(no subject)

This morning, as i held Christine in the dim predawn light waiting for the kettle to come to a boil, a bird sang so beautifully just outside the window. Flute like notes, with much variation: i tried to simply enjoy the song, but oh how it renewed that desire of mine to be able to name the singers of birdsong. "Sing-songer," i identified, "a robin? But there is no whinny." When i returned with my tea, the bird was singing in the distance. I started the track from my Birding by Ear CD: "Sing-Songers: American Robin, Western Tanager, Solitary Vireo, Black-Headed Grosbeak." It's a Robin, the song on the track echoed by my distant neighbor bird.

Would i have listened to the song so intently if i had known for sure it was a robin? Or would i have listened more closely? I don't know. My urge to name and identify fascinates me, itself.

I suppose, "identifying birds by ear," is an entry on my "bucket list." anoisblue asked about bucket lists on facebook a few weeks ago. "Make a list," seemed to be the most common answer, and i shrugged away. It's not how i've framed my desires. As i listened to the robin, though, i realized that this would be a perfect entry on a bucket list.

"Crochet a sweater," asks to be put on the list, too. And then the item clarifies, "No, not this whimsical thing you are pulling together but following a pattern." I actually think the item is pretty specific that it's the green suede yarn sweater that i started years ago and can't seem to get the collar right.

Then all the books in the shelves by the bed started murmuring, "Read me, don't forget me, study me." Yikes! I think i'll back away from list making now and just leave those two items on it, before all the possibilities of the world overwhelm me with desire.

(no subject)

ARGH, prednisdone withdrawal.

I am eating out of frustration, more Kosher for Passover little potato starch crunchy rings, and i'm going to get more carrots. I should have had more caffeine earlier today to head off the low. I had a pot of oolong midafternoon.

This morning, i got a sad email from my sister. It's our brother's birthday today, and she wrote, Slightly depressed on N---'s birthday, as he is in a foul mood, reportedly. Mom and Dad said he responded to, "Happy birthday," with silence and then, "Happy birth, Mom." He said he didn't even know it was his birthday. Ugh. He hasn't responded to an email of mine in months.

He's caught up in his high powered lawyer life, leading expert on China's new monopoly law while also getting involved with internal investigations. He works incredible hours and notes he is "that guy" the one with the blackberry out at the restaurant dinner table.

My mother's framing of the absence and work is always very personal. I found myself trying to reframe our experience of his absence for my sister, beginning with the "foul mood." I can easily imagine a way of working where life is put on hold, and suspect my brother has dived deep into such a life. Thinking about how different his perception of time and events must be, i found myself drawing a metaphor to a deep space traveler, rocketing along, not experiencing the time we experience passing.

We both miss him. I've been resigned to enjoying his presence when he happens to be in the bay area, letting him crash on our couch. When he's here, he's here, and he does choose to spend time with me. I value that and go through the motions, like sending him a DVD for his birthday, even though i know it's quite possible he won't open it for months after it arrives.