“The presence of a single bird can change everything for one who appreciates them.”
Julie Zickefoose
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Author Archives: Cindy Blackstock
Red Winged Blackbirds
When I was young I enjoyed living with a bounty of beautiful winged creatures who generously shared their habitat. It was not unusual to catch a ring necked pheasant in flight or to hear a quail with its call of bob white. How fortunate I was to have this backdrop to my childhood. Even now I enjoy seeing the flaming red feathers of a cardinal, catching the glint of color provided by a gold finch or appreciating the presence of a boisterous and bossy blue jay. With this variety of feathered species available, it had been the red winged blackbird that I always found captivating.
There are so many items that seem to be left behind once childhood becomes a distant memory. So it was with my enjoyment of red winged black birds. I never realized that it happened until I was caught by a train on my way home from work one afternoon. The road I traveled dissected two fields. As I patiently waited for the train to pass I noticed a large flock of birds in the field to my right. They could have easily have fallen into the category of black bird, although I believe they were starlings. I watched them swirl above the ground and then alight in the field among the crops. It was mesmerizing to watch them repeat the process several times, always in unison. I felt a sense of longing and thought how wonderful it would have been to have this flock be one of red winged black birds. The train passed and I moved on but my mind didn’t.
When was the last time I saw a red winged black bird? Surely they were still present although I couldn’t remember seeing any for such a long time. As I continued to be lost in my thoughts, I decided to take an alternate route home. Living in a rural area, it isn’t unusual to travel through scenic farmland. I was nearing a pond and the slight bend in the road that its location had created. Negotiating that curve caused me to reduce my speed. As I slowly made my way I noticed a bird sitting on a lone fence post, miraculously it was a red winged black bird. It was exhilarating to see the flash of color on its wings, like a beacon among the vegetation. I don’t believe in coincidences and gave thanks for the perfect timing that allowed this sighting.
Now I frequently have the good fortune to see these birds. They must have been there all this time but I was blind to their presence. What other benevolence am I overlooking in life? The realization that the mere wishful desire of seeing a bird was granted so swiftly, how much more is possible? I do believe that my thoughts are a form of prayer. My gratitude, concerns and needs are lifted well beyond my human capabilities.
Life is full of messages and guidance if you allow your heart to be open. Often, when I now see red winged blackbirds, they are perched high on a reed, allowing them to be noticed. At first glance it might appear that they are a regular black bird but it’s their red and yellow stripes that set them apart. We all possess figurative red and yellow stripes and it is this individuality that sets us apart from others. Just like the benevolence that I recently mentioned, it can often go unnoticed. I don’t think that was ever intended to be the norm. In hindsight, I realize that the reemergence of this ordinary bird in my life has brought me extraordinary messages.
“Sacrifice is a part of life. It’s supposed to be. It’s not something to regret. It’s something to aspire to.”
Mitch albom, the five people you meet in heaven
The Greatest Generation
An elderly man was pushing his shopping cart through the check out and I didn’t realize that I was blocking his exit. His white hair was neatly trimmed and combed into place. I noticed that although it was spring, he was wearing a flannel shirt. It looked as if the tags had recently been removed as it appeared new. Work pants completed his outfit. His cart contained two boxes of Cheerios and a bag. He politely let me know that he was trying to move around me and I stepped to the side. With a smile I asked him if he had a license to operate his shopping cart.
What I thought was a humorous passing comment opened a conversation that I didn’t anticipate. Not knowing if he misunderstood my remark, he chose to tell me that he was 99 years old and has been able to maintain his driver’s license. I didn’t get a sense that he said it in a condescending way but rather with understated pride. I could see that he was someone that didn’t take his independence for granted.
Although I have played our conversation over in my head several times, I am still unable to remember how he introduced the fact that he was a veteran of WWII. He was an infantry soldier and it has left a mark on him that is evident to this day. Ironically, he was soft spoken, yet his words suggested that during those years he experienced hell on earth. He spoke of the heat and the bugs and how collectively it had played havoc on their health. There was no relief at night as they slept on the ground and the morning dampness only added to the damage of their skin. However harsh the environment might have been, it played only a small part of what they contended with regularly. His battalion saw heavy fighting and heavy losses. With pride he shared that there was a monument erected as a result of their service.
If he shared the particular information identifying his battalion or the actual location where he fought, I don’t recall. I do feel I heard what was important. Here was a man who selflessly put his life on the line for what he believed. I had been given the perception that he questions why he was able to survive when so many others didn’t. He has done more than survive as he anticipates celebrating his 100th birthday by the end of summer. He has had many years to reflect upon his life and what his purpose might have been as he made his way on this journey. After our conversation came to an end he smiled and said he was going home to read his Bible.
I don’t know who this man is and I am certain I will never see him again. I know nothing of him other than what he chose to share. I have no name to identify him and no way to congratulate him on his anticipated 100th birthday. He could say the same of me. Yet the universe felt it was necessary for our paths to cross. An elderly man was able to share a part of his life that was traumatic yet deemed necessary. Although I was a receptive audience, I look at myself and wonder what the purpose might have been.
