A while back I became fascinated with birds.  My friends, already bird lovers, warned me: Be careful, you’ll find yourself adopting these beautiful creatures.  Next thing you know, you’ll be talking to them.

Sure enough.  This chilly morning, I found myself asking a visiting Cardinal: How do you survive this cold?  Where is your mate? I hope she’s OK.

The mate appeared. Oh good, says me, I’m really glad to see you.  By the way, do you like the new food?  I read where it is a favorite of yours

What is it about birds that both captivates and calms us? Do we envy their freedom. Are we fascinated by the variety. Lulled by their music.  The way they protect their young.  Because they always seem so happily busy.  Or, do we believe that, in our own way, we are helping them survive.

Whatever it is, I am hooked.  Two mourning doves just joined my family. Best get more food.

Thanks Dr. Doolittle, for understanding.

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Extra from: My mother, who loved birds. A poem she taught us:

The North winds doth blow, and we will have snow,

And what will poor Robin do then?

He’ll hide in the barn, to keep himself warm.

And hide his head under his wing – poor thing.

A few weeks ago, I sat next to a recently retired gentleman at lunch.  Before retirement he’d had a pretty lofty title.  I’m guessing the position came with a staff that handled pesky details for him

Making conversation, I asked, “what’s keeping you busy these days?”  His response ... I seem to spend most of my time getting ready.  Getting ready for what? Everything. This luncheon. Guests.  A trip to New York.  His list was long and humorous. I did not spare him any sympathy.   In fact, I might have been inwardly smiling.

Still, he made me think. How much time do we spend anxiously getting ready. So much, it seems, that when the big day arrives we are: Too tired to enjoy it.  So overwhelmed with details we’re confused. So absorbed in ‘wish I’d done this instead of that’ our stomach rebels.

Think Weddings, Galas, Thanksgiving – any place our talents, or lack thereof, are on display. With or without help, this is the stuff that creates ‘what did I forget’ nightmares.

Here’s what’s true: Our guests don’t look for flaws.  They are happy to be invited. Eager to help you celebrate. 

Here’s what else is true: Most of your guests are far less talented.  At least that’s what they tell me.  And, of course, I believe them.

# # #

My family attempts to delay my becoming a curmudgeon.  They recently commented that I spend a lot of time, and words, glorifying things I miss.  They referenced the recent Grasshopper headlined ‘Out with the New, In with the Old'.  I’ll bet, said one, there are more new things you enjoy than there are old things you miss.  Challenge on.

As usual, my observant family was correct.  The useful inventions over the decades far outnumber the ‘stuff’ I think I miss.  The list of the new is, as Dr Seuss would say, longer than long.

Topping the list of what I would not willingly part with: Washers and dryers.   Cars with automatic drive.  Mobile telephones.  Suitcases with wheels.  Computers (yes, computers).   Grip jar opener.  Panty hose. The list continues to the tiniest indulgence of instant hot water for my afternoon tea.

Did I live without the old things I miss?  Yes.   Could I live without the conveniences I now enjoy?  Of course.

So, what could I not live without?  Nothing tangible.  Oh, I’d miss music, art, fresh strawberries, cozy slippers.  Still, I could survive without them.  What I could not happily live without is hope.   Without hope I’d miss knowing that, whether I take advantage of it or not, each day presents an opportunity to make a difference in some small way. 

To quote an unknown author: We are shaped by our past, but we are not chained to it. 

# # #

I just finished re-reading 84 Charing Cross for the third time.  It's a book first published in 1970.  There's no real story or plot.  It's not a mystery, not a thriller, not a romance. Definitely not Sci-Fi.

So, what keeps taking me back to this book of under 100 pages?  It's a book of letters, written over a period of 20 years between 1949 and 1969.  Not love letters.  Just every day letters between a book seller in London, and a book buyer in New York.

