The birds we spoke about a few weeks ago have come back. I noticed the white spots in the backyard again, and thanks to a nice couple I met outside, I now know not to scrap some up and taste it; as they are simply bird poop.  I have witnessed the birds first hand in the yard and can recognize them to be the Mississippi kites. There are also large black birds.

My lovely wife set up a bird bath and a stone fountain in the backyard, where she can sit in the back and watch the birds. This is a minute video I was able to get of one of the black birds indulging. You will have to turn the volume up to hear it bellow. Later on, there were 4 or 5 birds arguing over the water rights.

So, this post is more about the black birds than the Mississippi kites. When I fire up the lawnmower to put it to work, the birds show up to look for something to eat, something uncovered; so there must be bugs they can see. Below is an image I took one-handed because I had to keep the other one on the lawnmower to keep it running. If the mower stops, then the birds take off. Because they know if the mower is going, there will be delicious bugs to consume. No mower and the big ugly human will attack them.

This encounter with the birds reminds me of the Kempinski hotel in Djibouti City. When you step outside by the pool for a drink and food, these birds show up looking for a handout. One morning, Terese was outside with a pastry and coffee, when one of the birds flew overhead and knocked the comb out of her hair. When she bent over to pick it up, they stole her pastry.

The other day when I sat outside Starbucks with coffee and a delicious croissant, one of the big black birds started hanging around me. First walking casually by as if minding its own business; then each time it walked by, it was a little closer. Then it hopped up on the fence nearby, and gradually walked along the fence until it was directly behind me, just two feet from my shoulder. At that point, remembering Djibouti, I covered my croissant (chocolate, I must add) with my hand until I finished eating. I could almost feel the dejection from the bird. I will add, that I actually thought of casually bending over to allow the thief to try to snatch my delicious croissant, then catch the bird with my bare hands; but just my luck, some liberal inside sipping their frata-late-chia (or whatever they drink), will see me, and report me for animal cruelty. So, I just finished my food and drink and left.

During the ten years I worked for the US Government, I have dealt with many patience-testing situations. Most people in the Government see themselves as the epitome of the Government. The cutting edge of the knife. So, I learned by injecting just a hint of humor into a situation, the dealings go much easier. You can compare humor to the grease of the wheel.

So, in setting up my retirement, I dealt with realms of paperwork, full of numbers and acronyms. In an attempt to adjust my insurance on my retirement, I needed the “account” of the paperwork. I put the word in quotes, because I have been getting my monthly retirement flawlessly since retiring, and the number that shows up on any paperwork I have, has a number that makes no sense. During phone conversations, people will ask me my account number and I give them what I have.

“Uh, no sir. That is not the correct number.” Then they go on to tell me what little box has the number; and I tell them, that is the number in the little box. I’ve had several more instances that are much worse than this one.

So, the need has come up to make a change on my insurance, so I decided to tackle finding the correct number once and for all. I found the email address for the information, and wrote a very concise message, after which I added the hint of humor. Many times the people ignore the hint or possibly never notice it, because they seldom read the entire message.

Well, the message worked. When I was in the bathroom this morning, beginning my daily constitution, I got a call from them. It took only a few minutes of explaining the situation, and the kind lady was able to help. I now have a number.

Then she added, “So, it says here you are going to dance at my wedding . . .”

That took me a little off guard and I started to say, “Don’t be silly,” until I remembered the hint of humor I added: “If anyone can find what number I have, or direct me to someone who can help, I will gladly dance at their next wedding provided alcohol is provided.”

So, I replied, “Huh, . . . is alcohol provided?”

After that, the conversation kinda fell apart, so I don’t remember if I have to dance or not. Just my luck, in the next few months, a black suburban will drive up to the house to take me to a wedding, and I don’t dance.

This past week, we took a short trip to Las Vegas for Dani’s birthday. It’s not my type of place, but I enjoyed watching Dani constantly smiling with two good friends of hers who made the trip more interesting.

Now, for some reason Dani attracts gracious comments. It is not uncommon for us to cross a parking lot going into a store, and a woman smiles at her and tells her, “You are so pretty!’ or “I love your earrings, dress, hair, smile, etc.”

No one has ever told me, “Sir, I love your dirty shoes, faded jeans, or wrinkled shirt.” So, I guess I just do not appear to be the beautiful one. But it is a pleasure to walk with her and just smile at the compliments.

So, we boarded the plane in Houston, and as we walked down the aisle an Indian woman who appeared baffled, showed Dani her boarding pass. I truly believe she was asking Dani if she was in the correct seat. Dani just smiled and showed the good woman her boarding pass and continued to her seat.

Both smiled graciously but during the flight, the woman kept looking back at Dani smiling, and I pointed it out to Dani, “Look! That woman keeps smiling at you.”

So, I used my incredible sense of something beyond human understanding, and told Dani, “That woman is looking at you, because when Khris passed away he asked one of the many Hindu gods to bless you.”

Then days later, we were sitting at one of the Starbucks at the hotel, and a Indian woman and her husband were sitting in front of us. I saw the woman look at Dani and smile. So, using that thing beyond human understanding, I told Dani, “Look at that Indian woman. She keeps smiling at you.” And Dani did just that, smiling back at her.

