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Saturday, January 10, 2015

#WhoCares vs #Compassion: an allegory by mrfb

     The other day, I overheard a lengthy conversation. Many of you have heard a similar conversation: you see a slender individual who is hating on him/herself because of weight.
     As I wasn't part of the conversation, I said nothing. My inner reactions, however, were multiple and passionate. I am not a slender person. There was a time in high school when I was slender but never knew it because I was still "the fat kid" in my mind.
     A few days later, I am still processing. Why was my reaction so violent inside me? The violence springs from two sides. The kingdoms of #WhoCares and #Compassion had assembled to fight for my heart.

     WhoCares steps in first. It screams, "Who cares, you skinny wench?"
     Compassion says, "Caution, Miriam, you don't know this ground as well as you think."
     The conversation continues for several minutes. One woman has obviously never been overweight, one has always been fine, one has worked very hard and successfully lost weight and one, a little older, has learned something about loving herself.
     WhoCares growls, "I have work to do! Shut up!"
     Compassion knows I have work to do, but is silent. Why?
     From the flank, the older woman speaks wise words to the first woman. Compassion touches my heart. "This is for you, too. Listen."
     I don't want to listen. This is just like the people who counted fat calories back in the late '80's. WhoCares whispers, "You're sick to death of this."
     Something inside me snaps into alertness. WhoCares just made a strategic mistake. I'm Pentecostal enough to refuse to say that I'm sick to death of anything. Although I still don't want to listen to their conversation, Compassion advances. Compassion's plan is to teach me and ready me for a future battle.

     In the debriefing, Compassion unrolls a map. Before us, I see WhoCares is backed by a dark nation called Hatred. Hatred uses two covert commanders, Envy and Jealousy, to permeate the Media and Political Arena. They have two types of soldiers. The Haves are beautiful, wealthy, successful, talented. The HaveNots are angry and range from impoverished to wealthy. They have their own talents and beauty, but this is not the source of their power. They are blind. Blindness keeps them angry enough to prevent them from seeing their own value. Their anger is both seductive and terrifying.
     Compassion points to the map. Compassion has many allies. Unfortunately, the allies seem disorganized in the current war. A delegation from the nations of Truth and Wisdom has just arrived. Their code name is Project Discernment.
     I feel a thrill in my soul. I'd heard talk of a secret weapon. The leader of Discernment puts his arm around me. He slips a key into my pocket.
     "This key unlocks the prison of Fear of Rejection. When you are skilled in its use, you will one day be able to release prisoners of Hatred."
     I feel its weight against me. "When do I use it?" 
     The leader smiles. "You will know. God speed, dear one."
     He kisses my forehead. Then the delegation departs.
     I withdraw the key. It is labelled "Unconditional Love."

     

Thursday, December 25, 2014

Don't Start With a Parrot

I want to talk you out of getting a parrot. Really.

I consider myself an experienced parrot owner. I'm not necessarily proud of how I got there. 20+ years ago, we wanted a pet but the landlord had fur allergies. We dropped a grand on a red lored Amazon. He was beautiful and full of personality plus.

Through spilled blood and junk food, Zadok and I developed an understanding and then a friendship. We had him through 3 apartments and even a cat. In Zadok's mind, the flock hierarchy went me, Zadok and then my husband. At the bottom was the cat.

When I say he had personality plus, I mean it. Zadok loved the shower. He'd ride on my shoulder as I walked around the neighborhood. His first word was "hello," which I got him to say by rewarding him with a sunflower seed every time he tried. Then he "hello hello hello-d" us happily. He learned to meow like a cat. I taught him to say "praise God!" which was harder for him. It sounded like a whistle with a honk. He would chase the cat and then laugh at her. And beautiful? He was gorgeous.

Then I went to night shift. His background screaming became unbearable. He actually had been screaming all along. We'd screamed back at him, which would limit it for a time. But I couldn't scream at him when I was trying to sleep. We found a new home for him. The lady lived on a farm. She once taught a cockatoo to stop swearing by filling it with good words. It sounded like a match.
I was very sad and my pride took a huge hit, but we decided it was for the best.

Years later, a friend had adopted a greyhound. He was too much the predator her little Senegal parrot. We offered to adopt this sweet, quiet birdie. Sonny was not as personality packed as Zadok. He liked to be on my finger, liked my shoulder, though. He also liked to chew any wood he could find. The landlord made us get rid of him. Again, we found a home, this time with a person who wanted a quiet companion.

Fast forward to our current era: new landlord, same rules. No dogs or cats. The dog lover in me ached for a companion. It ached for an animal for our son to raise and nurture. He had done well caring for a parakeet. Was it time for another parrot?

I decided that if we were going to go the parrot route again, I was going to be prepared. Although little Keekee the parakeet was always a caged bird, I began to sit with her with the cage door open. I'd speak to her, whistle, make kissy sounds. I'd hold a couple seeds in my hand until my hand went numb and I had to put the seeds back into her dish.
And so Keekee, the 10+ year old parakeet, began to change. Or rather, I did. I guess we both changed. She began to greet me, with little kissy sounds. Then one day, she pecked at my hand. It startled me, I dropped the seed and I scared her. We kept trying. I realized the peck was probably what I'd seen parakeets do to each other at the pet store. It was social behavior! I was heartened and kept trying.
Keekee never made it to my finger. In fact, she died, but I was with her when she did. My son sadly said, "Maybe I should have taken better care of her." Maybe I should have.
Out of curiosity, I looked up the life expectancy of parakeets. Wow, Keekee was one old bird! I reassured our son that he did take very good care of her.