The letters allow us to feel friendship, trust, sharing, and understanding developing. There are no photos, so we get to create our own images of the writers. I find myself cozying up to the warmth of conversation. Writing down the names of the books purchased, and recommended.  Wondering if they will ever meet.  Not to be a spoiler - but, no - they never meet in person.

My re-readings remind me how much I miss hand-written letters.  For years I devoured the letters from home.  I could hear the voices, see the places, smell the shepherd's pie. I could keep them close and read them again whenever I needed a taste of home. I still have many of the letters.

Sadly, most letters today are email (guilty as charged). Even if I could find them on my computer; it's not the same.  It's like e-books, I use them for convenience.  Holding a book, rustling the paper pages - makes me one with the story. 

Perhaps health advisors could suggest writing a letter by hand is relaxing and gives great satisfaction to the writer and recipient. Who knows. Could start a reverse trend.

# # #

This was a chilly day. Well, chilly for these parts.  It was a good day for what I call rummaging.
 

Rummaging through old files, albums, recipe books.  Looking for nothing in particular. Finding plenty to make me smile, recall an occasion, decide I must bake MawMaw’s corn bread.
 

Today my rummaging uncovered a game I used to play when I was stalled, waiting for someone or something.  Like most brain games, it was a form of learning. The goal was to write down as many words as possible in the time I had. 
 

I came across my always handy notebook, and the heading on one page said: Words I like to use, continued.  Of course, I checked the old list. 
 

I found words like Dignity. Different. Gossamer. Delicious. Dream. Think. Baby. Hugs. Dance. Emerge … more than 100 words.  It must have been a long wait.
 

The chosen words I observed were, for the most part, happy or hopeful.  I did not find the words Money.  Greedy.  Revenge. Cheat.  Of course, I do speak those words – but my game was Words I LIKE to use.
 

Perhaps on my next rummaging day I’ll find the earlier pages.  In the meantime, I enjoyed this challenge more than Wordl.   I’ll be doing it again.
 

Favorite words? Try it.  Bet you’ll like it.

# # #

For the past few days an old song has drummed around in my head. Perhaps it was turning the calendar to another year.  The catchy tune, written in 1949, is Enjoy Yourself.  It could have been written yesterday.

Sing along at your own risk, it will not go away (especially if you are over a certain age): 

You work and work for years and years, you're always on the go
You never take a minute off, too busy makin' dough
Someday you say, you'll have your fun, when you're a millionaire
Imagine all the fun you'll have in your old rockin' chair

Enjoy yourself, it's later than you think
Enjoy yourself, while you're still in the pink
The years go by, as quickly as a wink
Enjoy yourself, enjoy yourself, it's later than you think.

I changed my brain channel and thought. How do I enjoy myself?  How do others truly enjoy themselves?  It is not, it seems, the parties, far-away places, luxury hotels, and gourmet foods.  They are fun, a special treat, and not to be scoffed at.  I DO enjoy them.

Your friends are likely to say their purest and lasting enjoyment comes from coffee with a friend, volunteering, sharing their time, talent and treasures.  It’s knowing they have someone to call, no matter what the time or the problem.  The simple things.  The things where a little bit of ourselves is left behind.  Enjoying life at rewarding levels.

So -- enjoy yourself, it is later than you think -- but it is never too late.  

# # # 

We seem to hear the phrase more often as the calendar spins into another year: Out with the old, in with the new.  And I want to shout … not so fast.  Old does not mean useless.  In most cases it does not mean obsolete.  The older I get, the louder I want to shout.

My friends of a certain vintage and I speak longingly of the old things we’d like to bring back.  We want a human to answer the telephone when we call. Not a mechanical voice that says ‘listen to the menu, our options have changed (no kidding).  Many of us don’t recognize the ‘options’ offered as anything we’d want.  We press zero.  The robot says ‘sorry, that is not an option, please hang up and call again.’  Why bother?

We called the department store, and a real person answered.  Where can I direct your call.  Shoes. The shoe department answers and checks if they have what we want in stock.