It might be natural to think of the Greatest Generation during this Memorial Day weekend. How many of that population never had the opportunity to grow old? They experienced the Depression and made it through to the other side. They did their part in the sky, on land and sea. For those not serving, they kept the home fires burning with ration books in hand. They raised families where many of their offspring let their hair grow and questioned the necessity of war. Yet this resilient group of people continued to move forward. Every day their numbers dwindle and their lives full of service and sacrifice go with them.
I felt like I was given a gift to have a window into this stranger’s life. By accepting this gift I feel I must pay it forward. I chose to make payment by honoring this individual, those like him, and most importantly, those who gave their lives. This blog doesn’t scratch the surface of recompense for their sacrifice but it comes with a profound sincerity.
“Families are the compass that guides us. They are the inspiration to reach great heights, and our comfort when we occasionally falter.”
Brad henry
My Grandfather’s Legacy
Some of the fondest memories of my grandfather are the two of us comfortably seated in the overstuffed swivel rocker in the living room. My father had reupholstered it in an Americana pattern that was popular at the time. I would be sitting in my grandfather’s lap and he would recite humorous verses keeping time with the rocking. He had made the move to live with us. How wonderful was that, to have a grandparent full time to love and entertain you? It was wonderful until I became a teenager and resented having an additional disciplinarian in the house. I suppose it was a rite of passage but one I have grown to regret.
I question why I didn’t appreciate the courageous man he was, while in my youth. It was hard for me to imagine him as a teenager, bravely coming to America from Italy. I recall the stories he told me about his ventures in his new country. I enjoyed the humorous nature of his tales. He and his brother had lived in the attic of a boarding house. One night during a storm, an icy mixture came through the window close to where my grandfather laid his head. The next morning he couldn’t move and quickly realized his hair was frozen to the bed frame. He was both resilient and feisty. He also had shared the story surrounding one of his first jobs. While working in the tin factory, there was a movement to unionize the workers. It was during this period he found himself cornered in an elevator with an imposing and threatening figure. This intimidating man asked him if he was for or against unionization. Not knowing which side this individual was on, but thinking quickly on his feet, my grandfather replied that he “no spoke the English”.
At a certain point in his life, the challenges he faced became much more difficult. Married and blessed with two daughters he would lose his wife and newborn son within a week of each other. Finding love again, he was to become a widower once more shortly thereafter when leukemia claimed his second wife. For the next 50 years he would make his journey without a life partner. There might have been a time when he was bitter but that was not present in the man I knew.
Some of the memories I have remain so clear. He could peel fruit with the precision of a surgeon. He enjoyed gathering with his friends for a Sunday afternoon game of pinochle. After dinner he would often have a cup of coffee with a drop of anisette. These were the things that one would know from sharing the same living space but there were other things that I wouldn’t have known without some prompting. I was given an assignment in a public speaking course while in college. We were tasked with interviewing an individual who had experienced a historical event or timeframe. I will always be grateful for my wise instructor who ultimately would give me the best of all gifts. By choosing my grandfather as the subject matter I learned a part of my family history that might have gone unspoken and unknown. My grandfather’s family lived in the Marquis’ house, located in an olive grove by the Adriatic Sea. My grandfather claimed that it was “devilishment” that had him immigrate to the States. I had a great aunt that lost her life during a bombing in World War II. None of this would have been known to me without asking. I have the good fortune of still being in possession of that cassette tape from long ago.
You might be wondering what the point is, beyond my fond memories of Grandpop. I have come to learn that everyone has a story. There are those who quietly relish the idea of having someone show an interest and ask what that story might be. There are things I will never know about my family’s heritage. So much that I could of, would of, should of plagues me. I suggest you ask for those stories; listen to those tales. Once that voice is permanently silenced it will be too late. What “devilishment” is just below the surface waiting to be uncovered?
“If a person gives you his time, he can give you no more precious gift.”
Frank tyger
Morning Ritual
I have never been a morning person. I do feel that it might be more pronounced now than when I was younger. I am not an early riser and I need an alarm. That doesn’t necessarily mean that I am ready to roll out of bed when it sounds and announces that I have a schedule to keep. If I had to place blame why I have an aversion to get moving in the morning I would suggest it might be that mentally I am ready for retirement. I have grown weary of trading my time for others daily and long for the day that it will truly be just that, my time.
Currently my commute takes a bit over half an hour. Where some might deal with the congestion of an interstate or metropolitan area, I cross a mountain. I have had to find a way to create a positive mindset that would have me arrive at work ready to meet the day. This is especially important when I find myself behind farm equipment or a tractor trailer that crosses the mountain at 20 mph. Those are the days that I must convince myself that going so slowly offers me a better chance to appreciate the surrounding scenery. In order to endure the trip, I have devised a morning routine. Although my plan is personal to me, I am not embarrassed to admit what I do to keep my mood in check. I have devised this over time and it was so subtle in its inception that I didn’t initially realize that I had established a ritual.
