Ariel

Ariel:

Your charm so strongly works ‘em

That if now you beheld them, your affections

Would become tender.

Prospero:

Dost thou think so, spirit?

Ariel:

Mine would, were I human. From the Tempest by William Shakespeare (always used pronoun, “he”  is a spirit and depicted in drawings as feminine)

        

Curtis, Russell and Ellenora were trying to be patient while mom drove around doing shopping.  Little sister, Ellenora, needed new shoes; Big, big brother, Curtis, a new bathing suit and big brother, Russell, needed nothing at all.  Mom promised a stop at the park with the old train engine on the way home.  Harmony and peace reigned in the back seat of the old brown station wagon.  The children smiled and laughed as they talked about the train, and the swings and slides.

One more stop to get the tires rotated and then on to the park!  The big brothers and little sister watched through the glass as the workers used a loud air wrench to take bolts off of each tire and then move them to a different spot on the car.  Mom explained,  “Putting the tires in different places on the car makes them last longer.”

The last bolt was tightened and the car taken off the lift.  Everyone was scrambling back to the car when Russell saw something small among the old tires sitting out side.  Russell was the quietest of the children but very observant.  It hopped, made little launches into the air and then plopped back.  It was a baby bird.  It was scared. It was frantic.  The little baby bird had lost its family and home and did not know how to fly yet.

Mom took over and scooped up the little baby and held its warm body in the palm of her hand.  His little heart felt like a vibration, it was beating so fast.  Feeling safe, the little bird relaxed as the children looked on with fascination.

The mother and her three children all stood quietly gathered around the baby bird wondering, “What shall we do now?”  This little baby cannot survive long by this busy highway.  He could not get food for himself.  If a cat came along, he could not fly away.  “Mom, we have to take care of this baby bird until he can fly?

“I know,” agreed Mom.

         Curtis sat in the middle and gently held the baby bird while mom drove straight home.  None of the children minded at all when they passed the park with the train.  The three barely looked up not wanting to take their eyes off of their new charge.  Each took a turn using their pointer finger to pet the tiny bird’s head and down its back to it new tail feathers.  He did not try to fly away or struggle, he just felt safe.

         “What kind of bird is this baby, Mom?” asked  Curtis.  Mom did not know the answer.  She knew that babies do need to eat and be kept warm and safe until able to care for themselves. 

Ellenora suggested, “Lets think of a name we can call him.” Is the baby bird a boy or girl, everyone wondered out loud?  Mom explained that it is hard to tell a baby boy bird from a baby girl.  When they are grown up, people can tell by the feathers.  Many boy birds have fancy feathers because that is what the girl birds like.  The girl birds need to hide while sitting on their eggs in a nest, so they need camouflage colors that are brown and grey.

         The brothers wanted a boy name and little sister wanted a girl name.  Mom settled it by choosing the name, Ariel.

         Mom explained that Ariel was a perfect name.  Ariel is a Spirit helper in a William Shakespeare play called the Tempest.  Ariel was rescued from a tree and was bound to serve a man named Prospero.  In the story Ariel is neither boy nor girl.  Ariel often gives helpful advice to Prospero.  The children liked it because they thought of another word that sounds the same, “aerial.” This word means, existing high in the air. 

Ariel was now warm and safe, but what does he eat?  Some birds eat bugs; some eat seeds, some worms.  There are thousands of possibilities. 

         “Birds eat breadcrumbs,” Russell offered.    He had noticed how Grandma threw the old bread and burnt toast under the bird feeder and watched while the sparrows and wrens swooped down to peck at it.  Some times a crow would carry away a whole slice!  Gathering around with tiny breadcrumbs in his  outstretch palm, Ariel turned up his beak in a “no, thank you” gesture. Although he must be famished, breadcrumbs, clearly were not in his diet.

