Gifts For Emmy

 

          “Hey, Emmy,” said Jessie one day that fall, “let’s put our coats on and walk down to see what’s in the mailbox!” Walking to the mailbox, down the long drive, with her father, was one of Emmy’s favorite things to do.

          “Yes! Can Honda come?” said Emmy happily, running to the low hook in the hall where she could get her own coat.
          “Of course, Honda can come.  He is our dog, and he must come with us,” said Jessie with an agreeable smile. Together they put on coats and hats because it was getting chilly in the shadows on those fall days.
          Aunt Sarah had called the house and warned ahead of time that a package was coming for Emmy. But she didn’t tell what it was, so they all had to wonder together. Beth hoped that it was something practical.
          Outside, it was beautiful, like a painting, with a glowing sky, mysterious shadows, and rich fall colors. A little wind fiddled softly with the dead corn stalks. The air was immediate. Fresh. Cold. Soon there would be frost in those shadows.
          Man and child, accompanied by half-grown dog walked slowly down the driveway taking time to look at everything. Yellow leaves were scattered loosely on the ground. A crow spoke to them briefly, then flew off. Emmy kicked up some dust. Honda ran away and then ran back. They could smell wood smoke from some neighbor a long way away.
          The Chee’s old place had one of those big rural mailboxes that can accommodate a largish package. When Jessie pulled it open they saw some letter mail and a box with Emmy’s name printed on it. She was not able to read her name yet, but Jessie told her it was her name when he showed it to her.
          Emmy was able to carry her package part way back up to the house, but then she got tired and gave it to her father who stuck it under his arm as they made their way back up.
          Inside, Beth and Julia waited for the mail and the rest of the family. Coats were hung up neatly. Honda took his usual spot by Julia’s chair and Emmy waited impatiently. Billy wound himself around her feet where she stood expectantly.
          Finally, Jessie sat down on the sofa and cut the box open with his pocket knife. Inside were two tiny Navajo style velvet dresses. One was red with rich multicolored embroidery.  The other was deep blue with some silver designs. There was also a hand knitted dark blue sweater in about a size six, so that it would fit for several years. Apparently Aunt Sarah had skill in knitting, which surprised even her mother. Women with no daughters of their own often long for a little girl to dress up.
          Emmy was thrilled. She modeled both dresses, then chose the red one to wear for the day, with the sweater, which was a lovely cardigan with a lot of surface texture and bone buttons.
          “Emmy, we must write a nice letter to Aunt Sarah together,” said Beth. “These are very fine gifts! We must thank her.” “OK,” said Emmy.
          “You look just like me when I was little, Emmy,” said Julia. “Let’s go outside where there is room, and I will show you a little dance my friends and I used to do together long ago!”
          Outside, Julia took Emmy’s hand so that they could stand side by side, and she showed her how to do a simple little progression of steps. They practiced for quite a while, until they were able to do the steps in unison. Emmy’s cheeks were pink, and her eyes were bright. Julia took a little rest, leaning on her cane for a few minutes.
          Emmy thought she should go show the hens her new outfit. She ran over to their fence, and she showed them the dance steps she had just learned. The hens watched but didn’t seem very impressed.
          While she was absorbed with her dancing she was being watched from above. High in a tree, bare of its leaves, a white raven turned her eye downward.  In her beak she carried a pretty blue thing.  It was the very same pretty thing that she had found here months before. She sensed a complete story with a beginning, a middle, and an end. She was pleased.

          She floated silently down to the child, just barely moving her great white wings as she drifted. She landed with a little thump, for she was a large bird, right in front of Emmy. When Emmy stopped dancing to watch her, the bird laid the pretty thing at her feet. She looked intently at the child, produced a few knocking sounds, and took off. In a moment it was as if she had never been there at all.
          Of course, Emmy picked it up. She thought it was very pretty too. It was silver with a large oval of turquoise laid into it. The turquoise stone appear to hold a tiny landscape.
          She walked back to Aunt Julia and said, “a big white bird gave it to me Auntie! Look! So pretty! Look!”
          Julia took the earring into her small dry brown hand. She was silent and tears came to her eyes, for she remembered it very well indeed. It was her own dear treasure, given to her by her mother, who was given it by her mother. It had been a gift from her mother, when she married John Chee. How it was lost she never knew.
          “Emmy let’s go show your mommy and daddy your earring. I have another one just like it, honey.  I think that you should have them both  when you are a little older, perhaps when you are married!”
          First Emmy climbed the two steps and ran in the doorway, then Julia followed slowly with her cane. Remembering that a white raven had been her grandmother's spirit animal, she was filled with gladness and her heart was thankful.