My success has come from recognizing what puts a smile on my face. Once established, those were the things I began to look for as I made my trek toward the mountain. It begins with my neighbor walking his dog. He has a joyful countenance about him and always crosses to the other side of the street when he sees me coming. I am sure he does that to maintain a modicum of safety although my driving has never endangered him. We both smile and wave. Toby, his golden retriever, wears a smile on one end and a constantly wagging tail on the other. Once beyond my neighborhood and jetting down the main drag, I encounter Richard the waver. He lives in a mobile home along the way and has a great deal of time on his hands as his disability has kept him out of the workforce. He can be found on his porch, waving to all the passing vehicles. If the weather is frigid he can be found wrapped in a Sherpa blanket with it fashioned as a hood over his head for warmth. Warmer weather has him sitting, sans shirt, wearing a pair of sunglasses. Days that I think it might be too dark for him to see me wave back, I will tap my horn.
Next I move beyond the human element and focus on all creatures great and small. It’s not enough to watch for animals but I have gone even further and bestowed various monikers upon them. I start with a horse that I have named appropriately, Old Paint. His dappled coat blends with the mottled wall of an outbuilding where he poses while soaking up the morning sun. Across the road I look for a tuxedo kitty in the picture window. One morning I noticed Kitty outside, pawing at a door. It had the frantic look of an indoor cat that accidently found itself outside. After witnessing the cat’s unfortunate plight it felt natural to turn an eye toward the house on my daily trip. It’s rare that I don’t find this same cat perched in the window with a curtain backdrop. Rounding out my journey toward the mountain is the appearance of Blackie. Lacking any originality, I’ve named a black cat that I see on the porch of a white farm house. There appears to be a feeding station set up for the various cats residing on the farm but Blackie is the cat that catches my eye. It also makes me smile as that was my father’s nickname and I wonder how he would feel having a cat named for him.
At this point you might be wondering why I unabashedly shared this somewhat absurd activity with you. Do I find going to work such a depressing event that I must distract myself? No, it’s not so terrible but truthfully I would rather wake up on my own and spend my time writing, reading or doing something else creative with my hands. Since employment is the reality, and I am grateful for the income, I like to take it up a notch, again to make the day start in a positive mode. This is my way of making that proverbial lemon aid out of lemons. It’s not a bad habit to have, seeing the good in any event that might seem challenging or unpleasant. Life is too short to wallow in the mire. I suggest that the practice of seeking joy will improve the quality of life. If you don’t believe me, start naming random animals and see what it does for your demeanor.
“Obstacles are those frightful things you see when you take your eyes off the goal.”
hannah more
Circle of Life
There are times in life we witness something so magnificent that it blindsides us. It could be a matter of timing or possibly sheer luck. It feels miraculous to be at the right time and place to become a spectator to something that has the potential to take your breath away. That is how I felt when I recently witnessed a bald eagle in flight.
Driving through a suburban neighborhood usually doesn’t offer the most scenic backdrop. Something might catch your eye on the order of landscaping or a real estate sign but usually those trips are uneventful. When I witnessed a bald eagle cross my path I was astonished. I instantly found myself reaching for my phone but stopped when I realized that I needed to leave it in my purse and focus on the spectacle before me. The eagle had recently taken flight as it came from the left and was just above the height of my car. It was high enough to clear my path but low enough that I could see the bird in all its stunning glory. When its flight brought it directly above me, it took a ninety degree turn and momentarily I was following its path. Then as quickly as it made its first turn, it did it once again and flew off to the right. It was overwhelming and I found my heart was beating wildly in my chest and then I realized that the eagle held a rabbit in its talons. I winced and tears came to my eyes.
I watched the eagle continue to fly with the rabbit silhouetted against a beautiful blue sky. There didn’t seem to be a struggle coming from the rabbit and it appeared to hang there, so still. I am not so naïve that I don’t have command of the laws of nature and the reality of the food chain. An eagle with its commanding presence needs nutrition and it was merely doing what was needed to survive. I am not a vegetarian and it might appear hypocritical that it tugged at my heart strings to see the rabbit carried off to become a meal. Truthfully, I did wonder if the rabbit was a mother whose rabbit kits would be left behind, defenseless. Was the rabbit taken when out playing with its litter mates? Maybe it seems foolish to place human characteristics on the vulnerable rabbit but I can’t be honest about my experience without sharing my thoughts.
Upon reflection I realized I witnessed the Circle of Life. Pardon me, Elton, as I expand on your song’s lyrics. If we are fortunate enough to rack up decades of living, I would hope it would be matched with the realization that everyday our role may change but we are still offered the chance to do more than just survive. I can look back at the times that I felt the strength of the eagle coursing through my veins, a feeling of being invincible. In direct contrast there were times that I felt as victimized as the rabbit. There doesn’t seem to be a way to appreciate the goodness without experiencing the challenges. I would hope that appreciating the positive aspects tip the scale when comparing them to the tests and trials. Mostly my wish is that when we are presented with the role of the rabbit, we can fly with the eagle knowing that we knew our purpose and our life would reflect how we sought to meet it.
Harvesting Life 