“If only we knew what kind of bird Ariel is,” Mom complained.  “We will try something else.”  Many birds that eat worms and bugs, slugs and such will eat hamburger.  With great anticipation, it was offered.  Once again the beak turned up.  If Ariel could talk, he would have said, “Yuk, no way!”  He couldn’t talk.  He could not tell us what to do but if Ariel didn’t get some food soon, well; nobody wanted to think about that.

All that day, Ariel took turns riding around on the pointer finger of each child.  Mother was worried though.  She got out books on birds and started to look at pictures for a clue as to what kind of bird this could be?  She looked carefully at the bird.  What do you notice, she asked each child.  Curtis noticed the black mask around Ariel’s eyes.   Ellenora spotted the yellow on its tail.  Russell watched carefully and spied some feathers that stuck up on the back of Ariel’s head.

The children gathered around the kitchen table while Mom turned the pages of Bird of Michigan Field Guide looking for an adult bird that had some of the features of little Ariel.  At last they turned a page and Mom said, “Ah ha, I think our little friend is a Cedar Waxwing!

Cedar Waxwing birds eat fruit.  The children had some grapes and they cut them in half and offered one.  The little Waxwing chick started to peck enthusiastically and voraciously at the grape.  Arial was sooo hungry that he ate and ate while the children and mom looked on with relief.  Ariel now had everything he needed to survive until he was old enough to fly. 

The days past and the children came to love the bird they called Ariel.  Ariel was a wild bird and each child knew that the day would come when Ariel would fly away.  Curtis liked to say, “Someday Ariel will be aerial.”  Curtis instructed his younger brother and sister in the art of fledgling  flying lessons from the perch of his pointing finger.  Ariel would make flapping motions with his wings but still could not fly very far.  Ariel rode around on the children’s shoulders and rested in a laundry basket.  He loved to eat almost any kind of fruit.

Mom wanted Ariel to learn how to fly because soon the family would be going on a camping vacation.  As the time drew near, mom had to decide what to do if Ariel was not aerial.  At last, she found a wildlife rescue station nearby and called on the telephone.  She told all about Ariel and asked if they would keep him until he could fly.  Yes, was the reply.

The children were sad when mom explained that Ariel could not come on vacation with the family but together they would make sure the fledgling would be safe until full-grown and take to the air in flight.  Mom drove the three plus Ariel to the Nature Center where a nice lady took over.  “Have a good life little friend.”  “Fly back and see us.”  “Thank you for teaching us about birds.”  “We love you Ariel.”  With happy tears they left to get ready for an exciting camping trip to Canada. 

         This is a true story.  It happened many years ago when your moms and dads were my children:  Curtis is Justin, Russell is Ross and Ellenora is Lauren.  Mom is your grandma.  I wrote this story just for you, my dear grandchildren.  I was inspired because Grandpa and Grandma planted two Serviceberry bushes and yesterday they filled with flocks of Cedar Waxwing birds.  Grandma thought about Ariel and he is a wonderful spirit memory that  forever connects us all.

These are the birds that found my bush.  I took this picture as they gobbled the berries.

Some Interesting Facts

about Cedar Waxwings

1.  The name comes from the red waxy tips on the wings.  The tips get bigger as the bird gets older.

2.  These birds LOVE fruit and can survive on fruit alone for months.

3.  Cedar Waxwings flocks eat in shifts and are very polite unlike most birds that just eat what they can.

4.  These birds don’t have a song, they make a buzzing sound.

5.  A group of Waxwings is called an “ear-full” or a “museum.”  (that is just plain silly but true)

Coming of Age

Coming of Age

Eyes reflected in a mirror

Black wells of pupil draw me near

Viewing a smaller image of myself

Mirror to mirror brings memories

 In the larger perspective of my face,

Lines remember brows lifted in surprise 

Or knitted in consternation.

Rays spread from the corner of eyes 

And deepen with laughter or tears.

My mouth is surrounded

 With the etchings of emotions ,smiles and frowns, words and kisses

Crowned with silver my face speaks,

"I have come of age."

