Cora Cockatiel - Part Two - Wally's Worried

Cora Cockatiel - Part Two - 

Wally's Worried

The sun beamed in from the east to warm and brighten Mr. and Mrs. Winkle’s bedroom. The breeze rode the sun through the open window, gently fluffing Mrs. Winkle’s soft 

grey curls. Mrs. Winkle woke slowly, rubbed her eyes awake and then, with a start, she sat bolt upright in bed and cried: “Mr. Winkle, Mr. Winkle! It's Cora! She wasn't there when we locked the cage!”  

Mrs. Winkle started to cry great tears that flowed down her sleep creased cheeks. She threw back the patchwork quilt, covering up Mr. Winkle’s head. In one grand motion, she sprang out of bed, pushed her bare feet into quilted green slippers and wrapped her warm fuzzy housecoat around her all at the same time.

Mr. Winkle was now wide awake. He struggled out from under the covers. “Now, now Mrs. Winkle. Slow down. We'll go and get the porridge on and check all throughout the big cage and in all the little cages and you'll see that everything is all right.”  

But just as he spoke, and, as he stood up at the edge of the bed, he saw Mrs. Winkle’s housecoat tail flapping behind her as she raced from their bedroom. Mr. Winkle, his nightcap askew on his head, straightened his nightgown, hopped into his old brown slippers and hurried after his distraught wife. Porridge with honey and cream was forgotten. 

Mr. Winkle caught up with her at the big bird cage as she fumbled with the lock. In her rush, she had startled all their cockatiels. Already awake and chattering, the cockatiels began squawking and screaming. “What's wrong?! What's wrong?!”

But one of the cockatiels knew what was wrong. Wally sat quiet on his usual perch and a tiny bird tear bubbled in the corner of his quick black eyes. He knew what was wrong. Wally had told Cora not to fly out of the cage. Many early mornings and late afternoons, she had clung to the sides of the large cage dreaming of flying high in sky. Cora had wanted to be outside for so very long that he finally squawked at her to go ahead and try to fly away while the door was open.   But she hadn't come back in time! Now he was sure she would never return. Mr. and Mrs.Winkle hadn't even noticed that she wasn't there! Not even when he had squawked at them as they locked the cage the night before. “Cora's gone! Cora's gone!”  

He thought Mrs. Winkle heard him because she stopped and spoke with Mr. Winkle, but Mr. Winkle had merely pointed to all his fingers, patted Mrs. Winkle's hand and they walked away.  

It had been cold during the night. Wally worried about Cora all night long. He called to her every now and then and thought he heard an answering call, but was not sure. There were night birds out there and the wind whistled.  Cora and Wally had never been separated before. 

“Look, Mr. Winkle.”  

“What is it, my dear Mrs. Winkle?”  

“It's Wally. He's sitting all by himself.” 

“Come to me, Wally."  Old Mrs. Winkle put out a gentle hand, her finger extended for a perch.  Wally flew down from his perch and landed lightly on old Mrs. Winkle's finger, bobbing his head and whistled softly “You know. You know.”

“Yes, Wally, I know. Cora's gone. What happened?”

“She flew. She flew.”  Wally whistled back and bobbed his head toward the large cage door.

Wally leaned his soft grey head to his friend, her tousled grey hair gently curling over his grey back. He nuzzled his soft orange cheek patches up against old Mrs. Winkle's soft pink cheek.  A tear rolled down Mrs. Winkle's cheek and onto Wally's head, down his sleek grey back.

“We'll try to find her, Wally.” Old Mr. Winkle said, gently petting both soft grey heads.

“Thank you. Thank you” whistled Wally. He flew back to sit on his favourite branch high in the cage and turned to face the much smaller inside cages. Wally was very sad. Mrs. Winkle was very sad. Mr. Winkle was very sad. They had never lost any one of their precious birds before. They were very afraid for Cora.

*****

"When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see 

that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight."

~ Kahlil Gibran

From cockatiel.com (Cockatiel 101)

Points of Interest ~

Males have great vocal abilities and females are fairly quiet.

Females are more aggressive and they are more likely to hiss and bite.

Cora Cockatiel - Part One

Cora Cockatiel - Part One

Cora Cockatiel was a smallish yellow bird with light orange cheek patches and tufts of soft feathers that rose in a gentle wave from her head. Cora’s mother, born in the Land Down Under, was brought across the seas to this colder part of the world where she had lived in a large cage with several other cockatiels. 

It was sad that Cora’s mother could no longer fly free through the trees as she had in the Land Down Under, but she was fed lots of fresh greens and fruit and always had fresh water.   

Each pair of lovely tufted birds had their own clean and cozy nesting box. All in shades of grays and yellows with orange patches on their cheeks, the females had soft pastel plumage, and males were bright and bold coloured. They gathered in handsome pairs that whistled, chattered and squawked. Into this busy tiny world, Cora was born.

Cora had now been with Mr. and Mrs. Winkle for a very long time and was one of their favourite birds. She and all of her other bird friends were pets and companions for Mr. and Mrs. Winkle, a lovely little old couple on a tiny farm on the edge of a tiny town.  

One day, while Mr. and Mrs. Winkle had been cleaning out their many bird cages, Cora decided to fly outside just long enough to see what it felt like to fly across the small yard full of flowers and into the big old oak tree across the lane. She squawked a promise that she would be right back, but the old couple didn't hear her or see her fly out. Finished their cleaning, they went out and were about to lock the cage door behind them, when Mrs. Winkle stopped suddenly. Putting her short, but determined, finger to her lips, she looked all around and up and down.  Then she said to old Mr. Winkle   “Mr. Winkle, what have we missed?”