That simple gesture, caused the little dark lady to smile more. The two ladies exchanged smiles back and worth several times until they parted. Not once did her husband pay any attention to Dani. This tells me, it is indeed one of the Hindu gods.

So, when I went to pick up Dani at Uma’s house on Monday afternoon, I told Uma that evidently Khris asked one of the Hindu gods to bless Dani.

She just smiled and mention that Dani told her about the Indian ladies smiling at her. She never verified that Khris was the cause of it, and using my intense understanding of religions, I thought it was best not to delve into Hindu matters, so I just let it lie.

But knowing how much Khris loved Dani, I would wager some gold if I had it, that it was indeed his gift to the beautiful woman that helped him so much in his final days.

We have a massive oak tree in our backyard, and it has me worried with its heavy branches arching over a third of the house. One of these days during a dangerous storm, the tree may just decide to let one of its branches go, but that has not happened. Yet.

We have lived in this house for over three years, and I am just figuring out the rhythm of the tree’s cycles. In the spring, the tree drops leaves as new leaves come out. I don’t really know why the tree just doesn’t keep its leaves forever, but Mother Nature has a mind of her own. Then a few weeks after covering the roof and backyard with 17 billion leaves, it begins to drop seeds. The last number before losing count was just shy of 1.2 trillion, and I didn’t have the time or patience to start over. But, they are everywhere.

The picture above does not give a good image of the volume, because I took it about a week late. Now, here is the strangest part. I realized that in the night during the seed fall, hundreds of birds come and feast on the seeds. This explains why the ground is splattered with bird poop in the mornings. This lasts about a week. We never see them, but my wife with better hearing than her husband, has mentioned that she sometime hears them during the night.

Again, this image is deceiving, because the splats number in the thousands. The picture above was a day after rain. The first time I encountered the thousands of splats on the ground, grass and bricks of the walkway, I tried to convince myself it was something other than bird poop, because there was no other evidence of the birds. I rubbed my finger against some to see if it would come up, and even thought that if I could get some up, perhaps even give it the old primitive taste test. Now that I realize it is indeed bird poop, I am glad I was not able to get any of it to come up.

Before I came to the conclusion that it was something that come out of the bottom of birds as they chowed down on my tree’s seeds, I ventured out to the front yard to investigate if there was any poop there, and there was. But it was under the neighbor’s tree in their front yard.

So, while investigating the poop in the front yard, an elderly couple comes strolling down the sidewalk. Normally I do my best to avoid others, but my curiosity convinced me to speak with them.

“Excuse me. How long have you lived here in the area?”

They told me but I forgot what they said, but it was 20 something years.

“See these white spots on the sidewalk is. Do you have any idea what they are?”

Man: “Looks like bird poop.”

“Well in my backyard, they are everywhere.”

Man again: “Looks like bird poop.”

The conversation went in several different directions, but eventually the woman started explaining to me the scenario.

Woman: “Your tree in the backyard is the largest in the neighborhood.”

That made me straighten up with pride, as if I was the one who planted it.

“It is the Mississippi kite. They are big beautiful birds in the area. You see them everywhere! See, look! There are large nests in your trees.” she added.

I looked up at the tree in back, but didn’t see any nests. I actually have not seen any of these birds, so I don’t know if she was telling the truth or not. But I didn’t tell her that.

I imagine as they walked off, the woman said, “Such a nice man.” and the husband replied, “He’s an idiot. He doesn’t know what poop is.”

But now I know. We went out and purchased a large shovel for my wife to scoop up the almost 1.2 trillion seeds, mixed with at least 17 billion leaves. I  stood nearby holding a bag open to put the shovelfuls in. Ya’ know, this ol’ world is an amazing thing to learn about.

    Image by Rescuechick from Wikipedia

I casually mentioned to my lovely wife, today is my dad’s birthday. She, being the amazing person she is, made the suggestion that I take some of the whiskey he drank and go into the backyard and make a toast to him. Sounded like an excellent idea, so we did just that.

So, to the man who taught me how to change the oil in a Plymouth, explained to us about tornados and lightning, raised nine kids and survived despite a few of us, taught us going to mass every Sunday was just a part of life, who would talk about his ancestry and his time working in the service of our great country. Who built his final house with his hands and had a desk that was tidy and neat, unlike a few of us. Whose dry sense of humor created the benchmark for our humor, (for those of us who have humor). Who would make a trip to Iowa to get his relatives to gather once a year, telling them the same stories over and over. We salute you.

This man has left memories in each of us to last a lifetime. Everyone in the family has different stories to tell about him, and I truly wish we could all gather our memories together and record them, and yet I know that would not happen. In truth, everyone who leaves this earth to return Home, leaves memories that we all experience differently, and would fill volumes.

All we can do, is sit back with a shot of Old Forester whiskey and raise it to the sky, and say, “Thanks, Pop. You did good.”

Someday each of us will be able to sit next to him again, and hear his stories of growing up in Iowa, and Grandmother Nolte making everything edible with potatoes.

Then my wife suggested, perhaps the next time some of us gather in the great City of Pampa during the month of March, we should also share a toast to my mother, whose favorite wine was chardonnay, but drank the chillable red box wine.

Sometimes I feel sorry for those who are not a part of this amazing family.