Booking an Airline ticket. Talked with a nice agent who helped find the right flight at the best price. We can still do that. After a long wait the nice agent answers. They immediately inform us there is a $$$ fee for them to personally book our ticket.  (We are placing an order, right? Giving them our business.)  We must decide if we will pay fees for legroom and location on the plane. We won’t question why a round-trip ticket has different departure and return prices.

What happened to full-service gas stations.  Even if we could, we don’t want to change the oil, test the air in tires, monitor the coolant – wherever that is.  We prefer not to stretch across the vehicle to wash the windshield.  Where is the attendant who took our credit card and brought it back with a friendly comment on the weather.  Now, we insert our cards and we’re likely to see on the screen ‘something went wrong. Please see cashier.’

The list of ‘the old’ we miss is much longer.  The ‘new’ is exciting to welcome. Let’s hope the new will include some of the old human touches.

# # #

The New York Times recently had a  'tell us your new year's resolutions, and how you plan to keep them' question.  I couldn’t resist. 

Mine isn’t a New Year’s resolution in the usual sense, I wrote.  I don’t make new year’s resolutions.  I make new day resolutions.  It could be a different resolution each day.  Life changes. Some days we can only accomplish the small stuff.  Other days, we can take on heavier loads.  A lot of days we just complete yesterday’s promise.

I’ve convinced myself that one day at a time is more do-able than a 365-day commitment. Today, I had one resolution: Take down Christmas decorations.   Mission accomplished.  As I boasted to the NYT editor -- my success record is excellent.

If resolutions are on your mind.  Consider your options.  New day, new week, new month. Or if you are in the 9% with more willpower than most … new year.

My resolution for tomorrow?  Make it the best day possible.

And the following day: To raise a cup o’ kindness yet, for Auld Lang Syne.

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MEMORIES ARE MADE OF THIS …

We never know when we are creating a memory.  For ourselves or for someone else.

There are memories that crept into our lives unexpectedly. Memories that friends and family helped create.  Memories that pop up seeing a face or a place.  Memories for which we have everyday reminders.

Last week I received a note from a friend.  He said ‘we just unpacked our ornaments ready to decorate the tree.  Our daughter admired the beautiful glass ornaments you gave us so many years ago. We told her the story, the name of the glass artist, and why the ornaments were so special.  A memory that will stay alive.

The Christmas cards we receive.  We see photos of once tiny infants, now adults.  We say ‘Wow, I remember …’   

Our sons, with children and grandchildren of their own, remember most the year they received Mr. Maggie – their furry black puppy. Mr. Maggie lives on in memories

Time worn decorations, Grandma’s recipes, silly photos, kids letters with misspelled words and childish illustrations.  Such memories.

This special Season, I wish you the nostalgia of old memories.  Happy days to create new memories.  Memories to share with friends. Memories that make you smile.

Memories are made of this...

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This may be a duplicate for some of you.  However, was notified that some malicious actors

messed with the server, and only a few of you received the Grasshopper below:

A few weeks ago my son asked me  'How did you come to be working in Germany in 1954 ?' 

The answer to his question:  I was living in Chicago, loving my life, my work, my friends - but missing my family, in England.  

I  spotted a poster in a window.  It said "Would you like to work in Europe?"   This, my thrifty brain said, could get me a free ticket closer to home.

The invitation was for administrative positions with the US Forces in Europe.  I applied, took the tests -- one month later I was on my way to Germany.

I always wondered, he said, because if you had not gone to Germany, you would not have met Dad.  That means my brother and I would not exist.  None of us would have had the lives and families we have.  Wow.

Imagine: Seeing a poster. Responding to the poster.  Taking a chance. That's what changed my life.  I'd never thought of it in that way.

This revelation made me think of all the serendipitous moments we have in life.

Sometimes all it takes is listening, responding, taking a chance.  The results can surprise us.

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