Gulliver-Birdie was a delightful companion. A favorite game was Tug-o-War with a string. I'd lay a string on the floor and he'd hop over, select one end and pick it up. He'd wait patiently, string in beak, until I picked up the opposite end. That was the signal to let the game begin; he'd start pulling, hopping and tugging with all his might. I quietly held my end between thumb and index finger while he did all the work.
Another pastime involved a bell in his cage. It was attached to a short, plastic rod that was fastened securely to one of the vertical bars on his cage. Gulliver would position himself on the perch and grab the rod in his beak. He hoisted the bell high over his head, then down to the perch repeatedly. He exercised relentlessly for many minutes at a time, several times a day. It gave new meaning to working out with a 'bar bell.'
Fast forward about 30 years. A little over a year ago I broached a topic with my husband that had been creeping into my thoughts with increased frequency. I was toying with the idea of getting a tattoo. I'd thought of an image I could live with the rest of my life.
Mike's reaction was open-minded, but surprised. He told me, "I think I can handle that. As long as you don’t have butterflies flying out your derriere." (Alright, that's not exactly how he worded it, but you get the idea.) Hopefully I haven't left you with a disturbing image.
I explained to my husband that I wanted a realistic looking sparrow, not a stylized illustration. I had been inspired by a passage I'd read in Tuesdays With Morrie by Mitch Albom. The terminally ill Morrie explained a Buddhist concept of living with an imaginary sparrow on your shoulder. Each morning you ask the sparrow, "Is today the day I die?" When the gentle winged messenger answers, "No, not today," then no matter what your circumstances may be – live! Don't waste a minute worrying about things you can do nothing about, past or future. It is today – now – that matters.
The words spoke to me. I remembered Gulliver-Birdie sitting on my shoulder and singing in my ear. He knew he was loved, had plenty to eat and a warm shelter. He didn't fret over tomorrow or things out of his control. Now I knew the lyrics to his song, "Live today, love always."
I designed my tattoo with a male English House Sparrow balanced inside the oval of a gold circle like my trademark earrings of long ago. It looked so right to me, how everything seems to come full circle and reach completion. I added a glint of light to the ringlet, a small star which was a symbol I’d been attracted to throughout my life.
The art was positioned on my upper left arm just below the curve of my shoulder. I wanted to be able to see it easily and remind myself to savor the blessings and experiences of each day I'm allotted. This was marking a transition in my life.
The tattoo artist who did the inking reproduced my design exactly. When I complimented him, P.J. told me, "I’ve always believed people already have tattoos. They just can’t see them. All I do is help bring them to the surface when it’s time." I liked his philosophy.
A year later, almost to the day, I was working on a painting when I heard a loud noise. It sounded like Mike had put something in the heavy plastic garbage tote outside and let the hinged lid drop closed. I gathered my paint brushes a few minutes later to rinse them off in the kitchen sink. As I was scrubbing out acrylic paint and watching Ultramarine Blue and Alizarin Crimson swirl down the drain, I happened to glance at the patio and saw a little brown bird in a crumpled heap. The loud crash had been a sparrow flying into the glass door.
I rushed out, expecting the worst, but was surprised to find her still alive. I was worried about the seriousness of her injuries, especially her neck. Her head was twisted to one side and her legs were rigid and stuck out to the side instead of tucked under her. The toes were curled tightly. She felt chilled from the patio bricks and although her eyes were open, she was in shock and probably had a concussion.
I cupped her gently in my hands and stepped out to sit in the sunshine for extra warmth. I mentally willed heat into my hands and exhaled my warm breath over her body on this wintry afternoon.
Fifteen minutes passed with me sitting quietly holding the female English House Sparrow, the yin to yang on my shoulder. She stirred at last, realigning her head and neck, bright eyes regarding me. I suspect she was still confused and not sure where she was. As she regained consciousness, her natural fear of humans would stress her. I wished I could show her my tattoo and prove to her I would not cause her harm.
She moved again, pulling her legs under her; I could feel her toes straighten out against my palm. I removed the hand I’d held over her to keep in the heat, communicating that she was not a prisoner.
Her flock was chattering in a nearby tree and she reacted to the sound of their voices, but then turned her head back to regard me. Was she silently asking me, "Is this the day I die?"
"No little bird. I don’t think so. Live!"
She stretched out her wings and I felt the tickle of feathers and air as she lifted into flight toward the song of her flock, "Fly. Sing. Love. Live."
Best advice I know.
*Author's Note: It should be noted that if you find a bird or other wildlife you believe needs to be rescued, you should contact a local wildlife rehabilitation center and/or the US Fish and Wildlife Injured Birds FAQs for advice. There are numerous laws forbidding the ownership of some native species.
©2010 Roberta McReynolds for SeniorWomen.com
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