“Nothing at all, Mrs. Winkle.  We've cleaned all the floors and all the walls. The nests are all tidy, especially the ones that have eggs for hatching. All is safe and warm. There is fresh lettuce and new raspberries in the feeding trays. All the water cups have been cleaned and filled with fresh water.” He ticked each task off on his thick and gnarled fingers.

“But I just know something is missing, Mr. Winkle. Are all the birds in the cage?”

“Yes, my dear Mrs. Winkle.” He began a new list on his strong old hands. “There is Wally and Cora, Anthony and Bodelia. There is Wesley and Wanda, Andrew and Antonio. Then there is Everett and Evelyn, Cory and Connie, Doris and Douglas.........” By this time he had run out of fingers to count on. And he almost ran out of breath!

“Oh now, dear Mr. Winkle, you don't have to name off all the birds. I'm sure you're right.” She tucked her dainty, but work worn hand, through the crook of Mr. Winkle’s arm and, side by side, locking the cage door behind them, they went into their house.

Mr. Winkle patted his dear wife’s hand. "We'll have our supper and think about it this evening, Mrs. Winkle." Supper finished and dishes done, they retired to bed early to be ready for an early morning on the farm.

*****

Origins:          The Australian Continent

Original Species Name:  Nymphicus hollandicus

Average Size: 12 to 14 Inches long

(Information from cockatiel.com)

"Decision is a risk rooted in the courage of being free."

~ Paul Tillich

Past days to be.....

....preserved ~ revered.

Past selves connect to today’s self

by material things brought 

from the past.

“We are tomorrow’s past.”

~  Mary Webb

The Seeds of my Discontent.....

...like flakes of brown chaff are tossed into unpredictable winds.

Small brown seeds falling

on moist soil around me

disappearing

becoming part of a landscape 

drawn in pebbles and greenery.

Seeds of annoyance and resentment distort into compost by the weight of my life.

Other scratchy emotions struggle to grow, but ungainly and sparse with inattention may die young and very timely deaths.

And then there are those grand resentments,

supported on prickly stems and branches, that 

if nurtured and tended by word or deed,

will flower and spread their seed far and wide.

Should I allow annoyance or resentment

to hold sway?

to determine my life’s course?

I think not.

The seeds of my discontent,

when backlit by my values,

can yield much healthier decisions.

“It’s not hard to make decisions when

you know what your values are.”

~ Roy Disney

Two Fairs in One

From Saanich Fair 2009

Armstrong Fair  2008

Neon fades beneath afternoon sun.

Spinning, bouncing rides

full of laughing, crying children shouting, screaming.

Piles of fries and roasted ears,

apples candied and sugar spun,

fudge creamed and corn popped,

sounds, smells and senses thrilled.

Chickens, goats, cows and horses;

pigs and giant pumpkins

all weighed and measured.

Jars stuffed tight with fruit and veggies.

Baking that will never see

the inside of a pantry shelf,

rated, tasted and sampled.

Judges cast their votes with tuned up taste buds.

There is nothing like an end of summer fair.

“Live and work but do not forget to play, 

to have fun in life and really enjoy it.”

~ Eileen Caddy 
(Scottish Writer and Spiritual Teacher)

Wondering why......

I’ve been wondering about 

why I love to pull weeds.

why I love to clear ground.

Could it be my farmer genes?

Or could it be an old childhood memory,

one of the many memories buried deep inside of me?

I was a small child 

when Grandpa Garratt had 

a wonderful garden of 

flowers and vegetables

at the front and at the back

of the house.

Did I help him pull weeds?

Did he show me 

which was a weed and 

what was a flower?

Did he tell me 

the names of the little bugs 

curling and crawling under 

rocks and boards?

When I saw a clod of earth with a hole in it the size of a pencil, 

did he tell me that a fat worm had slithered through?

Was it always summertime on the prairies with Grandpa?

Memories, like water on garden soil,

dampen our lives and 

soak into our beings

only to reappear in 

some other way

some other time.

Going deep into my life

Am I trying to dig the memories out?

"Wondering’s healthy.  Broadens the mind. Opens 

you up to all sorts of stray thoughts and possibilities."

~ Charles de Lint

Caring for Grandmother

Caring for Grandmother

When I was a very young child, I looked after and cared for my grandmother.  Oh, I didn't wash and bathe her.  My mother and my aunties did that. But when she wanted someone to read to her she always called on me. At the beginning, I didn't know why she called for me, because I couldn't read all that well. I had only learned to read the big-worded books that my parents bought for my baby sister.  

Now that I am the same age as my grandmother was then - the ripe old age of 72 ~ I understand what she was doing. Infirm of body, her mind was not. She was good and kind, and helped me learn how to read. She patiently taught me that reading was not only a skill to be learned but a place to play. A place, sometimes in a train or car, that would take me as far away and as quickly as Aladdin's magic carpet. Our reading sessions gave me ideas and awakened my curiosity. 

When grandmother seemed unable to answer my many questions, she would send me off to anywhere there were books not found in the ‘libraries’ of my childhood home ~ the big book shelves in the living room. So off to the town library I would go where there were all manner of books. This treasure hunt took me sometimes even to neighbour's homes.  There were always books at the church and definitely at the school.  

Now, libraries are still grand, and sometimes humble buildings. Now we also have the world wide web, a new place to add to the treasure hunt for story and literature, history and biography. Oh, my grandparents would be in such awe about all the books literally at their finger tips.  

When I remember those days of caring for my grandmother, feeling sorry for her that her bed was her only place, I know that as long as she had books and story she was not trapped in her bed. And I also know that she was my first and greatest teacher.

“My lifelong love affair with books and reading 

continues unaffected by automation, computers and 

all other forms of the twentieth-century gadgetry.”

~ Robert Downs, Books in My Life