A Day in the Life of a Distracted Writer

Since retiring from teaching last Spring, I have, henceforth, declared myself a writer. I suppose I am as I’ve been fairly diligent about spending each week day at my computer typing away and have drafted the first three chapters of a book. But, today…today, I look out my window at a white landscape and the falling snow -- a rare sight in central Oklahoma – and I am completely mesmerized by its stillness and magic. For those of you who have to trudge out in this winter wonderland, I apologize. While I can sit snugly with my hot cup of coffee next to my electric fireplace (it looks really pretty but I don’t have to carry in logs or work at trying to light it), I realize how many workers must, and I mean absolutely must trudge out into this cold and windy day.

Of course, then there are those who simply must, either for the pure sake of kicks and giggles go out anyway just to see if it’s as bad as the weathermen insisted or out of sheer desperation of being stuck indoors, which brings me back to those who “must” be out in all sorts of weather such as my daughter, an Oklahoma City firefighter. She’s the one who will then go help those curious thrill seekers or desperate desperados, who by the way, simply cannot drive on the slick roads that are so unusual in Oklahoma. More procrastinating. I scroll through Facebook and see an Edmond woman’s post; she’s desperate to find an open restaurant for lunch – a “sit down” one – with a bar. A few more scrolls down I see a post from the Oklahoma City Firefighter page showing a car that’s slid off in the ditch with a warning to stay home unless “absolutely necessary” because the roads were dangerously slick. I wondered how bad it must have seemed for the Edmond woman that she needed a place to sit down and have a stiff drink. I wondered if it were her vehicle stuck in the snowbank.

So, here I sit. Looking out my window. I see the trees, their leaves now shed, their limbs and branches with a soft dusting of white. I see my garden, its outline only perceptible by the fence poles surrounding it. I see the red pitchfork next to the wooden compost boxes my husband built for me last spring, and I know it won’t be long before planting season will be upon me once again. I’m daydreaming instead of writing…well, not writing my book. I’ve been consistently amused by the birds who have been coming to the feeder that my husband has only recently put up at my request. The birds are still trying to navigate the intricacies of the new feeder. Because there’s no tree directly in the sight of my window, I bought one of those poles that you can hang multiple feeders from. I currently have two – one is a small gray octagonal one with a mix of sunflower seeds, corn, and other small seeds, the other a cage that contains a block of suet. Several birds of varying shapes and sizes have begun showing up this morning and have finally managed to perch on the feeders. I recognized a few – a nuthatch, a small woodpecker, but it’s been a while since I’ve bird-watched and I can’t remember some of them by name.

Thus, a new quest. I search my bookshelves for our copy about Oklahoma birds. I look and look and look. It’s nowhere. So, I must turn to Google. I find that it’s the downy woodpeckers who love the suet. I have two coming to the feeder – a male with a red dot the size of a dime on his head and the female that looks just like him minus the red dot. They are very pretty with white downy breasts; their heads black and white stripes; their wings black with white polka dots. They seem to be the most adept at clinging to the suet cage and are rarely deterred by other competing birds. I like them – bold, confident, a take-charge kind of bird.

Then, there are the Carolina chickadees, again quite agile little things with a black and white head and gray body. They seem to have no trouble navigating the small gray feeder tray. I found much humorous delight in one little guy the first thing this morning. The snow had completely covered the tray so that the food was buried underneath. The chickadee found his way to the perch and could clearly see the food in the octagonal container. He pecked at the plastic, no luck. So, he moved to the next spot on the tray, pecking again at the clear container. He tried every side, no luck. Finally, my sweet spouse put on his coat and boots and cleared the feeder so that food could be obtained. Several more chickadees appear and have their fill. These tiny chickadees amuse me – they are a persistent and determined kind of bird.

The third kind of bird I’ve seen in my writing day that’s now been totally derailed by the birds and the snow and the internet is the dark-eyed junco. Bigger than the chickadee, they have mostly slate-colored bodies with a patch of white on their bellies. They’ve had the most trouble navigating the feeders on the pole. One approach that simply made me laugh out loud was one brave junco that finally landed on a hanger below the suet cage feeder. He stretched his head and body and bird legs as high as he could to try to reach the suet from underneath. He was just ever-so-close so he’d flap his wings to give him enough lift to take a few bites. It looked like a lot of hard work for very little return. After several attempts, he fluttered to the top of the cage, poked his head down to the suet which offered a much more satisfying meal. A second junco finally achieved success at the gray octagonal feeder, and after having several greedy gulps of seed, he noticed other birds landing on other sides – a sparrow, chickadee and fellow junco. “Oh, no, no, no,” he said. He had no idea of sharing, and he ferociously defended not only the gray feeder but the suet feeder as well. I imagined his tiny little head cocked back and him tweeting, “Muahaha, it’s mine…all mine!” I feel a little sorry for the poor juncos, these little clumsy, hungry beings trying to survive in the cold and blowing snow.

As fellow beings, perhaps we too are a lot like the birds. Some of us bold and daring, others determined and persistent, still others clumsy and desperate, maybe even greedy. I guess too we can be all of these birds rolled into one – depending on the day or the mood or the situation. I suppose I have procrastinated enough for one day. My fingers at least got a writing workout as I’ve written what I’ve seen. But, maybe it hasn’t really been what at first seemed like a wasted day. I have learned a lot about the birds at my window. And myself. Plus, we all need to find time for nothing more than pure delight and enjoyment, whatever that may mean to you. For me, it’s looking out my window at the snow and the birds on a cold, shut-in day. I hope you are able to stay safe and warm and dreaming your dreams wherever this day may find you.

Grace and peace,

Rose