The Rats of the Air

Let's talk about pigeons. Okay?

I strongly dislike them. No, I hate them, I really do. I place pigeons in the same category at rats, roaches and "rodents of unusual size" in the Princess Bride. They are disgusting.

Now, I feel bad about this for a couple reasons:

1. I have birds tattooed on my back. I like most of those creatures in the aves classification of species. I've memorized the verse in the bible that talks about sparrows. And have also considered having, "are you not worth more than they" permanently written on my body. I like birds, but I do not consider pigeons birds. They are gross.

2. God made birds. God made animals, and I do find it quite necessary to point out that on day five he made birds and sea creatures. And on day six- wild beasts, livestock, reptiles. .... So, perhaps it's okay to think lesser of birds than of cute little puppies and zebras and kangaroos. But I know I shouldn't feel such animosity toward these creatures. I shouldn't kick at them and shoo them away and stomp my feet to get them to fly in the opposite direction.

...

By our apartment there is a little walkway that is not really a side street, but more like a smallish sidewalk that splits the block in half and goes alongside the traffic pouring off the Queensboro Bridge. And it would be a really nice path. Someone has planted sunflowers that bloomed all summer. There is a private lot with a smallish garden. The area underneath the bridge is used as a motorcycle parking lot- fenced in and everything. (I'm sure this comes with a hefty price tag, and it seems a bit absurd. "Park your $35,000 motorcycle underneath a bridge for $250/ month..." Only in NYC.)

The point being- there are massive amounts of pigeons there most of the time. Why? Because people purposefully and intentionally dump bags of bird seed and loaves of bread to feed the birds.

PAUSE. (Now this also makes me feel guilty, because all I can hear playing in the background as I squint my eyes and cover my nose and mouth when I walk by here is...... "Feed the birds, tuppence a bag. Tuppence. Tuppence. Tuppence a bag...." You know? From Mary Poppins. Now, not only do I dislike pigeons, but (by association) I dislike little old hunched-back women who feed birds and Mary Poppins herself. This is a real source of conflict for me, because I really, really want to like Mary Poppins.)

I want to tell people who dump there bread ends and stale bagels, "No!! Please don't do that." But, I know they wouldn't listen.

And you want to know the worst part? One evening I encountered a "bird feeder." It was this old, white haired 80-something year old women in her night dress and cotton cover-up that snapped in the front. She had one of those shopping carts on wheels that all New Yorkers use to push grocery's home. As I turned the corner I heard the shooshing sound of thousands of little seeds and grains covering the cement, like rice being poured into a pot, and then I saw her. As she shook the bag empty the breeze caught ahold of the empty plastic and it fell to her feet.

She struggled to bend down to pick up her trash. Bending, leaning, reaching her left arm to finally snag the bag back. Her feeble body barely had strength enough to bend over, yet feeding those birds was for some reason important to her. Why?

It's hard to dislike a person like that, and I wonder if that will be me one day. But for some reason I took a little pleasure in seeing her struggle to pick up that plastic bag.

The non-athlete

When I went to the Roller Derby a couple of weeks ago with Erin, I was just in amazed (again) at the ability and strength of these women. I mean who doesn't like a tough, strong girl on skates? Plus, they look so intimidating with those mouth guards.

I'd love to be that fierce. But I'm not an athlete. I'm not athletic. I'm just girly and I'll be the first to admit I like shoes, Sephora, and showering.

Which is why I'm a little nervous about this evenings "End of Summer" event for our office. As a company, we are going bowling. Yikes!!! I can't bowl. I mean, who can really, no one practices or has much experience like they might in other sports: softball, tennis, basketball or golf. But I'm ungraceful, clumsy and sort of pathetic to watch.

Although I'm sure I provide much entertainment. Even though it appears that I'm purposefully using sloppy form, don't care, and might be intentionally sabotaging my team, the truth is - I am giving it my all out there. I'm focused and hoping just for average- just to hit some pins down and not throw the ball down the lane, dropping it with a loud bang, which once again brings full attention to me.

