Blogistani time-travel. We are moving backwards through history (woosh!), all the way back to July 17th, 2003. Note the following entry:
Oh yeah, yesterday I walked into my room and noticed that there was a shaft of light shining through the packing between the air conditioner and the wall. Did I say packing? I meant Styrofoam, there’s Styrofoam crammed into the space to close it off, and behind the Styrofoam is a bird’s nest. So yesterday I noticed that the birds, who had steadily been poking feathers into my room through the cracks, had finally pecked a large hole through the foam and forced a mess of feathers and straw through the hole.
(Tweet tweet. Hey honey, did you know this nest had an attached bed and bath?)
So I went downstairs and grabbed a roll of duct tape (nothing a roll of duct tape can’t fix) and a cutting blade and came back up with the intention of closing the hole. I climbed the bookshelf (thank God for sturdy carpentry!) with tape in my hand and the blade between my teeth and was highly shocked to hear the top of the bookshelf chirping.
Turns out a baby bird had climbed through the hole and fallen a foot to the top of the bookshelf. So I carefully scooped the bird up and nearly gave myself an aneurysm trying to put it back into the hole using only one hand without hurting it. (the other hand was holding me to the bookshelf!) What can I say? Baby birds are very uncooperative. I had to double the size of the hole before I could get the bird back in and then tape the hole over.
That was yesterday. Today the dirty laundry was chirping.
It was another baby bird, buried under a towel. I don’t know whether it fell down yesterday, same time as the other, and had been overlooked by me, or whether it was the same brilliant bird trying to commandeer my bedroom one dirty towel at a time. This time, I had the foresight to bring the digital camera up and take a pic before putting the bird back. I just finished gently cramming the bird back into its nest and taping the hole up again. If anyone thinks baby birds are cute, I invite them to look at the one that fell into my part of the house. (the birds only own the outside, the inside is mine)
Now fast-forward to today. (woosh!)
And que the theme from the Twilight Zone. (ne-no-ne-no-ne-no-ne-no…)
And altogether now…
The sparrows are building a nest in the air conditioner again, and as I lay beneath it today trying to sleep and yet not think hateful thoughts about sparrows in general, I found myself inspired to rip off The Raven. So without any further ado, here O Tolerant of My Nonsense Blogistanis, is:
Once upon a noontime dearie, while I languished, tired but cheery,
Over many a quaint and fluffy pillow trying not to snore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my aircondition-or.
“‘Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “at the aircondition-or –
Only this, and nothing more.”
Back into the pillow turning, all my dreams within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window, drat this:
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this tippy-tap explore –
Let my snores be still a moment and this mystery explore; –
‘Tis a bird and nothing more.”
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flap and flutter,
In there stepped a naked sparrow of the mangy days, Core!
Not the least of cuteness had he; not a mite of charm (nay) had he;
But, with mien of lizard palely fell onto my chamber floor –
Fell upon a pile of laundry just upon my chamber floor –
Fell from yon aircondition-or.
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to wear no clothes so plainly,
Though its buffness little meaning, little relevancy bore.
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird fall upon one’s floor –
Bird or beast with naked flesh upon his chamber floor,
Which I crammed back into aircondition-or.
And the sparrow, never ceasing, still is pecking, still is peeping
From the nest of straw and wrappers in the aircondition-or;
And my sleep has all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
As the scratch-scratch o’er me streaming throws my peace right out the door.
And my soul from out that shadow that lives in the aircondition-or
Shall be lifted – nevermore!