Rebellation

Three little monkeys swinging in a tree
Teasing Mr. Alligator, "Can't catch me!"
Along came Mr. Alligator, quiet as you please
SNAP! went Mr. Alligator.

Two little monkeys swinging in a tree
Teasing Mr. Alligator, "Can't catch me!"
Along came Mr. Alligator, quiet as you please
SNAP! went Mr. Alligator.

One little monkey swinging in a tree
Teasing Mr. Allig-SNAP!

So I was laying in bed last night looking up at the bare naked ladies, when I heard a tap-tap on my window. I wasn't afraid though, because it's November, and nothing bad happens in November.

I turned my head a little to the left and there on the outskirts of my peripheral vision was a little sparrow fluttering madly to catch my attention. I slid the window open just a tad and said in that voice we use only when talking to dogs and small children, "Oh, little fellow, are you ok?" not really expecting a reply because I'm not, after all, crazy.

And much to my great surprise, he answered in a voice as deep as James Earl Jones. "First," he said, "why are you talking like I'm a baby? And close your mouth; it isn't polite to gape."

"Oh my gosh!" I said in my normal voice with a slightly higher range than usual. Well, it isn't every day a sparrow talks to you in a booming voice, now is it? "I'm so sorry! I had no idea you were a fully-grown sparrow, you look so...petite!"

He didn't seemed consoled, not a whit, mind you. "Hey, I've got lady friends in the trees. Do you think you could ix-nay on the etite-pay?"

"Oops, sorry. Love the voice, it's so t(h)rillingly deep."

"Very funny, fluff. Could we get to the matter at hand?"

"Oh yes, certainly! What's got your wings all a-flutter?" I said.

"Well," says he, "there's a harsh winter coming and I wondered if you could help us out by hanging a bit of soot-n-seed in the trees to take the chill off on a cold and deary night? We lost a lot of friends a few years back when the weather was so nasty, and I thought you seemed like the kinda person who might give a shit."

"Oh, I am, I am! And I would be happy to help, I'll start making soot balls right away. But how do you know my name?"

"The rabbit told me."

Now, see, here's the thing: every night when I get home from work, a rabbit runs across the driveway. Every night. From left to right, downhill to up. A few years ago, I held my hand on the ground in front of a baby rabbit, and it walked right into it to let me snuggle it a bit before placing it strategically under a lavender bush where a keen-eyed hawk would have trouble seeing it. Perhaps it's the same one and considers me its significant something.

"Well, then, there you go!" I said.

"Hey, thanks, we appreciate it. By the way, you like storms, don't you?"

"Why yes, I do! Why do you ask?"

"There's gonna be one in a few minutes. Lightning, thunder and a smidge of rain."

"Cool, thanks Mr. Sparrow! I'll stay up and watch!" and I closed the window as the first flash lit the sky and painted birch and aspens on my bedroom wall.

I laid in bed then, watching the strikes - there were only a few before the benedryl hit me right between the eyes. I fell, landing on the loveliest bed of leaves only to be yanked off again by a rude little monkey. He grabbed me by the tail and lifted me roughly off the ground to dangle and sway until I thought I would sick up. I hung there for a moment getting my wits about me, then twisted and curled (I've been doing stomach crunches, so this is much easier than it was a few months ago) to swipe his hairy forearm with a paw of partially-sheathed claws.

He howled then, and dropped me, and I landed on all fours as agile kittens do. Then he swung himself higher up in the tree to squat in a ridiculous fashion on a birch branch and suck his well-deserved scratches. He kept looking my way, though, and growling at me in a sulky fashion, occasionally chittering indignantly under his breath. I can't be certain, but I think he said something like, "stupid cat!" Then he dropped from the tree to curl up just out of claws' reach, and we peacefully slept until our alarms bleated 7 a.m.

In Remembrance of All

In July, I took a trip to Washington DC, courtesy of the irish lad and with a little help from monkey boy. We saw the National Monument, the Lincoln Memorial, several Smithonians, and not a few metro stations. The weather was hot and muggy and I had a blast.

We also saw some heart-rending tributes to those who've died as part of our national history - on 9/11, on 11/22, and on innumerable days of war.

But there was a moment, one, that stands out clearly in my mind. In the sweltering heat of a July afternoon, after spending hours walking around the largest military cemetery in the country, fatigued and with sweat pouring down his body, a man turns at the exit to face acres and acres of white tombstones and quietly speaks, "Thank you."

Thank you for reminding me, Zap, that we don't need to belong to a country to recognize that the fight for independence and freedom is universal, as are also the consequences.

Today, I remember and honor those who fought and lived and those who fought and died protecting the liberties that I so take for granted. May I never, ever forget that these things carry a very heavy price.