In the 8th grade we (Athens Middle School students) went bowling- some class outing, honors students, or some club thing. Anyway, the next day at school there was a massive sign hanging on the wall opposite the lockers which read, "Stefani Martin bowled a 32. If you can bowl higher than her please sign." I'm talking a banner sized 6' X 10' piece of paper posted in my Jr. High hallway. The teacher who posted it rolled it up nicely and gave it to me at the end of the day with hundreds of signatures. And I'm pretty sure it never made it home with me!

Trauma. I don't think I've recovered yet.

I'd much rather be on a boat cruise around Manhattan like we were last year. That was a great company outing. I'm good with free food, conversation- especially over a glass of wine, and taking in the views. This bowling thing requires me to wear borrowed shoes and most certainly look a bit ridiculous in front of my co-workers.

You'll get used to it

The other day I was headed out to lunch and I asked a co-worker if it was chilly outside, so I'd know whether or not to take my jacket. (and/ my scarf, or my umbrella...) "It's cold. But you'll get used to it."

Really? I've been here five years and I'm still not used to it. I don't want to get used to it. I have a different definition of cold than most of these people. I have a different internal thermometer, and maybe that is partially because of my southern roots, and largely because of my hardheadedness and overall bad attitude about the winter around here, BUT 49 degrees on October 2nd is too cold for me.

It was confirmed yesterday, however, by my general practitioner that my iron was low.... So, that may be a factor as well.

I was thinking about how I really don't want to get used to it. And how I some things won't feel normal, no matter how much time I spend here.

And even if I'm willing to admit that, I'm going to be pretty miserable unless I accept some of these things as cold, hard truth and decide to live in it and with it and among it. I know "every gray cloud has a silver lining," and all that, but I'm really ready to learn my lessons already and move forward into whatever it is that is awaiting me.

I know that I am holding myself back, scared of failure, scared of being vulnerable, scared of success even. It's a funny thing, when you realize that a more and better life- life the fullest- a life that is beyond your wildest dreams- is available. But so many people choose a nice quiet life, and never ever really live.

Life is risky. Nothing is promised us, mistakes will be made, we will hurt, cry, not have answers to some questions. But it is worth it to be who we've been created to be: creators, instead of accepting blase and taking the easy way out- a laissez faire approach.

Doing the right thing is hard. I don't want to take this huge bag of old underwear and towels and bed-sheets and socks and undershirts to the textile recycling. Textile recycling is not convenient and is only on Mondays and requires that I make three trips on three separate occasions. I'd much rather throw my old bathmat down the trash shoot at the end of my hallway and be done with it.

But, because the average New Yorker throws away 46 pounds of clothing and textiles a year (and textiles are the number one trash item in NYC) I just can't do it. These numbers bother me and the answer is easy. It just takes a little time and effort.

And I debated on whether or not I should pick up the keys I saw laying on the otherwise empty sidewalk this morning at 7:00am when I returned home from the gym. But I did pick them up. And I took them to CVS where they will call the person and return the keys. I just hope the phone number is still correct!! They also had a Food Emporium and a Duane Reade loyalty card on their keychain, but I opted for CVS. They seem like they have it together and are nice enough people. I even called the 1-800 number on the back of the little plastic card, and she's the one that directed me to just take the keys to the nearest CVS.

And I didn't have to do that. I mean I'm not tooting my own horn here, because trust me, I missed some opportunities just this past week. You know when that still small voice impresses something on you and you question it? Rationalize it away? Pray about it? Then an hour later when you're convinced that God was right-- it's too late?

That's not what I want the theme of my life to be.

"When in doubt, make a fool of yourself. There is a microscopically thin line between being brilliantly creative and acting like the most gigantic idiot on earth. So, what the hell, leap.

- Cynthia Heimel, "Lower Manhattan Survival Tactics"