The whole shebang so far; They haven't taken my phone yet.docx

A Visitation One Morning

 

          The bird’s tail switched back forth when she walked as if she were the re-embodiment of Mae West somehow. She was a show stopper herself, all shining white with glamorous aplomb.

          Nobody pays a whole lot of attention to birds, so she was free to walk about and make a good inspection of whatever she wished.  White as a gull she had drifted in the starkly blue sky looking at the works of mankind below herself, interspersed with the scrub and rocks and dry soil of the desert landscape.
          The little settlement we know so well interested her. It seemed to be a mixture of very old and not so very old. There was an old Navajo hogan, a smallish old fashioned mobile home, a chicken run, a garden of sorts, and an old blue pickup truck. She saw no one moving around below, not even a dog. So, she decided to drift in.
          First she landed with a rather solid thump on the roof of the classic pale blue pickup. Switching as before, her tail followed her over to the open window. Hanging on firmly with her claws, she bent over and peeked inside. Yes, an old truck.  But, seatbelts and a child’s seat had been installed, a nod to modern precautions. Worn leather seats. A very old black steering wheel. There were signs on the floor of a bit of cigarette smoking. Perfect. A man lived there.
          With a flash of shining wings, translucent in the sunlight, she lit next among the chickens. Fellow birds, but they were landbound for the most part. They and she were of different worlds. There were six of these domestic fowl, various in colors and ages. They were wary of herself and her intentions. They fussed and gathered at one end of their enclosure. She experienced a wave of scorn, no one collected her eggs!
          She entered their small shelter.  Adequate. A good door for nighttime. Nesting boxes. Feeder and water bowl.  Just so! The fence seemed almost like a symbolic gesture, but perhaps it was enough for some reason not revealed to her.
          Then our witness thought to visit the old place, the original home. This was most interesting. It smelled very old, but there was life there yet. A thin line of white smoke traced a vertical line to the sky from a narrow metal stovepipe. She circled the smoke column to disturb its perfection, for a raven’s laugh. She put down on the roof. The sod of the old days was covered over by corrugated metal panels. Her feet made a scratching sound as she marched here and there, up there.
          There are no windows in a hogan. But this raven’s acute hearing picked up tiny sounds from inside. An ancient dry voice singing human songs. Love. Sorrow. Loss and finding.  Home. Small steps.  Was she dancing also, raven wondered.
          Ghostlike, she flickered there on the roof.  Very good indeed. Yes.
          Her curiosity aroused, she thought, “what next, what else is here?"
          Ah.  A late summer garden. Some of the sorrow of mankind was this continual working of the land just to eat. And yet she knew they took pleasure in it also. Good work provides its own reasons for good men and women.
          Bossy matron that she was, she switched her tail up and down the rows of dry corn stalks. The corn was all picked for this year, with stalks still standing. A shame that no corn was left for a raven now.
          A raven is not the only being with acute hearing.  A door opened and a large mutt dog walked swiftly to the bird in the rows. He was silent. Just watching. She tossed a few dry bits of this and that his direction, just assessing his level of aggression.  There was none. A dog of rare perception, she thought, remembering other dogs. In a flash, she left him on the ground.
          From on high, at last she observed the locus of most of the life here, in this little place set apart. The small metal factory-made house remained. She took another strut on a roof while listening to and smelling the business of the interior. Curious bird.  One might even say snoopy. If only she could get inside somehow.
          There are windows in a mobile home. A bird may peer into a kitchen window if she were careful to cling to the metal frame outside. Inside, a motherly person was working in the kitchen. Brown hair, white hands. A busy smile. She was handling pans, meat, vegetables, seasonings. All good and right. This bird was a mother too and had known care. For a moment she remembered, while watching.
          Another window was on the other side. The sun was shining into the front room where a man dozed in a recliner with a book opened face down in his lap. He was tall, thin, brown, with long black hair. He sighed in his sleep.
          Inching her way down the exterior window frame a few feet she could see that on the floor by the sofa was a large brown tabby cat asleep, head on his forepaws, tail wrapped around his striped body. He seemed to be placed in a protective posture near the sofa.
          Finally, she perceived the heart of this place. On the sofa, sleeping the profound sleep of children, was a small girl. She was wearing her daytime outfit, covered with a knitted shawl of navy blue yarn. Here and there scattered over the fabric of her shawl were white stars placed irregularly. Raven marveled. A star-blanket child! Not only the knitted blanket, but the child bore stars. Maybe only a Raven could see them. Stars on her hands and on her head.
          Very good indeed.

