Talk Turkey [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

(Bing) “You just got a text” I said. We’d been in the basement all day, cleaning, sorting, making piles of what would go, what to donate, what to keep. There’s nothing like an extended polar freeze to inspire a deep purge of the collected-and-accumulated- stuff-of-life.

She read his text aloud, “Umm…are you guys having turkey tonight?” Our neighbor, John, is a master of understatement, one of the funniest people we know. Bob Newhart dry.

“What? What’s he talking about?” I asked.

(Bing) “He sent a picture!” She laughed, “Oh, my god! We have to go upstairs,” she said, bounding out of the basement.

“What? Why?” She was already gone. “I’ll be there in a minute,” I said to myself. I heard her laugh again and then the sound of the camera snapping photos. Fear-Of-Missing-Out set in. I dropped my broom and galloped up the stairs.

“Come see,” she smiled. “You’re not going to believe it.”

Two of the neighborhood turkey trio were sitting atop the Scion. The third was standing in the driveway staring directly into the studio window. A set up. A blatant appeal for sanctuary. I expected the driveway turkey to extend a wing in our direction. Instead, it raised one leg, tucking it into the warmth of its body. One of the turkeys atop the car pooped. Choreography. An appeal combined with a not-so-veiled threat.

“They must be freezing,” she said.

“No,” I said. “Not a chance. They are not coming into the house.” She snapped a few more photos.

“It’s really cold out there.” she muttered. The one-legged turkey shifted to the other foot. “It’s too cold to stand on both feet,” she said, looking at me with those eyes.

“No way. Not a chance. They’re turkeys. They are made to withstand the cold.” The second turkey atop the car pooped.

Someone is going to have to clean that off the car,” she said, subtly allying with the turkeys.

I slowly raised my leg, tucking it in, standing on one foot. “It’s cold in here,” I said. Two can play that game.

read Kerri’s blogpost about TURKEYS ON THE ROOF

like. support. share. comment. gobble-gobble.

buymeacoffee is a warm car-roof on a polar cold day, a wind block for the feathered artists standing at your studio window holding out a wing of appeal.

Let The Chips Fall [on saturday morning smack-dab.]

If I left Kerri to her own devices, we’d have a kennel full of once-stray-dogs, a menagerie of rescued kitties, birds in rehab, chipmunks recuperating in the upstairs bedroom and a host of other critters who crossed our path on their day of distress.

It’s not that I am heartless. I have a heart. My capacity to stand upright is proof-positive that it works. No, the real impediment to my save-the-animal-kingdom-resistance is practicality: we have a tiny backyard and it’s my job to scoop the poop. I can barely keep up with Dogga.

I’d love a St. Francis existence, birds alight on my shoulders and raccoons following at my feet. The realities of poop always pops my fantasy. “Let them run wild,” I insist. “Let nature take its proper course!”

She looks at me with those pleading, doe eyes.

“Let the chips fall where they will,” I say with conviction, “just not in our backyard.”

read Kerri’s blogpost about ANIMAL RESCUE

smack-dab. © 2021-2 kerrianddavid.com

Entertain Random Thoughts

photoI am awash in random thoughts.

Kerri told me that flies barf when they land on you. Swinging in the hammock on a lovely Wisconsin afternoon, plagued by a single persistent fly, she swatted and added, “They poop on you, too.”

I laughed. I doubted. To be honest, I mocked her ridiculous assertion. And then she Googled, “Do flies barf?” And, horror of horrors, they do. Not with every landing but often enough to alter my relationship with flies.

“Might this be a metaphor?” I asked to save face for my mocking-gone-bad.

“I think it is a metaphor for the small things you learn each day,” Kerri smirked in victory.

“I think it is a metaphor for insurance companies in America,” I said. “They poop on us every time they land on us and that seems to be more and more often.”

“My metaphor is positive and your metaphor is dark,” she said, swinging the hammock and looking to the sky.

“My metaphor is more appropriate,” I replied.

“How?”

“I learned today, thanks to you, that flies taste things through their feet.”

“What?” Kerri asked. “So?”

“When they land on you they decide through their feet whether you are a good snack or not worth their time,” I replied.

“So?”

“Have you ever heard a better description of an insurance company?” I smiled.

Kerri rolled her eyes. “Random,” she said.

See. I told you: awash in random thoughts. You learn something new everyday. Some things you want to know. Some things you don’t.

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