Lessons in Hopeful Waiting

    The school year started with Father being laid off and  Mother, tearfully retching in the bathroom while the girls tried to eat breakfast. (As it turned out, Mother was pregnant with   her fifth child). Once at school, the combination of a bulging  baby boomer population, a  bust in the number of new nuns and the ever present Catholic school lack of finances, the twins entered a class room with 72 students squeezed in like a New York subway during rush hour.  Sister Boniface or as the girls "lovingly" called her "Bonyface" daily displayed her great displeasure with the situation both in word and action.  After a few month of increasing chaos, the class was split in two.  Thirty-six students headed to a make-shift classroom in the basement and 36 students stayed in the now very large airy classroom with Sister Boniface.  The girls were happy to be rid of "Bonyface" but now had an unqualified, ineffectual teacher impostor.  A pall fell upon their lives like the clouds of an approaching storm.

   Ten going on eleven, the larger world began to inhabit a greater portion of the conscious mind.    As the days grew dark and dreary and winter winds blew, Father remained unemployed as a recession gripped the nation.  The factory where he worked since before the girls were born, locked its gate and closed.  Father and Mother rallied and scraped together what they could to feed and clothe the family.  As the first snows of winter fell,  the girls and little sister still did not have winter galoshes.   The girls went to school but during lunch time were met by Father with three boxes containing new boots.  Father agonized that morning of the first early snowfall, the girls sensed the tension in his voice and abrupt demeanor over their morning oatmeal eaten in silence.  Their hearts lifted with the smile, and sparkle in his eyes as the girls jostled in the back seat of the car while slipping on their colorful new boots over top their shoes.

   Christmas was coming soon and the girls kept their wishes modest but couldn't  help but envy little brother,  bright and hopeful in his innocence, Santa still very real.  This  year  the girls appreciated probably for the first time the comfort of the ever repeating rituals of the Advent season.  However meager the trappings of the consumer driven, Santa centered holiday season, the deeper meaning dawned in the growing awareness of the girls.  Each Sunday another of the four candles was lit. "Oh come, Oh come, Emanuel, and ransom captive Israel who morns in lonely exile until the Son of God appears."  Grandma and Grandpa set a near life size manger between two Jack Pines in their front yard each year.  Shivering in the cold, eyes drawn to the infant,  the girls imagined greater hardship than their own.   A story that must be told,  the Infant born to us, a baby who would save the world.  Mother, now very large with child herself, stood surrounded by Father, the girls and little brother.  All were anticipating a birth, this was Advent, the season of hopeful waiting

Time Will Tell...The girls go to Catholic School

The girls eagerly anticipated the first day of fourth grade.  Ink pens, ink cartridges, pencils, crayons, zippered pencil case were checked and double checked and placed in the standard issue green canvas book bag.  This was the first year for school uniforms chosen by a committee of nuns.  Of course they were shapeless, royal blue jumpers with a white blouse.  Mother made the uniforms from a pattern that had been provided.  There is not uniform shade of royal blue.  The homemade ones clearly stood out from the purchased.  "Homemade was OK if some one had to ask in a surprised voice, "Is that home made?"  No one wanted their clothes to shout "HOME MADE."

This was the first year the girls were in separate classes.  The biggest bulge of the baby boomer population plus the closing of the country schools contributed to this fact.   The older twin had the newest teacher, Miss J.  Miss J, a real person, not a nun.  Curiously, the first and fourth grades were combined into one classroom so that the younger twin shared a classroom with little sister.  Now all the girls went to Catholic School.