           Thoughtfully, she hopped down to ground level. Her blue eyes examined the nearby area for anything of interest to a raven. There. She saw a bit of blue tucked out of the sight of taller beings under the little porch, in the dim shade. Winkling it out with her powerful long beak, she was very pleased with her find. It was Julia Chee's lost turquoise earring, missing for many years. But the raven knew nothing of that, only that is was beautiful and very desirable.
          White wings reached powerfully for the sky. She cleared the land, and carrying her treasure, she flew on.
          

A Broad Hint in Black and White

 

    “Do you want to tell him,” asked Maeve.

    “You’d think he would know better himself,” observed Deirdre.
    “Maybe it’s the spring weather. Maybe he’s distracted,” said Maeve.

    Both the black and the white ravens were so far up into the giant Doug fir that they were invisible from the ground. Flecks of blue sky shone through the evergreen canopy, but no black or white feathers or wings.
    Conversational knockings echoed through the noonday forest. Gurgles and tuttings added to the soundscape.

    The object of their attention was lying stretched out full length on his favorite downed tree trunk. His eyes were closed, and he was smiling, humming a tuneless little tune.

    Maeve wiped her beak back and forth on her branch, as if she had nothing further to say. Sighing, she pulled a feather from her own tail. She dropped suddenly down through the depth of the forest, flattening out just above Ralph. She dropped the black feather onto his chest, zooming off again, to rise to continue the conversation. “There. Let him parse that!” Maeve can be enigmatic.

    “Observe,” rattled Deirdre with a croak. Then like a feathered ghost she descended the tree circling its trunk, appearing, and disappearing quite theatrically. She was used to being attended to, being the harbinger that she was. She landed on an alder sapling which was trying to prosper deep in the shade. She plucked a feather from her own alabaster tail. She laid it carefully over Maeve’s feather, crossing it. “Ha!” she said. She ascended back to Maeve.

    “It’s too ridiculous, somebody has to say something,” she sighed.

    “There is a choice to be made, for sure,” said Maeve.

    The truth of the matter is that Ralph had acquired a rather large pair of Levi 501s, and that he was wearing them. This was no random pair of pants. They had to be a size 52/48 if they were an inch. Totally custom, no doubt!

    It’s hard to tell the king when he is making a serious existential mistake. Who has the nerve? And who has led him down this path?

    “Let’s ask Ramona,” said Maeve.

    (Some flying is required.)

    “How did this happen?” asked a worried Maeve, just outside the cave. Deirdre watched but didn't speak. It must be admitted that Ramona did not seem happy.

    “You remember that lady reporter who gave him the cell phone? Well, she wants another interview and some photos with him for her paper, so she had them made for him,” said Ramona. “I think he is flattered by the attention.”

    “Photos! Oh no!” squawked Deirdre. “The king of Snohomish county in pants on the front page of the Milltown paper! Ramona, we have to stop him, if it’s not too late!”

    “He said he would meet the photographer and Millicent tomorrow. So maybe if you talk to him it would change his mind. I have not been saying too much to him about it,” Ramona said. “He arranged to meet them where he crosses the river to go into town.”

    Ralph woke and sat up. He was still smiling until the two feathers fluttered down around his feet. A message. Two bird’s worth of message. A warning, so to speak.

    Now, Ralph isn’t entirely dim. He’s pretty good with a non-verbal message. Somehow he knew the game was up. Therefore…

    When it was nearing morning, yet still dark enough for cover, Ralph made his arcane way down to the river crossing.

    He waded over to the town side, to the appointed meeting place and hung his custom-made Levis on a handy bush. It was an outward and physical sign of inward and spiritual decision.

    “Sorry, Millicent,” he said to the air in general. Then he went home. By then Ramona was making him and Twigg some oatmeal with berries for breakfast.  She said nothing at all.

Merry Monday Open Thread Day

 Mount Rainer Sunrise

It reminds me of Psalm 121:1 A Song of degrees.

I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.

May the day be a blessing to you!

Happy Sixth Day Of Passover

     I have always been fascinated that the last supper that we in Christianity, and of course Messianic Judaism, have heard of so often was a Passover meal.  So when we look at the many different old paintings of the scene, that is what we are looking at, as understood by the people of the time.

    

    I so wish I knew exactly how he officiated, what he said, and so on.  The modern Seder is rather long and busy and I don't believe they did all of that.

    In Matthew 16, of course, we read the story of his last Passover supper. 

