Free Bird

Good early Sunday Morning to you...
I think I am quoting my professor here or maybe it's Frost? - loosely too - "writers are the great observers of life"
I woke up about a half an hour ago with my writer in full on observation mode, the mouthy little birds could no longer be ignored...
Birds are big in my life - always have been.
My Nana used to whistle to them on the back porch while she hung laundry, she had unparalleled bird call abilities when she made her mouth in a tight O.
And with the tears that just shocked even me, I can no longer list the bird references with my Nana - because... I realized just now that she is really dead and this reality is messing with my ability to pretend she is just in the next room drinking a cup of tea and writing out a birthday card to one of her favorite neighbors, or Niece's or her best friend from high school, Helen....
Jesus Deb, this is why you are so easy and so hard to love.
I just wrote that down in my notebook of realizations I have been as of late toting around with me.
When I observe an encapsulation, a perfect example, a snapshot of nakedness of me, a profound truth about myself - I jot it down for momentum in the race to change before it all just fades away into a morning mist where my Granddaughter misses me into pretending I am still walking and running my mouth amongst.
My mind is a poem, lyrics to a never ending song.
I can't help it, it is how the genetics worked out - somewhere in the gene pool a mind like mine existed.
I just had a full on fantasy about where genealogy could lead me....I wish I knew from what fossilized rock record I sprung.
See... I could have just gone on to write a brilliant blog about my ties to Marie Antoinette.
My mind streams thoughts like the running billboard in Times Square, you'd have to unplug me from the power source to get it to stop -
Please do not unplug me.
My boyfriend calls me "mouth" - I smile when I get the texts that say "you have quite a mouth, good thing I love you so much"
Then I will say, "oh don't you worry, I can be quiet if you want, like dead silent, so silent that the nothingness will become deafening" and he laughs at me,
because although my mouth is certainly exhausting and challenging, it is poetry and music and somewhere deep in his man cave of a heart, he knows that he is lucky that my song sings a chorus of him, scraps of paper will absorb his ink.
But.... I admit it - I do have the biggest mouth, in fact...that is the most consistent thing throughout my life that has been said about me. It started in Pre-school "she's a sweet little thing with so much to say!" and has never ceased.
Here's the thing....
I know it is hard on all of you who have to listen but.... Next time it's quiet and you realize it, imagine that you never picked up the phone again to hear me say "I love you"
Ouch. I know that smarts a little.
So deal with it all y'all.
This morning when I woke (long before my alarm), the birds inspired me to pay attention rather than dream away real moments.
I listened to them as I lay there, my open windows carrying in every "you get back in that nest right now mister" "Honey really, I just brought home two damn worms five minutes ago", "Ah sweetie Mommy loves you", "Oh hey there neighbor Cardinal, you hear Mr. Woodpecker this morning banging away in his yard at the ass crack of dawn, doesn't he know it's Sunday?" and so forth and so on.
If I didn't feel a sudden need to blog I could have lay there all my life and just listened to the birds who talk as much as me.
It's nice every once in while to just hear the minds of the birds and give my beak some down time.
I love you Mary, I love you Bob - I love my kids. They are the ones who know about my mind/mouth the best, have to deal with the incessant running of it, the stories, quips, flashes of road rage, sarcasm, gutter talk and annoying ever present moments of self doubt.
You are all so perfectly perfect for your respective positions, I think the pieces are beginning to fit nicely, the corners seem sturdy enough to support the middle.
and... there I go again - my mind blogged another complete entry on construction metaphors for love.
Why do Kevin and I not write more songs????
Okay... the morning sands are slipping and I must go - I have no idea what direction I went here - I know not of what I have rambled.
I know it began with the birds and ends here with both an "I'm sorry" and a cocky smile and a "you're welcome"
Have a blessed and beautiful day xoxo