I've missed a week with the Gripes and the Happies, due to being out of town with my DH on a Valentine's trip to the White Mountains. Definitely all happy, nothing to gripe about there!
So I'm trying to get back on track.
Happy, happy, happy. Let's see. I'm happy it's Friday! But I guess there's a lot of that going around. What else?
It's a little warmer today, and the snow is melting. After the most recent ten-inch storm, I've decided that it should be against the law for me to have to sing "Let It Snow!" ONE MORE TIME this winter. I love snow; it's pretty and Christmassy and the snowflakes are a marvel of nature's engineering. But enough is enough, already. By the time it hits mid-February, I'm ready for temps in the fifties and crocuses popping up. So today's high of 41 and drip, drip, drip from the roof makes me think spring might actually come. Soon, I hope!
Lately, I'm driving myself crazy trying to figure out what bird I've seen several times on the tree out my front window. I've seen more than one of them, but I suspect they're moving through and not native to this area as I've never seen them before this year.
I love watching birds, and I keep a couple of bird books handy for quick and easy identification when I see a new one. But this time I'm stumped. It LOOKS like an eastern bluebird, perhaps; but the book's description of its eating habits and natural habitat don't sound right. It's a little blue bird about the size of a sparrow, with a red breast and white tummy. Any guesses from bird experts out there?
Birds are such delicate creatures. I don't know how they survive brutal winters without turning into little birdie popsicles. I try to keep food out for them, but I know their lives must be harsh.
I remember once hearing a bang coming from the direction of our sliding glass deck door. I looked out and there was a small finch lying on the deck. I was so afraid he'd killed himself by flying into the glass door.
I picked him up and held him, and I could feel his heart beating. Good sign; he wasn't dead. I pulled out one wing to examine it, then the other, then turned him over to check his feet. They all seemed to be in good shape, as far as I could tell. No blood, no obvious wounds.
So I just held him in my hands, keeping him warm. (It was a chilly autumn day.) I hoped against hope that he'd just stunned himself and would recover, given time.
And sure enough, in a few minutes, he seemed to be coming out of his daze. He realized where he was--in the hands of a giant--and started to flap his wings. I opened my hands and he flew/skittered across the deck floor. After a minute, he hopped up onto the railing and flew away.
That was one of the most special moments of my life--holding one of God's tiniest living creatures in my hands, and playing some small part in helping it recover from a trauma. I've always remembered that with a smile.
So, whatever those blue birds are, it doesn't matter...they bring me joy. And that's what counts, right?