When I was working with Keekee, I was also reading. I devoured "Bird Talk" magazine. I bought and actually read books. With my current knowledge, I am dismayed by what I didn't know. In fact, we might never had had to re-home Zadok, had I done things differently. I knew nothing about screaming, about bird dominance, about food choices. I can only shake my head and forgive myself.

I very much wanted a Goffin's cockatoo. The happy dancing bird at the pet store won my heart. I kept reading. I decided against the Goffin's. I love the beauty and intelligence of the African grey. I remember how sad I was when the famous Alex died. I kept reading. I decided against the African grey. I didn't want a big parrot that could remove my child's finger, but I didn't want a smaller bird. (I now believe there is no such thing as a "starter bird.")
The caique seems to have all the personality of a cockatoo in a smaller body. I kept reading. Caiques often enjoy several family members rather than latching on to only one person. I kept reading. They entertain themselves and seem pretty trainable. I checked out the caique forums.
We decided.
We found a breeder.
We bought a sweet tempered white bellied caique.
Skipper came home with us.

Why do I write all this? Forewarned is forearmed.
Having a parrot is NOT for everyone. Parrots should never be bought on impulse. Parrots cost a heap of money and you may end up giving away your bird after spending $2-3K. Parrot bites HURT. Parrot shrieks are ear splitting and may turn your neighbors into enemies. Parrots are destructive and astoundingly messy. Parrots are not domestic animals. They are prey animals who live in fear. They also live forever, unless they die suddenly from inhaling teflon or scented candles.
You must NEVER EVER think of your parrot as your child. Please don't call yourself "Mommy." It is a wild animal. It is incapable of human emotions. It is the human's responsibility to become part of the parrot's flock. It is your job to learn the parrot's language.

Although parrots don't really live "forever," I am dead serious. If you are single but hope to have a relationship one day, DON'T get a parrot. Parrots are very sensitive to change. If a man comes into your life, you may have to choose between the two. If your sweetheart has birds, DON'T get a parrot. The birds may get each other sick or even hurt each other irreparably. Some parakeets carry a germ that can kill a larger parrot.

Here is a checklist of considerations. I'm not trying to be snotty or supercilious. I want to spare prospective bird owners heartache by learning from my mistakes.

1. Are you emotionally stable? Are you prepared to invest in a creature that may never be warm and cuddly?
2. Do you have a solid block of time every day for training?
3. Will you live longer than your investment? For example, if you are in your sixties, I strongly suggest against a bird that will outlive you.
4. Can you afford the cost of cage, food and vet bills? (Ka-ching!)
5.  Will this be your only pet? My cat sent Zadok to the vet. (Ka-ching!)
6. Is there a nearby veterinarian who is comfortable treating birds? It's not easy trimming your own bird's beak and nails without help.
7. Do you handle the unpredictable well? If you are nervous, guess who's more likely to bite.
8. Can you tolerate noise, either ear splitting or repetitive?
9. Do you have a bird friendly helper so you can go away for a few days?
10. If you have a significant other, does s/he also answer the above questions with "yes"?

If you can honestly answer yes to all of these questions, then begin your homework. You'll still need to choose a breed that will work for your life situation. I wish you the very best.

Monday, December 15, 2014

A Short Muse About Football

Recently a friend asked on social media why people like football so much. The ensuing conversation caused me to wonder for myself.
    Why do I enjoy pro football? Or, perhaps, why do I enjoy football? And why do I enjoy football?
    My high school friends could tell you one reason, but that was a long time ago! (And no, I won't tell you what his name was.)
    To me, a well-played football game is full of strategy. It amazes us with those who have taken talent beyond where most people dare. Talking sports is a great way to break the ice, turning coworkers into friends. A live game is an experience that continually shifts between exhilaration and the heartbreak of election night when your candidate doesn't win.
    At first, watching an NFL game is largely mysterious and boring. I found there were players whose style amused me. Watching those particular players made the game more interesting.
    As I learned a little more, I started calling "holding" or "illegal block in the back," sometimes before the refs threw those goofy yellow flags. I'm still learning the formations and the plays. I can identify a "shotgun" formation. I'm starting to see a "go" route once the announcers say that's what it was.
    As for the roles of each player, I just grin at the genius of the system. It takes all kinds. My favorites are the diminutive (in NFL terms) running backs like Danny Woodhead. I particularly identify with them. Although I wasn't good at throwing the football, I sure could plow through a lot of neighborhood kids when I had it!
    Each player has a specific size, build, skill set and mindset. Whether kicker, tight end, strong safety or quarterback, football involves the most body types of any professional sport. Skinny? There's a place for you. Big legs? Come on over. Giant? Fast? Thickset? Yep. A brilliant strategist? Bingo. 300 pounds can be a thing of beauty when it's protecting another player.
    Then the pendulum swings. Am I really enjoying a sport that causes such tremendous physical harm, including brain damage? one that turns near-adolescents into overnight millionaires and ridiculously selfish individuals?
    But you know what? Not every player is a spoiled brat. And although some accuse the NFL of becoming too wimpy, I believe it is working to make the game safer.
    My conclusion? I'll let you know when the pendulum stills.