  She was young,  red headed and freckle faced.  Miss J was not a nun although it was rumored that she had tried out the convent and inexplicably  left. Miss J was known as a Lay teacher in Catholic school parlance.  Two Lay teachers held positions at the Catholic School.  The balance of faculty lived a secretive life across the street in a convent.  Students were not allowed to enter.  Miss J lived in a house just down the street with her widowed mother.   On the first day she was lively and sparkly eyed,  engaging all of us in her aura of likability.   We joined  the Miss J fan club en mass and whole heartily.  Later, a cloudiness passed over her features.  A few classmates became targets of ridicule.  Mercilessly she embarrassed a classmate with spina bifida about an accident in her diaper.  Even fourth graders saw the injustice of this.   On one particular occasion her lesson seemed to escape the pupils understanding.  Raising a heavy Merriam Dictionary over each head, a jarring bop was delivered to each pupils head.  Then the clouds would lift and joy would return to the classroom of Miss J.

Sister and Miss J traded classrooms to teach social studies/geography and religion.  In fourth grade, states and capitals were memorized.  The girls were built in study partners and quizzed and challenged each other.  Even little sister could recite the capital of New York, Florida, Wisconsin, etc.  The girls aced the test.  The next topic was time zones.  The students were made to understand that just because it is 11 am here in Michigan, somewhere people are still asleep.  Father was at the dinner table while the girls studied for the test on time zones the next day.  "Let me see what you are studying."  Father knew Miss J from childhood.  There was some angst between them, sensed by the girls but never explained.  "That is all wrong," he pronounced.  It was completely backwards and Father proceeded to prove it.  The following morning the girls confidently took the exam.  If it was 6 am in Seattle, what time was it in Buffalo?
Smiling, Miss J praised the class for doing so well on the test and continued to smile a cold snake eyed smile when the oldest twin was handed a paper marked with an "F".  The other twin in turn received the same.  Crushed,  the girls returned home to Father.  Thunder struck and staring at the papers, the dining chair scraped loudly on the floor as he jumped up, looked up a phone number and dialed.   When Miss J answered, Father called her by her first name and said, "If it is 6 pm in Boston, what time is it in Seattle?"  Of course, she gave the wrong answer and Father proceeded to instruct until Miss J had to admit that she was undeniably wrong.  All the sisters sitting at the table giggled and cheered Fathers bold action in setting the world in proper order.
In class, Miss J had to admit the error and give the proper instruction.  The girls grinned with satisfaction at her discomfort.  The rest of the year, Miss J, smiling or not kept cold snake eyes for the girls.  The twins just smiled back.

MANY WERE CALLED...most were chosen. The girls go to Catholic School

Kyrie Eleison

(Lord Have Mercy) 

This is what the girls imagined they would sound like when Sister announced tryouts for the new Children's Choir.   The hopefuls were all girls.  The boys got to be alter servers.  http://youtu.be/8yXJ0MDTI4Q

Sister had announced that each hopeful would stand next to the organ and without accompaniment sing one line of the "Kyrie."   This was not good news.  Why not "Holy God We Praise Thy Name" or "Holy, Holy, Holy"  If it had to be Latin,  how about   "Agnus Dei."  Being Catholic was never a simple matter.
  Attending a summer Bible School with cousins, the girls belted out  songs like, "Jesus Loves Me, This I Know" and "This Little Light of Mine" with gusto.   At home, the girls knew better than to ask their tone deaf mother for help. Father had no patience or saw no promise.  The girls were uncertain as they sang in quavering voices to each other.  Little sister covered her ears and made faces. This was not a good sign but also unreliable.
 Unassuming and gentle, Sister Annine poked her head into Sister Lorenzo's class.  "Raise your hand if you wish to be considered for the choir.  OK, follow me."  Two by two, the hopefuls paraded out the side door of school in silence, strictly enforced by all nuns, even the kinder ones.  Climbing the front steps of church, Sister held the large heavy oak door.  Hearts were pounding as the girls climbed the narrow staircase leading to the loft and organ.

