Aselin

I'm not much of a girlie girl. Growing up driving a tractor and mucking our sheep pens quashed any vestiges of demurity that might have existed under my dirty fingernails. But, enough is enough. Even a dyed-in-the-wool tomboy has her limits.

We have this lovely picture window that looks out over the backyard. Every day for the last week I have removed a dead bird carcass from the patio. Apparently birds cannot distinguish between glass and open space. Subsequently we've had a daily magestical soar only to be cut short by a resounding thud followed by a flap, flop...expire.

It makes me sad and disgusted at the same time. I have been home to hear more than one of these 'thuds', and I always follow the distainful sound with fervent praying for the welfare of the bird. Although I have had a few miraculous successes, my odds are not great.

Yesterday was the last straw. Sitting in my office it felt like the whole house shook with what has now become one of the spring sounds we hear. I hurried outside, begging for the welfare of the gray dove I saw lying on its back. As I arrived on the scene the bird was gasping for air, and then expired in front of me. Not a pleasant event. This bird had hit so hard there was actually blood.

I had had enough.

I told hubby we had to find something tasteful to put on the window to stop the birds from flying into it. He nodded and went back to what he was doing. Which is what he usually does when I have a decorating idea. Since he had not been cleaning up the bird carnage he was not aware of the severity of the situation.

Wracking my brain I tried to come up with something that would work. Walking past Unnamed Child #3's room a huge lightbulb went off over my head. (It's still there I think) Last year for a school project, the class traced an outline of each of the children and then each kid colored a life-sized self portrait. I pulled the figure down from her wall and stuck it on the window. Standing back to admire my work I realized that I was not only a tomboy, but I also had decorating sense that fell somewhere on the continum below Redneck and above Cave Dweller.

For two days now, we have had no dead birds but every time I walk past the window I startle. Apparently I have the peripheral vision of a wombat since multiple times each day I think someone is standing in my living room. Lousy peripheral vision and the short-term memory of Dory the fish from Finding Nemo since I'm the one who put the dang thing up there in the first place.

Now the big test of who my true friends are comes when everyone shows up in the morning for yoga, and sees this:




Not very zen is it?