nobody gets too much heaven...

oh bliss, bright sun
I love how you make light
of every leaf and stone.

Greetings, citizens of Blogtania...how goes the war?
I am off this morning to get Christmas tree.
Or should I say a winter tree? Holiday greens?
A festivus pole is starting to look more and more reasonable...
And now is the time for the airing of the grievances...
(sorry any non-Seinfelders - it's an old joke).

Good news out here in sticksville - I personally escorted an
exhausted, but intact vole out of my house and back into the wilds
from whence he came. I was relieved to KNOW he wasn't moldering
away inside one of my walls, or behind my bookcase...
Which brings to mind the saga of Corky, the head-injured duck.
When he was about 7, my son found a duck in a mud puddle just
off the freeway (pee-stop) and insisted we bring him home.
The poor duck had a visible wound on his head - but my son
was certain we could offer 'rehab' like his uncle was getting
at the time - and then Corky would get better and fly away.
Would you be able to say no?
So Corky came home with us, and rapidly moved toward
his inevitable appointment with death. Later that day, I went out
to the store, and when I returned - noone was home.
Except Corky, who was expired.
Thinking that my son did not know this - I took Corky, planning
to hide him and lie my ass off about miracles and recovery and
all that stuff we were pretty invested in back then.
I was lovingly shrouding him in paper towels when D. and our son pulled up in
the driveway. Panicking, I grabbed a mostly empty oatmeal box,
crammed Corky inside and shoved the whole business way back on
a high shelf above the basement door.
Then I ran outside and pretended to be weeding.
D. and our son were shocked - "Where's Corky?! Wow - if he
took off, it really IS a miracle....". To which I (of course) replied,
"I was thinking the same thing! I came home and he was gone."
A lengthy search ensued, and when Corky did not appear - he was lauded
and applauded and over time, elevated into the stuff that legends are made of.
The truth about Corky surfaced 2 weeks later, when walking into the
back hall became a nightmare of sicky-sweet stink. I looked everywhere
for the source of that smell and suddenly - I remembered...
Oh Corky.
How the mighty have fallen.
It was only then that my husband explained that how he and my son
had been with Corky in his final moments - leaving because they
needed wood to make a coffin. "I was blown away that such a dead duck
could get up and be gone." D. said, "But he was, so I just believed that he did."
And in the silence that followed, there was a moment of such sweet awe
it almost didn't matter that we were celebrating a miracle
that never really happened.

Seasons greetings.
bs