bed-bound:
1) I never have to hurry. Ever.
2) I have a lot of time to Think. This can be dangerous, but sometimes fun, too.
I like to muse about life. I make strange connections in my mind sometimes. So this is pretty much a philosophical journal, albeit a strange philosophy. It's also a repository of some of my stories.
And finally, this is a safe place to share when I finally get yet another piece to the puzzle. And to ruminate on it.
I make no claim to consistency.

Feel free to comment -- I truly love hearing from you.

I storehouse pictures of my artwork at: http://www.flickr.com/photos/revbyrd/sets/
When I bother to try and sell my artwork, it will be listed at: www.etsy.com/shop/revbyrd





Friends I may not have metZendala ChallengeAnother great place to see!Zendala ChallengeZentangle ChallengeResource BlogsTanglePatterns.com23 hours agoScarabocchi Zen10 years agoZentangle Home PagePolymer Clay BlogsColtPixy3 years agoInspirational BlogsHow to be Creative1 week agoTraci Bunkers: Welcome to My World1 year agoRobert Genn's Twice Weekly Letters6 years agoAbout Me- byrdView my complete profile(Almost) Daily Zentangle BlogsEnthusiastic Artist2 weeks agoKai-Zen Doodles5 years agoLife Imitates Doodles2 years agoShelly Beauch1 year agoTangle Harmony3 years agoTangled Ink Art2 years agoThe Doodle Daily4 years agoTinkered Art Studio4 years agoZentangle3 years agoThe Don't-Forget-About-Me BlogsBEEZ in the Belfry1 year agoFlickr: uubyrd's Photostream5 years agoI am the diva - Certified Zentangle Teacher (CZT)2 years agoJane Monk Studio - Teaching the Art of Zentangle4 years agoJoyfuldia-Doodle-ArtTangle Harmony3 years agoTinkered Art Studio4 years agoPrevious Posts 2015(14) November(2)Apologies This is not the Usual Byrds Words. This is s... October(1) July(1) May(1) February(2) January(7) 2014(13) December(4) November(3) October(2) August(1) May(3) 2013(8) August(1) July(4) January(3) 2012(24) August(1) June(1) May(2) April(2) March(10) February(3) January(5) 2011(122) December(3) November(2) October(6) September(5) August(5) July(6) June(13) May(14) April(14) March(18) February(16) January(20) 2010(45) December(22) November(23)

TAGS:byrds words 

<<< Thank you for your visit >>>

Hot Websites