The church was completely empty and as vast as the Grand Canyon.  Footsteps echoed.  Whispers sounded like shouts.  The group gathered around Sister who asked cheerily, "Who will be first."  The girls took a couple of steps back and obscured themselves in the crowd.  Being two of the three smallest children in the class made this a simple effort. Eagerly the confident ones waved their hands, jumping up and  down.  Their clear voices echoed in the empty church like angel's anthems.  Sister smiled approvingly.
Agonizingly, one by one, the group got smaller and smaller for each hopeful was dismissed back to class after auditioning.  At last, only the twins remained.  Haltingly, the older twin approached the side of the organ.  A memory sprung to mind.  Sitting on the back steps with grandma, snapping beans, she started to sing. Grandma made a face and turned to inform,  "You have a terrible voice."   "Lord have Mercy," became her fervent prayer as she opened her mouth, filled her lungs and croaked the most God awful sound a person could imagine coming from a child.  "Ky" up and down the register with every flat and sharp note imaginable and unimaginable, "rie" more of the same and on it until the last "son."  You would have to give it to her for heart if nothing else.  Sister had a smile plastered on her face, "OK, thank you.  Return to class.  She was not so hopeful now and wondered how her sister was doing.
That afternoon, Sister poked her head into class and asked to speak to three children, the twins and one other.  Was this good or bad?  She was trying as best a nun could, to be kind to the children when she informed them that they would not be in the choir.  This was a crushing blow, staring blankly and exhaling loudly, there would be no tears.  Even in their young minds came the wonder that this choir, formed for God's praise and glory and made up of every 5th grade girl could not absorb three off key singers.   Sing softly, sing loud or in a whisper, God hears you my child, even when you don't make a sound.

A Christmas Carol

Santa played a trick on the girls that Christmas.  As in many tales, the seeds were rooted in an earlier time,  the summer before. One  second hand bicycle carried the sisters  back and forth to the city pool approximately one mile away.   The journey started with a coin flip to see who would ride first.  With towels folded like sausages and stuffed into the wire basket, one rode while the other ran along side.  A  trade occured when the running twin was breathless but of course that was frequently up for debate.   The first rider got to glide down the hill on Clinton Ave.  gleeful with wind swept hair and unwilling to apply the brakes she rode all the way to the rail road tracks.    Easy peddling  on level ground greeted the second breathless pedaler.    Turning down  shaded 10th Street the girls rode and jogged beside each other.  A season pass was included in the family budget.   The pass number was committed to memory.  The girls waited in long snaking  lines by 1:30 anticipating the   2:00  rumble of the  front roll up pool entrance  revealing the sign in and numbered baskets and summer pool guards.   Racing  into the changing area, showered  and and a paused at the foot checker  made the girls some of the first to take that   blissful plunge into the water.

 Santa Claus was coming under increasing suspicion that summer.  Smart-alacky, loud-mouths were overheard outlining the implausibility of flying reindeer, the North Pole elves, a fat jolly man in a red suit who could go to every child in the World's house in one evening.     How ridiculous!  The boys laughed scornfully at the believers.   The girls listened and with heavy hearts they weighed the facts.  Well it just did not add up however, unfailingly every Christmas, presents appeared.  Mother and Father came under serious conciduration for duplicity.  Of course the girls did not wish to upset whatever parental magic that resulted in presents on Christmas morning.  No questions were asked.   The ruse was kept up for little sister but the girls set their hearts and energies into convincing mother and father of the wonderful advantages of new bikes.  The topic of Christmas never came up until after Thanksgiving and the first candle of the Advent season was lit at school.  The hymn "Oh come, oh come, Emanuel and ransom captive Israel"  was sung with fervor and longing  for the baby Jesus but tucked in the swaddling clothes were visions of a new bike.   When asked by anyone about the Christmas list the girls would pronounce with pride.  "The only thing on my list is a new bike. " The girls dutifully wrote their letters to Santa with that one request.  