    

    We usually have a very informal little Seder, since the early 80s!  Why, it's almost a tradition!

Uncle Bob Goes Straight

 

          “Hey, Ralph,” Uncle Bob said from his place on the log, “do you remember when we were like small?  Bigger than Twigg, but small?” He squinted toward the sky as if memory was a physical feat, and it cost him a little effort.

          He took another little hit and held his breath.

          “I can remember hiding in backyards and gardens. Then everything gets hazy. You did it too, Ralph! Remember jumping out and scaring people?”
          “Well, that’s kind of what we did isn’t it, Bob?” Ralph was gazing into the deep dark air between the trees as he spoke. “Or as least we used to..” His dark eyes moved restlessly. Ralph had something on his mind. His mammoth shoulders hunched forward. He was pulling bits off of a fern and balling the bits up in his fingers and then flicking them away.
          “But, yeah, I remember being small, I remember being middle-sized too, and most of all, I remember being this size,” said Ralph. “Don’t you, Bob?”
          “No, brother, I remember running through backyards, teasing dogs and stuff, and then nothing, until like a day or two ago I think,” said Bob. “I know where I sleep, remember that nest you helped me build?  Well, I still sleep in there.  I keep adding branches to it. I wish Ramona would let me sleep in your cave, but I don’t blame her, you know, for not letting me.”
          Ralph crossed his arms on his chest and put his chin down thoughtfully.  “Funny you should mention Ramona. She thinks me and Maurice, the dogface dogboy, acted like idiots and were not clever at all.”
          “Wow!  You made Ramona mad Ralph! You better fix this, man!” Bob looked shocked, and somewhat vague. “What’cha do?”
          “Oh, I told you yesterday. You forgot! I talked Maurice into robbing a truck full of Dinty Moore beef stew down in town.  I got the idea in a dream. Sometimes dreams don’t give you very good advice, Bob.  We got away with it as far as the law down there is concerned, but not with Ramona. She says to act like a fully sentient hominid or else!
        “She wants me, since it was my bad idea, to go make some kind of restitution for what I did. I can’t take the Dinty Moore cans back; they are all empty. Maurice digs that stuff! But I think I know what a nice gift to the driver’s wife would be, the one who ratted me out to Officer Bob. And I think you are just the big old hairy buddy to help me out!”
          Ralph beamed agreeably at his old friend, Uncle Bob. Bob had the good sense to look a little worried.
          “What we’re going to do is this; we’re going to go fishing! You and me, Bob, we’re going to get a salmon about as long as my arm and take it down to Darrington in the middle of the night and deliver it to the lady!” He nodded at the finality and perfection of his plan.
          He stuck his head in the cave and told Ramona they were going fishing.  She yelled back “what?” But by then they were gone, like shadows, moving in that impossible way they do, right down to the river that flows between the mountains and the small town of Darrington.
                    Fortunately, it was the time of year when salmon swim upstream and they were not all spawned out yet, just developing the hooked noses and all that.
          How Ralph and Bob went fishing was that they both lowered themselves slowly into the river, not making too much noise or movement. There was still a little light, but they didn’t really need it because 'Squatches can see in the dark rather well. They can also hold their breath for a few minutes.
          So, they lurked underwater, just watching for a likely specimen to swim by, bobbing their heads up from time to time for a breath. The river is only about five feet deep there. Finally, one did attempt to pass them.  Bob herded it toward Ralph and Ralph grabbed it. It wasn’t as long as Ralph’s arm though, more like two and a half feet. Bob was loving it. He couldn’t remember ever having this much fun. Well, he doesn’t remember much anyhow.
          Up on the river bank, dripping that cold water, Ralph restrained the fish while Bob tore a sapling out of the ground to stick through its gills so that they could carry it conveniently.
          Two big hairy guys and a large dripping salmon headed into town under cover of darkness. No one saw them.  They were that good!
          When they got to the driver’s house, his truck wasn’t there. So, his wife was probably alone with the cats.  That just made the delivery easier, since there would be no man to look out for. It was easy for them to hang the fish on its sapling trunk up under the eaves by the back porch. Ralph hoped they would like their fish. He also hoped Ramona would appreciate the effort.
          Fish delivered, Ralph and Bob turned to go back over the river and back into the mountains.
          “Ralph this was fun. I don’t want to ever forget we did this,” said Uncle Bob. “You know, like I forget everything else?”
          “Well, Bob, I guess you know what you have to do, right?” said Ralph.
          “Yeah,” said Bob, “I do.”

Taking A Breath

 Friday Greetings.

Open thread and all the best for today.