Slide Show

Tonight we were shown a couple of thousand pictures of a trip to Peru and the Galapagos Islands--including at least fifty takes of Blue Footed Boobies and fifty of Frigate Birds. It was a long trip; nice to be home.

Father/Daughter

This morning the sight of a father sitting with his daughter of seven or eight for a breakfast of tea and toasted bagels and cream cheese at a table for two by the restaurant window triggered nostalgia of similar early morning talks long ago with my young daughters--and now young granddaughters.

As I left I overheard him say, "I could hire a consultant who could give you some fashion tips."

Happy Birthday, Darrel

Our friend of some forty years, Darrel, celebrated his birthday yesterday. His wife Marilyn requested that we and other friends send cards with our pictures, and she would bring them to him at his new home: The Aspen House, an Alzheimer care center. She reports he has adapted to the heart wrenching change: He thinks he works there and loves his job.
 
    

We may have faded from your memory, Darrel, but you have not faded from ours--Happy Birthday.

Doctor to Patient

Most every morning, Tom, a university grad student, studies for medical school over coffee and a bagel in the booth next to me. This morning, before he morphed to full study mode, he told me of his "Communicating with Patients" class. The biggest challenge for most of the students is learning how to speak to patients without using vulgar language—habitual words of their youth which heavily color their everyday lingo.

The North Wind

The two entrances to Panera's face north; a big deal this morning as a cold front blows from the north with a chill factor of zero degrees. The door to the main entrance has a two door airlock. The door to the fireplace room where I sit has a single door.

A woman strains against the north wind to pry open the fireplace room door and is blown in with the cold blast. Papers fly from tables and booths.

People with a chill reach for their papers and coats; she walks to the main room to order.

Sundance

Lois and I walk in the parking lot toward the Y as the cold front blows in. We hear two "kee-eeeee-arrs," then see two hawks at fifty feet doing an aerial dance. We pause, enjoy their show, then continue to the Y—but on the way I stop to talk to a guy sporting a kaki shirt with an AK-47 on the front, his eyes focus on the hawks. "What are they doing?" I ask.

"Red-tailed hawks are considered sacred by my people. They are my spirit guides."

"Spirit Guides?"

"For my people spirit guides are like angels and connect me to the Great Spirit. They have already shown me two signs."

"That's cool."

"I am a Native American, Marine, bodyguard and caretaker"—pointing toward a white amblicab with the driver door left open.

"What tribe?

"Choctaw, Cherokee and Norseman It's a bit crazy."

"What tribe was that last one? Norsewhat?"

"From Scandinavia, got Norwegian blood in me."

"Then we are brothers—my grandmother was 100% Norwegian."

"I was raised on the reservation near the northern Georgia border. There I was taught the way of the Red-tailed hawk. I learned how to coax 'em down to the ground right in front of me—I have it on tape."

We watch the hawks in the high winds, backlit by low steel gray clouds, spaced several feet apart and frozen in space. Their large wings point up in a high V dumping large amounts of the uplifting air. Their legs and talons hang straight down braking them like spoilers on a fighter jet. They remain stationary for a while, then leave to soar in arcs of a few hundred yards—one to the right and one to the left—let out spine-tingling "kee-eeeee-arrs" and return to the same spot without the flap of a wing.

"That has to be a sign," I say.

"When the female flies in the large circle, she looks agitated—she looks very angry."

"What does that mean?"

With furled brow, squinting eyes, jutting jaw and pursed lips, he imperceptibly shakes his head, and grunts a low ominous "mmmmmmmm;" following with: "Not good; not good at all.

"I'm glad my client saw 'em from the van. I'm his caretaker, er ah ah assistant caretaker, Native American, Marine and bodyguard."

"Hey, I hear my client in there; gotta go."

"I'm Sundance. Friends call me Sunny."

"Glad to meet ya, Sundance."