Bye bye birdies.

I may have mentioned this on the blob before, or you may have heard me say this in person, but I could see myself getting into bird watching.  I also thought nothing of going out wearing socks with my Sperry’s the other day.  (I’m lying…I did think while I was doing it, and the thought was “why have I never done this before”.)  So I think this might be how people get old.  Regardless, imagine my delight when, about a month ago, I discovered a bird’s nest hidden behind our flowerpots in the corner of our fire escape.  (Don't let me mislead you into imagining a more peaceful scenario than what actually occurred— it was more like I finally understood why some bird was always squawking away in terror (and therefore scaring the crap out of me) whenever I went out to water the plants.) 

Teeny egg and my mint in happier times.

I worried that I had scared mama bird (she was a dove) so many times that she would not come back or would be gone for long enough that the egg would get too cold.  But I should have trusted her.  We eventually established a mutual understanding, in which I could go out to water the plants and she would stay quietly on her nest and watch me.

She is hiding in the corner.

My coworkers warned me that the babies would be loud, but these little doves were very well behaved.  I didn’t even realize they had hatched until one day I saw them peaking out from under their mother.  (I was also surprised there were two of them, but the mom must have popped out another egg after I had quit scaring her…or the birds are twins!)

Dove love.

It seems as if the babies grew exponentially.  The nest quickly got crowded, but mama bird insisted on sitting on her babies until yesterday morning, when we noticed she was gone.  Then, by the afternoon, the babies/perhaps-now-teenagers were gone too.  I have to admit I’m sad to see them all go.  And that I can’t help but think of the whole experience as just another example of how quickly this great circle of life turns.  Also that I am grossed out by how much bird poo is crusted around the nest.

Maybe next year one of them will be back to start a new dove family.  In the meantime…more Elton.

Philadelphia freedom.

(A belated Pride and 4^th of July post.)
(You thought I was going to say Pride and Prejudice.)

As one might imagine, San Francisco is the place to be for Pride weekend (especially this year, in light of the Supreme Court’s ruling).  What better way to celebrate, I thought, than to attend the San Francisco Gay Men’s Chorus Elton John sing-along?  No better way.  I bought 6 tickets for a triple date with Evan and Hannah and the newly engaged (!) David and Christine, and listened to all my Elton favorites in preparation. 

I expected (and received) an evening of musical fun.  I did not, however, expect to bawl my eyes out.  I am having trouble expressing how powerful it was to witness these 300 men joyfully sing Philadelphia Freedom.  (Who knew Philadelphia Freedom followed by Can You Feel the Love Tonight would be such a lethal combo.)  Any words that I’m putting to paper/ screen right now are either coming out too sappy or preachy and I really hate both of those things.  So I will just say: I felt like I got hit by a truck full of relevance and emotion.  They can get married! Life liberty pursuit of happiness!  For real!  America!  Slowly but surely filling out the wisdom of our founding fathers!

On a less sappy and possibly more awkward note, I accidentally wore a semi-transparent shirt to work today.  I’ve worn this same shirt to work many times without issue, so imagine my surprise when I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror and suddenly felt semi-naked.   The problem, I realized, wasn’t the shirt so much as the bra.  I recently purchased a white bra as it had been approximately 298374 years since I had done so.  I thought today would be a good day to wear it, as my shirt is also white (with a lovely lace motif).  I guess I am used to wearing a brownish-gray white bra (which camouflages quite well under this shirt) rather than a blinding-here-I-am white bra.  Sorry, coworkers.