And, yes, I had to look up how to spell her name.
It is so cold outside today that the birds in our backyard seem to be actually trying to get into the house. All morning I've been watching an aerobatic display in out the window -- we are fortunate to have a yard that's hospitable to birds of all types -- the fiery cardinals competing with the red-headed woodpeckers for attention as red spots blur in and out of my peripheral vision while I work. Birds are flitting from tree to tree, taunting the cat by stopping to rest briefly on our patio, then hopping onto tables, chairs, the grill, the birdhouse, nearby branches....
In the last few minutes, however, things seem to have taken a different turn; and more and more frequently I hear the tap and scrape of an aviary someone hitting the enormous window in our breakfast room. At first I thought that one or two of the little peeps had just gotten carried away with excitement and bonked their heads on our house by accident.
"Hey, Matilda, check out the loop-to-loop I can --- OUCH."
And you just know Matilda's over there in the crook of the tree, laughing at the silly fool as he rubs his sore head with a tentative wing and tries to pretend he meant to end up horizontal on the pine straw beneath the window.
But now it's starting to seem less like incidental collision and more like the birds are actually looking for a way in. One little brown bird (a wren maybe?) just hoisted herself up and tried to work her way into each of the four corners of the big window, one at a time. She's looking for a weakness in our security system!
The cat, who desperately wants to be outside but cannot tolerate the cold for more than 10 minutes at a stretch, is beside herself. She is prowling back and forth between each of the most popular windows, tail swishing in excitement and frustration.
Occasionally she looks at me like, "Isn't there anything you can do about this?"
And I look back at her with a look that says, "This is karma, dear." (I had to reschedule a trip to the vet earlier because she took one look at the cat carrier and squeezed through a hole into the crawlspace under the house -- so my sympathies are less than they might be otherwise). I do feel a bit sorry for the cold little birds, though.
I guess it's fitting imagery for a theme that has been running in my life lately. I have had to make some tough choices in the couple of weeks to remove people and situations from my life that were zapping my energy and causing more harm than good. For example, firing the unreliable bathroom contractor who had turned our renovation into the world's worst babysitting job, rather than a home improvement project. Drawing critical boundaries with a client knowing that it meant I might not get to accompany her on the journey any further. Putting some internal limits on how much I can invest in different areas of my life right now, trying to reserve and time and energy for something about which I am passionate, rather than to which I feel obligated.
All this is fitting for a cold, almost-winter day. When the weather is unpleasant, we pay more attention to the walls that shelter us from outside. A drafty window or broken door seal may mean nothing on a balmy fall afternoon; but when it dips below freezing, we notice all the weaknesses in our defenses. Similarly, when our resources are running low, it's more important than ever to structure our lives in a way that keeps unhealthy or unproductive stuff out -- so we can keep our own little acre of the universe warm and nurtured.
I feel bad for the cold birds, and the troubled client, and the wayward contractor. I really do. I'm a helper and it's against my nature to turn anyone away. But sometimes opening the door of your life too often -- or leaving it that way for too long -- only means that the warm safe space you've created becomes eroded by the cold wind. And then there is no shelter, no energy, no creativity left for anyone to enjoy.
So I am working on releasing what was never mine to hold. My responsibility lies within my own house, taking care of those who depend (appropriately) on me and I on them. It's my job to keep myself and what gifts I have healthy so that they can be used in the best possible way; for the greatest overall good.
The birds are in God's hands.
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