Introduction

My son recently encouraged me to start a blog. Initially I was hesitant because I do not have remarkable day to day adventures to share, nor do I have the intellectual prowess to flex scholarly muscles from time to time. However, when he suggested that my blog could be a place to record snippets of my diverse interests, that appealed to me. It might be amusing or therapeutic for me to peruse my disjointed posts from time to time to get acquainted with myself after all these years. Thank you to my daughter, Meredith, who talked me through the process of getting this set up. 


Turkeys

As I walk every morning, I see and hear great throngs of turkeys. I was reminded of an assignment I wrote for a short story class a few years ago: Write one page, double spaced, entitled "Things I See Outside my Window." This is what I wrote:




 
  

                                          Things I See Outside my Window

        Old Fran’s house is gray, and, it being January, her lawn is yellow and her trees bare. In the street, between our houses, there are puddles in the potholes instead of snow. Thankfully!  Today I can drive across town if I want without the stomach knot that comes when I’m faced with slipping over the treacherous white winter roads ---roads so often reduced to meager trails.

The gray-house door opens, and Fran’s companion, Mike, makes his way to check the mailbox at the end of his driveway. His retired status is reflected in his daily attire: robe with loose belt and plaid slippers. I always hold my breath for fear his flapping robe will reveal more of his wizened frame than I would ever want to see. I won’t go out to my box until after Mike is safely back within his walls.  Oh, Mike is a good old guy, but he can’t hear well, and our exchanges are always shouted awkwardly across the street to one another.

Old Fran’s sky is gray. I’m sitting here looking for that magical patch of blue that one of my creative writing classmates discovered last week. I’ve contorted my neck to get a better look through the curtained window. No. No glimpse of blue.  Only gray.

I’m hoping for the local gang of turkeys to noisily toddle by. In spite of their nasty droppings, they always make me smile. There are typically at least ten or so, gobbling boisterously as they eye each dreary blade of grass for nourishment. Turkeys seem to have the bad reputation of being dim-witted creatures. But they’re not lonely, are they? It’s always, “All for one, and one for all” with turkeys.  I don’t see them, though. Nor the neighborhood deer. The only life out the window is Mike, ambling back into his stronghold.

It’s so incredibly still outside. No wind. No cars. Silent, gray and yellow. I’ll wait a few more minutes before checking for mail. Perhaps the turkeys will come.