Tired Of My Own Thoughts

To Kill A Mockingbird…

KC in TX — Sun, 07 Mar 2010 11:21:05 +0000

I’ve never seen this movie classic, but if it truly is ABOUT how to kill one I might be checking it out soon. You might make note, that I am up today at 4:30 AM, (if I have set the time accurately for this blog) and all because a bachelor bird is singing outside my window. That’s what Wikipedia says, anyway. For the last couple of nights, Josh and I have gone to bed, and heard a song bird singing outside our window. “That’s weird” I said the first night. The second night, we just laugh when we hear it, but neither night did we hear it more than once or twice. Tonight, the silly thing has sung until I was forced to get up in search of ways to silence the crazy bird.

First, I grabbed the two flashlights from Jyllian’s room.
If this bird wants to put on a show, let’s see how he likes singing with a spotlight on him. I chuckle sinisterly to myself.
That should scare him away, right? I pad back to my room across the hallway floor, trying carefully not to wake the entire house in case others are able to sleep through the ear piercing shrills. Quietly I tug open the blinds and stand with my feet shoulder-width apart, a flashlight in both hands aimed into the night through my wide open window. I’m now also very aware that I’m standing in just a tank-top and underwear. I hope no one sees me like this. I click-ON the flashlights and point them toward the sounds.

“Ha-HA! TAKE THAT BIRDIE!!”

Yeah.
Nothing.

Not only do I not even SEE the bird. But the bird doesn’t even give a pause to what I’m doing. And… well… the flashlight batteries were almost dead. So the effect was less like the powerful ”Hotel opening for the first time, spotlights blazing” than I imagined.
They were more like…..um, dead battery flashlights, dimly lighting the way to the toilet at a campsite.
Kind of lights.
Not real scary to a singing bird at night.
Or anyone, for that matter.

My second remedy was to go outside and see if I can throw something at the bird. It’s warm, at least, outside and thank goodness it’s Sunday morning, because I’m not sure I could go to work with this much lack of sleep. How could I call in “sick” over this?

“Hi Mark…” cough, cough. “Yeah, it’s Kasey- look I don’t think I’m going to come in today. I gotta catch up on some sleep I lost over a bird. A bird! No… A BIRD!! Forget it, I’ll be there in a while.”

So out in the yard, armed with my weakly-lit flashlight, I pick up one of Chippy’s tennis balls and hurl it into the massive evergreen tree towering in the darkness.

BONK!– I hear, and like magic a bird goes flying out of it!

Oh my gosh, I cannot believe I hit that @#$in bird on the first shot! I am totally “The Bird Slayer”. I begin to turn around, but my excitement is short-lived as I hear it sing even louder as if now actually LAUGHING at my feeble attempt. It picks up fervor in his song, and I swear louder than it was before. I pick up another few balls and assault the tree blindly (my flashlight has gone out), only with no effect. It seems I am just chasing the bird around inside the tree at best, but he never misses a beat and carries on singing with perfect time. I give up and return inside, now contemplating if I should blog since I’m up.

If you google “Bird that Sings at Night”, the phrase will actually pre-populate before you get to the word “at”. Apparently this is a problem for a lot of people. The websites I came across identified the bird as a Mockingbird, male, and singing because he is trying to attract a mate.

Great….I bet that first bird that I chased away, was this guy’s only chance at love.
Since I can still hear him singing….at now 5:10 AM.

msburke313 — Wed, 03 Mar 2010 19:00:15 +0000

There I sat, my knees quivering in fear, my mouth slightly drier than I enjoy. My sight felt strangely blurry, like there was something in my eye. I blinked hastily several times. Still nothing. The tops of my gums began to itch, and I ran my dry tongue against the roof of my mouth. As all of my nervous twitches united against me, I thought to myself about the last time I felt so anxious. My mind drifted to a chilly day in February. I auditioned for a dance company in Downtown Dallas. This opportunity provided me with the chance to perform in one of the most historic theaters in the city while paying me pretty appealingly. I thought back to that odd audition dance combination, and performed a microscopic version quietly in my seat. I remembered the cold wood floors at the dance complex, full of wood chips and splinters. I found myself cringing at the thought, and then suddenly the announcement was made.

“Your new Assistant Director of Children’s Ministries is Daniel De Jesus.” Sigh. It was finally over, and now it was official. I was the Pastor’s Wife.

Daniel, my husband of two years by this time, stood reluctantly with the sound of the announcement and welcomed the stares of nearly seventy members of leadership at Collin Creek Community Church. I allowed my mind to quickly refocus from dance to position and poise, and forced a sideways smile and clapped ever so elegantly. Mostly everyone was happy, and everyone clapped, some even whooped and hollered which is edgy behavior for a Wesleyan church. I was really happy. Well, I was mostly happy. Actually, I was only kind of happy, and mostly weird. It was strange. For months I prayed for a position like this to surface, and then it did, but something happened in the process that produced a feeling of fear in me. Suddenly I became the Pastor’s Wife. Something about that rattled me from the inside out.

I batted my eyes and crossed my legs in an effort to pretend to be modest. I thought of what other people would see when they looked at me. My brown skin with its yellow undertone, easily contrasting with every face surrounding me in the room. My dark hair, hanging just below my chin, with my fingers anxiously pulling my long bangs behind my ears. Maybe they would notice my eyes, which are slightly too large for my face, pacing the pattern in the carpet on the floor. They would ignore my nose, as I do, and be drawn into my lips. I love my lips. My lips, like my hips, don’t lie. They are unbridled and impossible to restrain. I love how they are slightly pouty and sensual without any enhancement. Yes—they would see my lips and sense they were in trouble.

I always prized myself on my individuality. I am a practicing artist, dancer, writer, catalyst, loudmouth, and am generally a little inappropriate. I enjoy wine in moderation, and sex a little more than is probably healthy. I am not a sweet person. I don’t have a soft voice either. I love to argue and like the idea of reincarnation more than any Christian should. But now, I was the Pastor’s Wife. I felt as though there were a yellow dress suit with a matching yellow hat waiting for me at home.

But God made me for more than sweet smiles and pastel pantsuits; of that fact I am sure. He made me to change the world.

Blogging Brings Friends Together

KC in TX — Tue, 02 Mar 2010 02:39:51 +0000

It all happened one evening at Shelly’s. A mention of a new group blog, that woud involve 4 writers, 4 moms, and 4 friends. We are the wittiest girls we know, so why shouldn’t we all blog together? Sure makes reading our stuff, a lot easier when it’s all in one place.

Enjoy our thoughts, and watch for Vintage Tuesdays– when we post old blogs from other places that we loved!