Who has a bird in hand? Not I! We are dog people these days.
The only birds I’ve had in hand were years ago, a single yellow head Amazon parrot and later, one lesser sulfur-crested cockatoo by the unbelievably appropriate name of Racket. He was noisier than a pack of dogs and more destructive. He ate the bindings off an entire Encyclopedia Britannica and the wood arms of an antique sofa.
Not content with this, he continued to work on the sofa, tearing off the new upholstery one beakful at a time. And no, you cannot keep your parrot caged all the time.
Anyway, as clichés go, “a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush” is not one of my favorites. Its intent is to warn you to not get greedy (I think) … or does it mean you should settle for what you have and not take risks lest you wind up with nothing? One way or the other, it’s not my kind of cliché .
I favor the cliché you hear on every cop show on television.
“Stay in the car.” Even though we all know that no one actually stays in the car and everyone knows that no one ever stays in the car, scriptwriters can’t help themselves. They simply must put that in there somewhere.
I had a genuine moment of bliss last night. Longer than a mere moment. More like an hour and a half of bliss. There were multiple contributing factors.
An audiobook in which I was happily engrossed. Munching on trail mix from heaven which included white chocolate bits, dark chocolate covered dried cranberries, crunchy stuff coated in honey and yogurt, dried bananas and a few less identifiable elements. It was all mine to eat because Garry can’t eat that stuff. Diverticulitis. He has never mentioned this to his family, so they continue to send him goodies he can’t eat.
But I can eat them, no problem. Thus, like any good wife, I endeavor to save him from himself. I eat it for him. I report back to assure him it was really delicious. Well, I was saving him from himself. It’s a pretty big bag of mix, so I expect to be saving him again tonight and with luck, tomorrow night too.
Meanwhile, “Blameless” being a rather long book, I may be still adventuring through the mad Victorian world of Gail Carriger.
Thus the moment of bliss. My bed is comfortable and I was curled up, warm and comfy. Garry had the headphones on, watching a movie. My pain meds were kicking in. Genuine bliss.
Twelve hours later and it is morning. Sunshine is streaming in through windows on the east side of the house, something it hasn’t done in a while. For the past 10 days, we’ve had sullen grey skies with accompanying drizzle. At least it wasn’t snow, but today, out came the sun …
Is that more sun I see? No it’s the SON, my son, bearing pizza. And bread sticks. It’s barely 10 in the morning. But now I know, as sure as the earth turns, dinner will come and we will eat pizza. Does life get better than this?
In the midst of all this joy, to put the cherry on top of my banana split, a note arrives from my bank. I’ve received a direct deposit! Has my boat come in at last? It’s my royalties! I open the email with trembling fingers.
Life just doesn’t get better than this. This celebration calls for more coffee, don’t you think?
Life and the moment I am in — right now — is my “bird in hand.” Now is worth everything.