As each candle was lit anticipation grew.   Mother noted an improvement in girl's attitudes and behavior.  It was no mystery to her that the Santa Claus effect was in full force.  Harmony and cooperation reigned in that tiny household of three girls and now one small brother.     Jumping up from the dinner table, "You wash and I will dry," the girls chimed  and little sister played with baby brother.  If only the Advent season could last, was Mother and Father's ardent wish.   

A few days before Christmas, the girls took their savings and went shopping for gifts for each other.  For the first time the two older sisters realized that pooling their money could buy little sister  a real china child sized tea set.   Keeping the secret was almost impossible and little sister grew suspicious of the conspiracy that resulted in wide grins and giggles as the twins shared  a look between them with talk of Christmas.

The enchantment began on Christmas Eve.   The Aunt and Uncle with a huge farm house invited the girl's family and cousins to their house.   The families, all in good cheer would eat and play games until it was time to watch  Dickens's Christmas Carole on the TV.    Stupefied by the effects of watching TV the girls quietly piled into the back seat of the car for the ride home, nodding off.  

Getting ready for bed, the full import of the evening struck them like ten cups of strong coffee.  Sleep became impossible as the girls talked in hushed voices and the minutes ticked by like hours.

Mother finally came up to the tiny bedroom and climbed into the bed the older two shared and reminded,  "Santa only comes after you are asleep. Be quiet and listen."  They were so still, only the breath could be heard.  The minutes that were hours passed until one, then the other could hear bell's.  All their doubts vanished and an academy award could be given for "Acting like a child asleep."   Minds raced inside the skulls as if a few more cups of coffee had been poured in.  Mother left convinced she had won.  Soon the girls were back to more hushed whispering and debates about the time and when to go down the stairs.  Still pitch black the older twin could contain her curiosity no longer.  With the stealth of a cat burglar, she slipped out of bed and tip toed to the stairs.  The stairs were trickier, some squeaked.  Slowly,  one step, gently easing the weight of each foot until one loud creek immediatly followed by Fathers stern command to return to bed.  Father's tone left no room for quandry.   On the third attempt around 4:30 am Mother and Father's defences had been worn down to nonexistant and children were joyously allowed into the living room.  In the dim light, the outline of the Christmas tree with tinsel glinting and the promise of bulky boxy shapes surrounded the tree.  Hearts raced, breath quickened as Father reached for the light switch.  From darkness into light, the girls eyes panned the room and conspicuouly absent were the bikes so longed for endlessly in day dreams.  In that moment the girls came to know the meaning of disappointment.  It hit in the chest and coursed through  veins until it brimmed up along their eyelashes and spilled down cheeks.  Mother bubbled cheerily that she had heard some racket in their bedroom and perhaps the girls should take a look.  With  sniffles and a turn around the corner, under a large sheet, behind the door despair turned to joy.  The girls found two new shiney bicycles all chrome and robin's egg blue beautiful.   Squeals followed by hugs, each took the handlebars of her very own bicycle and wheeled it out to the living room.   The girls opened a few more gifts going back to touch the bikes making sure they were real.   By now it was 5 o'clock and time to get ready for Chrismas Mass.  Five people plus little brother need to use the tiny cape cod's only bathroom.

 It is said that children who believe in Santa Claus as children are more likely to be spiritual as adults. The Christmas season held for the girls the roots of doubt, anticipation, longing, disapointment, joy, giving and receiving.  That morning the church filled, the choir sang as the organ played, the candles lit, incence burned and now the baby Jesus was present in the manger.  "Dominos Vobiscum," the priest sang. Et cum spiritu tuo." was the reply.  The Lord be with you and with you also.  Finally, after an eternity of standing, sitting, kneeling the  priest turns to the congregation and intones in the ancient language of the Church, what every child has been waiting to hear, "Et missa est." (Go, you are dismissed). The full choir sings jubilantly, "Deo gracias." (Thanks be to God)  The family stands, exhausted Mother and Father, the girls in new Christmas dresses and the perpetual motion machine, little brother,  and join voices to sing, "Oh come all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant."