We’re in the midst of one of my favorite weeks of the year—the ten days between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur. This is the time all my Jewish friends call me up to say they’re sorry.
Well, I actually have only one Jewish friend and I’m not really sure the other Jews take Yom Kippur as seriously as Nancy Greenfield does. But I will never forget the first year she called me up on the telephone, totally out of the blue, specifically to say that if she had offended me in any way in the past year she was sorry.
I was touched. Most of the time in my relationships with others I’m usually the one who screws up and needs to apologize. As my friend, Kit, says: “In any friendship one person always has to be the patient one.” And in my friendship with Kit I have to say that she has always been the patient one.
So it touched me to have Nancy call just to say she’s sorry. She gave me a little time there on the phone to think back on the year to see if I could come up with any unfinished business we needed to hash out. I couldn’t think of anything.
Nancy is one of those wonderful, independent, positive people that I love to have around me. She’s open minded, intelligent, enthusiastic and loving. I can’t imagine her intentionally hurting a fly. We talked a little about Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur. One year I babysat her kids for her and Richard while they went to Yom Kippur services and the kids were too young to take. (This is one of the reasons Christians and Jews should always keep a friend of the other religion handy; I wasn’t doing anything that night and all her other friends would be in temple with her. I’m sure if anyone needs a babysitter Christmas Eve Nancy would be glad to help out.)
I think the next year she only mentioned in passing that she was sorry if she had offended me but that was OK. It was still important to her. By that time our friendship had deepened to the point where we knew we would forgive each other just about anything. Our friendship was important enough that we wouldn’t let go of it lightly, not without a serious effort to bridge any gap whether it was a holiday or any other day. It honors me to call her my friend. Nancy is one of those people that make you just glad there are people on earth like that. The world is improved by her presence.
That’s why I’ve had her on the prayer list at our church ever since the breast cancer she fought a couple of years ago returned last year. Thankfully, she’s doing well and has her strength back after a couple more surgeries. When I had lunch with her last week she was preparing a Rosh Hashana dinner for 14 people. I’d call that pretty much back to normal for Nancy.
I’m not sure what you call this week, whether Jews call it the “I’m Sorry Week.” I know Rosh Hashana is the Jewish New Year when all the scripture readings start over again. Yom Kippur is the Day of Atonement, in which the book of the last year is closed, kind of like an accountant closes the records for the year and starts over. It’s important to Nancy that her records be clean and in good shape. So in between the two holidays she checks in with friends and family to settle up her accounts.
This isn’t such a bad idea for anyone, no matter their religion. I’m not sure Christians have anything like that. Well, OK, we have that Grace thing that pretty much takes care of stuff between God and me. But what about between me and my friend Kit or Linda or Debbie? Shouldn’t I periodically check in to make sure we’re OK with each other? It certainly couldn’t hurt. I should apologize to friends for all the times I didn’t answer their emails until the next day….the times I took the cheap laugh at someone’s expense just because I could….the birthday cards that arrived too late…
If you get any phone calls from me this week be sure to answer the phone. I may be apologizing.
About Me
- Jane
- I'm pretty much a typist for the Holy Spirit. I try to put those things into words in a blog called Jane's Journey. I have another blog for recipes called My Life in Food. Also Really Cool Stuff features Labyrinths and other things like how to fry an egg on the sidewalk.(first step: don't do it on the sidewalk, use a skillet) Come along with me as I careen through life.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Friday, September 22, 2006
Putting the "Fun" into Funeral
Ann Richards, former Governor of Texas, died last week. I read in the newspaper that Willie Nelson would sing at the funeral and Hillary Clinton would speak. I thought to myself, “They’ll probably have a bunch of Aggies with swords, too.” The more I thought about it, the better it sounded. The paper said that the funeral would be open to the public. What more was I waiting for, an engraved invitation?
I called up Elizabeth. “What are you doing Monday?” She has learned by now to be leery of any conversation with me that begins like that. But before the day was out, she had arranged to take the day off and we had hotel reservations in Austin. We packed our best duds and headed off to the funeral.
I love traveling with my daughter--except for the few miles she was chewing fruit flavored gum. I had always had a rule when she was little: no fruit flavored gum in my car when I was driving. But this time she was driving and it was her car. And I was really glad she did the driving because it rained the entire trip to Austin. Our part of East Texas has been in a serious drought that I’ve promised God that I would never again in my life complain about rain. But it was a frog strangler, the highest level of rain you can get, far above the levels of “gully washer” or the wimpy “cats and dogs” kind of rain.
I emailed a few friends I have who are understanding when I’m weird and enthusiastic when they are able and invited them to join me in my adventure. A couple of our oldest and dearest friends, Charlie and Ann Tubbs wanted to come along. I haven’t seen them since they retired to the hill country near Austin to get in touch with their respective inner hippie. I can report to all who know them that they have indeed found their inner hippie plus their outer hippie as well. Charlie told me walking into the funeral that this was the first time he had worn shoes in quite a while.
I called up Elizabeth. “What are you doing Monday?” She has learned by now to be leery of any conversation with me that begins like that. But before the day was out, she had arranged to take the day off and we had hotel reservations in Austin. We packed our best duds and headed off to the funeral.
I love traveling with my daughter--except for the few miles she was chewing fruit flavored gum. I had always had a rule when she was little: no fruit flavored gum in my car when I was driving. But this time she was driving and it was her car. And I was really glad she did the driving because it rained the entire trip to Austin. Our part of East Texas has been in a serious drought that I’ve promised God that I would never again in my life complain about rain. But it was a frog strangler, the highest level of rain you can get, far above the levels of “gully washer” or the wimpy “cats and dogs” kind of rain.
I emailed a few friends I have who are understanding when I’m weird and enthusiastic when they are able and invited them to join me in my adventure. A couple of our oldest and dearest friends, Charlie and Ann Tubbs wanted to come along. I haven’t seen them since they retired to the hill country near Austin to get in touch with their respective inner hippie. I can report to all who know them that they have indeed found their inner hippie plus their outer hippie as well. Charlie told me walking into the funeral that this was the first time he had worn shoes in quite a while.
I didn’t want to miss getting a good seat so we made sure we were in line before they opened the doors at 10:30. This put us waiting outside the Frank Erwin Center for a good hour but that may have been the best part of the whole experience—waiting in line. The assortment of individuals in that line was just the kind of people I think I’ll get to meet in heaven. Most of them, were proud Democratic party leaders and assorted spear carriers. Everyone struck up a conversation with someone they had never met. The guy by us was a very dignified and classy looking black man, the kind of man you picture when you hear the word “Texan”. He was wearing a dark charcoal suit that fit him perfectly but the polished cowboy boots, tie with Texas motif and sparkling beige Stetson told anyone he was the real deal. I pegged him for either a Texas Ranger, sheriff or precinct chairman. Randy insisted he was just an ordinary citizen, one of many admirers there today just because he thought a lot of Ann Richards. The lady behind us in line had a button that read “Ann Richards” with “Hillary 2008” below the picture of Ann. She was one of the first female pilots and had been one of the many female appointees Ann made, this one to the Aviation Board. The radio station in Austin was interviewing people and it looked like we were all just ordinary folks who loved Ann. We got into a fairly philosophical discussion on why the world is going to hell in a hand basket with the Republicans in power and I have to admit I agreed with everyone.
When we got inside I could tell the biggies would be entering by another door. The floor seated about 500. They had silver chairs where ours in the peanut gallery had brown chairs. And the silver chairs had better cushions.We managed to get seats right by the center aisle where all the silver-seated people would walk through. I wondered if some of them came on a bus, maybe straight from the capitol, because a couple of times there was just a huge crowd of them all at once. There was a trio of Mexican American ladies behind us that kept a running commentary of celebrities like Lily Tomlin and Howard Dean as they walked in. I read in the paper later that Kinky Friedman was there but I didn’t see him. He must not have been wearing his hat. Without the black hat, Kinky isn’t very kinky-looking.The PA system was playing Willie Nelson songs. I worried when I looked at my program and didn’t see Willie’s name. I heard later he got busted for pot in Louisiana. Golly, couldn’t they give the guy a break? Everybody knows Willie smokes weed. But everybody also loves his music and knows he wouldn’t hurt a fly and, besides, he finally paid all those back taxes. So, couldn’t there be some sort of exemption for Willie?
About 11:30 the music changed to a live brass ensemble. Then at noon a huge black choir came in and then all the speakers. There was a huge video screen behind the podium so we could see a close-up of whoever was speaking. I’ve always felt sorry about the choir member sitting directly behind the podium because they are on camera all the time. You gotta be really careful not to yawn or scratch if you’re sitting in the camera’s view. But I noticed that the camera was aimed at kind of an angle so the person on the 40 foot screen wasn’t directly behind but to the side of the speaker. Good thing she behaved herself because she may have thought the lady three seats over was the one on camera.I was making notes on the “flash factor.” As the importance of the speakers increased, so did the amount of camera flashes going off. As expected, Hillary won the flash contest. However the most resounding standing ovation that topped even hers was for Ann Richards’ granddaughter, Lily. She gave a very impressive speech for a college student. A man behind us tried to start a chant of “Hillary and Lily in 08” but it never caught on. This was a funeral, for crying out loud, we had to have some degree of decorum.This was my first time to see Hillary Clinton in person, even if she was so far away she was just a tiny speck. I could still see if she picked her nose or scratched her butt—one of those things you don’t get to see on TV. She never did either one…kind of disappointing.
The speakers were great, the music was great, the short video of her life was great. The whole thing was just what I expected except they didn’t have any Aggies with swords and Willie was in the pokey.We had a great lunch with Ann and Charlie. Elizabeth and I had a great trip home with brilliant blue skies.
I have to say the best part of the whole trip was the crowd waiting to go into the building. These are my kind of people. And true to Ann Richards’ legacy, they looked a lot more like the real America than most crowds of people. There was an assortment of colors that I’ll bet matches the population of American better than most gatherings you’ve seen.
I’ve never been the kind of person to get involved in politics but this experience may have changed my attitude slightly. Somebody has got to get involved. I guess the best part of the whole experience, the part I will always remember, was when I was whining about how intimidating it is to be progressive in such a conservative state as Texas. Randy stopped me short and looked me square in the eye. In his gentle but firm voice he said “No. You can’t let people intimidate you.” The world is getting too small for governments with small minds who lack the imagination to invite Willie Nelson to funerals.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Further adventures of Fannie Flamingo
With all the attention focused on the fifth anniversary of September 11th, I realized there are a lot of people who aren't aware of Fannie's contributions that day. So, it's time for an update of the many adventures of Fannie Flamingo. If you are new to my blog you will want to go to the archives to my entries on July 4-25th for the beginning of the story. Otherwise, you might suspect I am mentally deranged. Well, you probably will think that anyway.
But first, I have to catch you up to date. When we left the adventures of the Flamingo Family they were still looking for her. She had gone to Guatemala and disappeared. My kids had a lot of fun e-mailing me kidnapping and ransom notes. But none of it really told what had happened to Fannie.
For over a year and a half I had no idea what had happened to her. And I began to worry when I received a photo of her from our Young Adult Volunteer in Guatemala, Mamie Broadhurst. Mamie wrote that she was very concerned about Fannie and I could see why by the photo:
Just a few months later I received the following letter from Fannie on her very proper letterhead. Fannie is very particular with her stationary and insists on having fine stationary with embossed lettering.
I know you’ve been worried and I apologize. I’m a little worried too because a lot of it I can’t remember myself.
I’m surprised Harold hasn’t told you about Jose, his ne’er-do-well cousin in Guatemala. He’s the one I met in the hospital. I had picked out a little girl to go home with but Jose promised me all sorts of fantastic adventures.
He invited me to journey with him all over the country cheering people up in hospitals and orphanages but I found out soon enough this was a bunch of bunk. He was all show and no go, just like you predicted. He would only hang around during a visit long enough to have his picture made and then he was out of there. He didn’t care anything about the patients. He spent most of his time drinking margaritas and smoking dope. Pretty soon I was so fed up with him that I started drinking and doping too. In just a couple of weeks I was broke.
I tried to locate Harold but he had already left the country in your luggage. I met Harold briefly at a family dinner that Jose took me to one evening. I think they are related through a very distant relative…a Macaw, I believe. Harold and Jose are both Toucans and look exactly alike but that’s the only resemblance. Jose turned out to be a horrible bird and Harold is just a saint; I know Clarice will be very happy with him.
When I couldn’t find Harold I tried backpacking my way home (That’s when the parakeets you met at the Casa Guastatoya saw me.) But Guatemala is such a poor country there was never a way to get even a few centavos ahead. I needed to have at least two days worth of birdseed to make it across Mexico.
It was so easy to get free booze and smokes in the bars I just fell into oblivion. I tend to stand out in a crowd and people were always interested in buying me all the wrong substances. I’m not sure exactly what went on for almost a year. It’s all a blur. I don’t think I want to know. I only know I have a tattoo that reads “Free Elian” under my left wing. I have no idea how I got it.
I finally heard about a job at the Flamingo Hotel in Las Vegas. I was supposed to greet the guests at curbside and welcome them to the hotel. It sounded right up my alley. They even paid my airfare to the US. But when I got there I found out they wanted a six-foot flamingo. I may not be as petite as a parakeet but I’m certainly not that big nor are any real flamingoes I know. They ended up hiring a man in a costume. I say good for him. It’s hot enough in Las Vegas in the summer in just feathers but a felt costume would have been unbearable. (Even though I do have a little fluffing thing I can do to cool off and it helps some.)
Well, that left me in an even more dangerous place with even less money and more temptations available. It was straight downhill then. Now I had gambling to add to the other vices: drugs, booze, sex and shoplifting (I can hide a 23” TV under each wing)
The final sad night I had visions of Robert Downey, Jr dancing the Bunny Hop on my ceiling. Then, at the end of the dance Robert leaned over and gently grasped my wing and said in a very somber and sincere voice: “Fannie, it’s time to seek help.” We went together that very evening and checked into the Betty.
And now, here I am. I’m a little tired right now. It’s late and I’ve been taking flamenco lessons. There’s a famous Spanish guitarist here but I’m not allowed to reveal his name. I’m going to bed now and I’ll write more later.
Your friend,
Fannie Flamingo
We sat around the kitchen table to hear her stories.
She told us all about helping out in the Occupational Therapy classes at The Betty when they made birdhouses. Fannie, being an expert, could tell them each bird’s likes and dislikes. She’s never lived in a birdhouse herself but she knows a LOT of sparrows and was able to tell the class to always include some air holes (no stuffy houses) and add a little perch on the front porch.
All this time I kept hoping Fannie would find a nice eagle and settle down. Eagles are so stable, you know. Fannie always seems to be attracted to the wrong kind. An eagle would be nice, don’t you think?
After the election in November she was invited by both presidential camps to take part in what each expected would be their candidates inaugural parade. I watched the parade and there she was: with Big Bird and Barney on a float for children. Fannie loves parades so I was glad to see her.
When all the dust settled I received her letter, again on finely embossed stationary:
Fannie G. Flamingo
Childrens Television Network
New York City, New York
February 14, 2001
Valentines Day
Dear Jane:
What a wild ride this has been! First, Betty Ford contacted me about the parade. She and I have become very close from my being at the clinic, you know. She said everybody she had talked to in the Republican Party wanted me to ride in the parade. But then Tipper Gore, an old friend from a photography class I once took called and said that they felt sure the results would declare Al the winner and she wanted me in the parade. Both parties had remarkably similar ideas for my talents, though I can’t say I agreed with them.
They had me on a float with a bunch of cartoon characters like Barney (you wouldn’t believe how dumb that guy is) and Mickey Mouse (kept trying to run his hand through my feathers).
I really wanted to represent the missionaries to Guatemala but no one thought that was exciting enough for the crowd. Again, all they could see was my bright pink plumage, not my tender heart or analytical brain.
So, there I was on the float when I met the love of my life: Big Bird. We hit it off immediately. Everyone thinks of him as a six year old child, when he’s actually more my age and size.
We have such fun together. Singing all the time. Counting to Ten. Dancing to the songs we sing. Counting some more.
So, here it is Valentines Day and my life is sure looking good. It looks like I may have an acting career ahead of me, either in TV or Broadway. The Bush administration was also pleased with my work in the parade and they said they might call on me from time to time, maybe for the annual eggroll on the White House lawn at Easter.
Big Bird got me a job with “Suessical.” I was only in the musical a few days before it closed but it was enough to find out that I really love acting. I may try out for “Lion King”… I hear they have great costumes, too. I usually don’t need a costume if I can find the right play. In the meantime Bird got me a job here on Sesame Street. I specialize in birdseed recipes and the letter “F”.
Your friend,
Fannie
I didn’t hear from Fannie for months. I assumed she was so much in love with Big Bird that she didn’t think of me. They said they were “engaged” but, if you ask me, they were just living in sin. I knew Francine could whip a beautiful wedding together in a couple of days if Fannie asked. Big Bird’s publicist didn’t want their living arrangements to get around and called me to ask my cooperation.
Then I received the following letter, again on fine stationary. However, by this time she was changing addresses so fast, she wasn’t buying the finely embossed type anymore.
Fannie G. Flamingo
American Red Cross
New York City, New York
September 18, 2001
Dear Jane:
Why is it I have such bad taste in men? First that toucan in Guatemala that led me into such trouble. Then I fell in with a yellow goof-off. All that bird wanted to do was play all day. Sing, dance and play. Sing, dance and play. That’s all he ever did. And count. Do you have any idea how boring it is to spend the whole evening singing the alphabet and counting to ten? And he would get so excited every time he made it to ten. I’ve just got to find a man with a little depth.
I turned in my resignation to Sesame Street. Like everyone else in America, my life changed dramatically on September 11th.
The minute I heard about the collapse of the World Trade Center I went to help. You know I’ve always been a bird to pitch in and do her part. There was so much dust! Everything around me was gray. It was hard to make your way around and easy to get lost in all the gray dust. I guess my bright pink feathers stood out and people could see me more easily than anything else because they kept asking me for directions to the Brooklyn Bridge. I worked a little on the rescue efforts at the site until the professionals got a handle on it. Then I brewed coffee and made sandwiches for the others.
After a couple of days I got a call from Mayor Giuliani. He said he had a special assignment for me. It doesn’t get much attention since it’s pretty minor compared to most of the stories you hear from New York.
There have been an awful lot of pigeons displaced by the loss of the towers. 110 stories high was prime real estate in the pigeon world and now both of those gorgeous towers are gone. I’m helping to find new rooftops for the displaced birds of New York. Most have gone to the Empire State Building but some have been so traumatized that they’ve asked me to help them relocate to other cities-- the Sears Tower in Chicago or the Space Needle in Seattle.
Jane, could you do me a favor and check into the Hyatt Regency Tower in Dallas? These pigeons love heights but they are just too nervous about New York right now and would prefer a less volatile city. I only need space for about 200 or so birds. I have a mixture of pigeons and grackles and, believe it or not, a couple of eagles. (And, no, they don’t want to go to DC, even if they are eagles. They have a whole lot of friends at the Pentagon who are also looking for new homes.) The grackles are about to migrate so I’m not too worried about them. It’s the pigeons I’m mostly working on.
Your friend,
Fan
But first, I have to catch you up to date. When we left the adventures of the Flamingo Family they were still looking for her. She had gone to Guatemala and disappeared. My kids had a lot of fun e-mailing me kidnapping and ransom notes. But none of it really told what had happened to Fannie.
For over a year and a half I had no idea what had happened to her. And I began to worry when I received a photo of her from our Young Adult Volunteer in Guatemala, Mamie Broadhurst. Mamie wrote that she was very concerned about Fannie and I could see why by the photo:
Just a few months later I received the following letter from Fannie on her very proper letterhead. Fannie is very particular with her stationary and insists on having fine stationary with embossed lettering.Fannie G. Flamingo
Betty Ford Center
Rancho Mirage, California
September 24, 2000
Dear Jane:
It’s hot and dry here in California just like the Guatemalan highlands. If it wasn’t for the MacDonalds a couple of blocks down the street, I would think I had never left. And I am definitely not in Guatemala anymore. Though, for the life of me I cannot exactly remember how I left that country. It’s been a long trip.
Dear Jane:
It’s hot and dry here in California just like the Guatemalan highlands. If it wasn’t for the MacDonalds a couple of blocks down the street, I would think I had never left. And I am definitely not in Guatemala anymore. Though, for the life of me I cannot exactly remember how I left that country. It’s been a long trip.
I know you’ve been worried and I apologize. I’m a little worried too because a lot of it I can’t remember myself.
I’m surprised Harold hasn’t told you about Jose, his ne’er-do-well cousin in Guatemala. He’s the one I met in the hospital. I had picked out a little girl to go home with but Jose promised me all sorts of fantastic adventures.
He invited me to journey with him all over the country cheering people up in hospitals and orphanages but I found out soon enough this was a bunch of bunk. He was all show and no go, just like you predicted. He would only hang around during a visit long enough to have his picture made and then he was out of there. He didn’t care anything about the patients. He spent most of his time drinking margaritas and smoking dope. Pretty soon I was so fed up with him that I started drinking and doping too. In just a couple of weeks I was broke.
I tried to locate Harold but he had already left the country in your luggage. I met Harold briefly at a family dinner that Jose took me to one evening. I think they are related through a very distant relative…a Macaw, I believe. Harold and Jose are both Toucans and look exactly alike but that’s the only resemblance. Jose turned out to be a horrible bird and Harold is just a saint; I know Clarice will be very happy with him.
When I couldn’t find Harold I tried backpacking my way home (That’s when the parakeets you met at the Casa Guastatoya saw me.) But Guatemala is such a poor country there was never a way to get even a few centavos ahead. I needed to have at least two days worth of birdseed to make it across Mexico.
It was so easy to get free booze and smokes in the bars I just fell into oblivion. I tend to stand out in a crowd and people were always interested in buying me all the wrong substances. I’m not sure exactly what went on for almost a year. It’s all a blur. I don’t think I want to know. I only know I have a tattoo that reads “Free Elian” under my left wing. I have no idea how I got it.
I finally heard about a job at the Flamingo Hotel in Las Vegas. I was supposed to greet the guests at curbside and welcome them to the hotel. It sounded right up my alley. They even paid my airfare to the US. But when I got there I found out they wanted a six-foot flamingo. I may not be as petite as a parakeet but I’m certainly not that big nor are any real flamingoes I know. They ended up hiring a man in a costume. I say good for him. It’s hot enough in Las Vegas in the summer in just feathers but a felt costume would have been unbearable. (Even though I do have a little fluffing thing I can do to cool off and it helps some.)
Well, that left me in an even more dangerous place with even less money and more temptations available. It was straight downhill then. Now I had gambling to add to the other vices: drugs, booze, sex and shoplifting (I can hide a 23” TV under each wing)
The final sad night I had visions of Robert Downey, Jr dancing the Bunny Hop on my ceiling. Then, at the end of the dance Robert leaned over and gently grasped my wing and said in a very somber and sincere voice: “Fannie, it’s time to seek help.” We went together that very evening and checked into the Betty.
And now, here I am. I’m a little tired right now. It’s late and I’ve been taking flamenco lessons. There’s a famous Spanish guitarist here but I’m not allowed to reveal his name. I’m going to bed now and I’ll write more later.
Your friend,
Fannie Flamingo
As soon as Fannie came home we had a huge party and parade and there was fun all around. Fannie danced the Flamenco for us and Francine made Great Granny Fannie’s famous Seven Seed Souffle.
We sat around the kitchen table to hear her stories.
She told us all about helping out in the Occupational Therapy classes at The Betty when they made birdhouses. Fannie, being an expert, could tell them each bird’s likes and dislikes. She’s never lived in a birdhouse herself but she knows a LOT of sparrows and was able to tell the class to always include some air holes (no stuffy houses) and add a little perch on the front porch.
All this time I kept hoping Fannie would find a nice eagle and settle down. Eagles are so stable, you know. Fannie always seems to be attracted to the wrong kind. An eagle would be nice, don’t you think?
After the election in November she was invited by both presidential camps to take part in what each expected would be their candidates inaugural parade. I watched the parade and there she was: with Big Bird and Barney on a float for children. Fannie loves parades so I was glad to see her.
When all the dust settled I received her letter, again on finely embossed stationary:
Fannie G. Flamingo
Childrens Television Network
New York City, New York
February 14, 2001
Valentines Day
Dear Jane:
What a wild ride this has been! First, Betty Ford contacted me about the parade. She and I have become very close from my being at the clinic, you know. She said everybody she had talked to in the Republican Party wanted me to ride in the parade. But then Tipper Gore, an old friend from a photography class I once took called and said that they felt sure the results would declare Al the winner and she wanted me in the parade. Both parties had remarkably similar ideas for my talents, though I can’t say I agreed with them.
They had me on a float with a bunch of cartoon characters like Barney (you wouldn’t believe how dumb that guy is) and Mickey Mouse (kept trying to run his hand through my feathers).
I really wanted to represent the missionaries to Guatemala but no one thought that was exciting enough for the crowd. Again, all they could see was my bright pink plumage, not my tender heart or analytical brain.
So, there I was on the float when I met the love of my life: Big Bird. We hit it off immediately. Everyone thinks of him as a six year old child, when he’s actually more my age and size.
We have such fun together. Singing all the time. Counting to Ten. Dancing to the songs we sing. Counting some more.
So, here it is Valentines Day and my life is sure looking good. It looks like I may have an acting career ahead of me, either in TV or Broadway. The Bush administration was also pleased with my work in the parade and they said they might call on me from time to time, maybe for the annual eggroll on the White House lawn at Easter.
Big Bird got me a job with “Suessical.” I was only in the musical a few days before it closed but it was enough to find out that I really love acting. I may try out for “Lion King”… I hear they have great costumes, too. I usually don’t need a costume if I can find the right play. In the meantime Bird got me a job here on Sesame Street. I specialize in birdseed recipes and the letter “F”.
Your friend,
Fannie
I didn’t hear from Fannie for months. I assumed she was so much in love with Big Bird that she didn’t think of me. They said they were “engaged” but, if you ask me, they were just living in sin. I knew Francine could whip a beautiful wedding together in a couple of days if Fannie asked. Big Bird’s publicist didn’t want their living arrangements to get around and called me to ask my cooperation.
Then I received the following letter, again on fine stationary. However, by this time she was changing addresses so fast, she wasn’t buying the finely embossed type anymore.
Fannie G. Flamingo
American Red Cross
New York City, New York
September 18, 2001
Dear Jane:
Why is it I have such bad taste in men? First that toucan in Guatemala that led me into such trouble. Then I fell in with a yellow goof-off. All that bird wanted to do was play all day. Sing, dance and play. Sing, dance and play. That’s all he ever did. And count. Do you have any idea how boring it is to spend the whole evening singing the alphabet and counting to ten? And he would get so excited every time he made it to ten. I’ve just got to find a man with a little depth.
I turned in my resignation to Sesame Street. Like everyone else in America, my life changed dramatically on September 11th.
The minute I heard about the collapse of the World Trade Center I went to help. You know I’ve always been a bird to pitch in and do her part. There was so much dust! Everything around me was gray. It was hard to make your way around and easy to get lost in all the gray dust. I guess my bright pink feathers stood out and people could see me more easily than anything else because they kept asking me for directions to the Brooklyn Bridge. I worked a little on the rescue efforts at the site until the professionals got a handle on it. Then I brewed coffee and made sandwiches for the others.
After a couple of days I got a call from Mayor Giuliani. He said he had a special assignment for me. It doesn’t get much attention since it’s pretty minor compared to most of the stories you hear from New York.
There have been an awful lot of pigeons displaced by the loss of the towers. 110 stories high was prime real estate in the pigeon world and now both of those gorgeous towers are gone. I’m helping to find new rooftops for the displaced birds of New York. Most have gone to the Empire State Building but some have been so traumatized that they’ve asked me to help them relocate to other cities-- the Sears Tower in Chicago or the Space Needle in Seattle.
Jane, could you do me a favor and check into the Hyatt Regency Tower in Dallas? These pigeons love heights but they are just too nervous about New York right now and would prefer a less volatile city. I only need space for about 200 or so birds. I have a mixture of pigeons and grackles and, believe it or not, a couple of eagles. (And, no, they don’t want to go to DC, even if they are eagles. They have a whole lot of friends at the Pentagon who are also looking for new homes.) The grackles are about to migrate so I’m not too worried about them. It’s the pigeons I’m mostly working on.
Your friend,
Fan
And now it's been five years and I'm pleased to say that my friend has been working on the Displaced Pigeon Project tirelessly in those five years. I still bump into her when I travel because Fannie is a bird who gets around. She continues to pop in and out of my life but is always at work on finding homes for the World Trade Center pigeons. A bird with a mission.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Hunger
I’ve done a little thinking about hunger. It started when I went to Waco for Church Under the Bridge. (Which, incidentally, has a website: http://www.churchunderthebridge.org/)
We took about 17 teenagers who shopped, cooked and served a meal for about 150 homeless folks. I learned some things about cooking for homeless people… like making sure we offered something they could take with them to eat later in the day, something that didn’t have to be refrigerated, and offering something healthy and sweet like fruit. We took what looked like a massive amount of hot food to the church, which is, quite literally, under the high bridge formed by Interstate 35 as it connects with south 4th and 5th streets. The bridge makes a perfect canopy, a kind of cathedral, although a different kind of cathedral.
The kids opened up what they had cooked and started dishing it out: breakfast burritos kept so warm that steam rose when people opened the aluminum foil, hot beans, sandwiches, cookies and fruit. We had quite a spread and I was feeling pretty good. But then the line formed and people started putting the food on plates. Two burritos, a sandwich, a spoon of beans, a brownie and a banana filled most of the plates I began to worry that we would run out. Each time I looked out at the line of people it didn’t seem to get any shorter. But I also noticed that there was still a layer of food in our coolers. As fast as the food disappeared, it seemed to me that it magically reappeared. Finally, the line ended and there was still food. We encouraged everyone to come back for seconds and there was still food. The food was multiplying right in front of my eyes. I couldn’t see it actually growing but the accountant in me was counting people, subtracting burritos on plates and counting burritos left in the cooler and none of it added up. Somehow the limited amount of food we prepared was holding out. At the end, when the last people had come through for seconds, when folks had gone to sit down and prepare for worship, there was still food left. I couldn’t believe it.
But then I remembered that Jesus had fed 5,000 people on five loaves of bread and two fish. Actually, there were over 5,000 people but they didn’t count the women and children back in those days. I never paid much attention to that tiny detail. If you estimate the number of women and children the number increases dramatically. Check it out in Matthew 14.
I always marveled at this feat. Then one year I was assigned to tell the story to the children of the church. I thought I would be cute and use real bread and real fish. The five loaves of bread would be easy but the fish stumped me for a while. I had a hard time figuring out where to get fish that we could eat without starting a little campfire right there in the chancel of the sanctuary. I finally hit on sardines. I spent the rest of the day patting myself on the back for being so brilliant. No refrigeration was needed for this small and snacky type of real fish. I forgot kids don’t like sardines.
They were horrified by this slimy, shiny and smelly bit of fish I had presented them. As we passed the sardines and bread around I watched the first couple of kids take miniscule bits of the sardines. As the plate was passed around some who took a tiny piece tasted it and put it back on the plate. After watching the others, the rest simply refused any of the fish at all. I was so startled by this that I forgot for a second where I was and blurted out “So, that’s how he did it!”
How else could Jesus feed so many people with so few resources unless he multiplied the food? Maybe…. could it be? What if ….maybe there was another way?…what if Jesus didn’t multiply the food? What if he satisfied their hunger?
It doesn’t really change the story. The point of the story is not how Jesus did it but the idea that he did the impossible; he accomplished a huge job with limited resources. And it doesn’t mean that I don’t think Jesus could have multiplied the food into any number he wished. I still believe Jesus could have made it rain purple poodles if he took a notion. But if he satisfied their hunger, it would have the same result, wouldn’t it?
Anyone who has ever been in a twelve-step program or who understands the concept knows that the issue is hunger of some sort. It doesn’t matter if it’s an AA group, or Overeaters Anonymous, or Sex Addicts or gambling or shopping, most addictions are basically an overpowering hunger for something. And the programs working with these addictions all know that it takes something even more powerful to overcome the addiction. It takes faith in a higher power.
When I was in Guatemala this summer studying Mayan Spirituality under Antonio Otzoy, he said that his greatest teacher was his grandfather. His grandfather taught him many things. He taught Antonio the arrangement of the stars so well he could navigate his way home no matter where he was. One of the stories Antonio told us started out with the observation that the Mayan people do not generally eat much in the morning.
Food has always been scarce for the Mayan people so they have learned to temper their hunger. They take their time upon waking and never hurry. When it finally came time for Antonio’s grandfather to eat his first meal of the day, he would only have a cup of hot water. I could imagine the care and ceremony it took as Antonio described the making of this cup of hot water. Then, before drinking, he said his grandfather would pray over the cup. Antonio said that in the prayer something astonishing happened: the hot water became something more. And they could go for hours strengthened by that water.
The water became something more through prayer. The loaves and fish became something more. Maybe our burritos became something more.
We took about 17 teenagers who shopped, cooked and served a meal for about 150 homeless folks. I learned some things about cooking for homeless people… like making sure we offered something they could take with them to eat later in the day, something that didn’t have to be refrigerated, and offering something healthy and sweet like fruit. We took what looked like a massive amount of hot food to the church, which is, quite literally, under the high bridge formed by Interstate 35 as it connects with south 4th and 5th streets. The bridge makes a perfect canopy, a kind of cathedral, although a different kind of cathedral.
The kids opened up what they had cooked and started dishing it out: breakfast burritos kept so warm that steam rose when people opened the aluminum foil, hot beans, sandwiches, cookies and fruit. We had quite a spread and I was feeling pretty good. But then the line formed and people started putting the food on plates. Two burritos, a sandwich, a spoon of beans, a brownie and a banana filled most of the plates I began to worry that we would run out. Each time I looked out at the line of people it didn’t seem to get any shorter. But I also noticed that there was still a layer of food in our coolers. As fast as the food disappeared, it seemed to me that it magically reappeared. Finally, the line ended and there was still food. We encouraged everyone to come back for seconds and there was still food. The food was multiplying right in front of my eyes. I couldn’t see it actually growing but the accountant in me was counting people, subtracting burritos on plates and counting burritos left in the cooler and none of it added up. Somehow the limited amount of food we prepared was holding out. At the end, when the last people had come through for seconds, when folks had gone to sit down and prepare for worship, there was still food left. I couldn’t believe it.
But then I remembered that Jesus had fed 5,000 people on five loaves of bread and two fish. Actually, there were over 5,000 people but they didn’t count the women and children back in those days. I never paid much attention to that tiny detail. If you estimate the number of women and children the number increases dramatically. Check it out in Matthew 14.
I always marveled at this feat. Then one year I was assigned to tell the story to the children of the church. I thought I would be cute and use real bread and real fish. The five loaves of bread would be easy but the fish stumped me for a while. I had a hard time figuring out where to get fish that we could eat without starting a little campfire right there in the chancel of the sanctuary. I finally hit on sardines. I spent the rest of the day patting myself on the back for being so brilliant. No refrigeration was needed for this small and snacky type of real fish. I forgot kids don’t like sardines.
They were horrified by this slimy, shiny and smelly bit of fish I had presented them. As we passed the sardines and bread around I watched the first couple of kids take miniscule bits of the sardines. As the plate was passed around some who took a tiny piece tasted it and put it back on the plate. After watching the others, the rest simply refused any of the fish at all. I was so startled by this that I forgot for a second where I was and blurted out “So, that’s how he did it!”
How else could Jesus feed so many people with so few resources unless he multiplied the food? Maybe…. could it be? What if ….maybe there was another way?…what if Jesus didn’t multiply the food? What if he satisfied their hunger?
It doesn’t really change the story. The point of the story is not how Jesus did it but the idea that he did the impossible; he accomplished a huge job with limited resources. And it doesn’t mean that I don’t think Jesus could have multiplied the food into any number he wished. I still believe Jesus could have made it rain purple poodles if he took a notion. But if he satisfied their hunger, it would have the same result, wouldn’t it?
Anyone who has ever been in a twelve-step program or who understands the concept knows that the issue is hunger of some sort. It doesn’t matter if it’s an AA group, or Overeaters Anonymous, or Sex Addicts or gambling or shopping, most addictions are basically an overpowering hunger for something. And the programs working with these addictions all know that it takes something even more powerful to overcome the addiction. It takes faith in a higher power.
When I was in Guatemala this summer studying Mayan Spirituality under Antonio Otzoy, he said that his greatest teacher was his grandfather. His grandfather taught him many things. He taught Antonio the arrangement of the stars so well he could navigate his way home no matter where he was. One of the stories Antonio told us started out with the observation that the Mayan people do not generally eat much in the morning.
Food has always been scarce for the Mayan people so they have learned to temper their hunger. They take their time upon waking and never hurry. When it finally came time for Antonio’s grandfather to eat his first meal of the day, he would only have a cup of hot water. I could imagine the care and ceremony it took as Antonio described the making of this cup of hot water. Then, before drinking, he said his grandfather would pray over the cup. Antonio said that in the prayer something astonishing happened: the hot water became something more. And they could go for hours strengthened by that water.
The water became something more through prayer. The loaves and fish became something more. Maybe our burritos became something more.
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