The Bird Lady

She use to pull Tent Caterpillars from her trees and squish them in her hand.  (Please google tent caterpillars to truly relish how gross and abundant they are.)  It reminds me of one of Meg Ryan's rom-coms where she describes a dog her grandfather had.  The dog got worms and was most reasonably going to die.  Her Gpa dug each and every one of those worms out with his pinkie.  That dog outlived the man.  That's the Bird Lady.  On second thought, she'd probably take the dog out, shoot it, and get a puppy.  She was old school.

A lady from a time where every meal was meat and potatoes and all of your own food is grown by hand, canned with love and baked with care.  She was a marvelous cook.  I pulled out her biscuit recipe just the other day then talked myself out of it...too many carbs.  She never feared carbs or calories for she ate whole foods.  Apart from the stash of turtles I found in her side table and the fact that the woman made her own, out of this world caramels, she was very health aware.  Our treat when visiting was a small bowl of unsalted and unsweetened popcorn which we furiously scarfed down.

The Bird Lady loved puzzles and tile rummy.  She'd lovingly call my sister and I, "You little buggers", when we won and would then whip up some cookies.  She could sit for hours watching the array of birds that visited her window.  Then head outdoors to tend to her many flower beds, expansive garden and fish pond.  The woman loved her some animals.  Canaries, finches, dogs, cat, fish, horses and cows too.  Then she would immortalize them in cloth and thread when one passed.

I stole from The Bird Lady once.  She had these elegant swan soaps on display in the bathroom.  I took them to my room to play with them and when finished, did not put them back.  The Bird Lady found out and talked me into tears.  It's not that she was mean or angry.  She was hurt and disappointed and that brought out the waterworks.  I apologized and she said she wouldn't tell my mother.  To this day, I don't think she ever had.  The following Christmas, my present from her were my very own swan soaps.  That's the kind of gal she was.

There was a story told where a bird fell down her chimney.  Having the soft spot that she did for our little winged counterparts, she scooped him up and set him free outside.  A short time later another bird fell down the shaft and thinking it was the same daft bird, she knocked his head on the brick stating, "if he's dumb enough to do it a second time, he doesn't deserve to live."  That's the kind of gal she was.

We were allowed to stay up late and watch the news.  She introduced me to what dignity and integrity look like in the media.  This was well before 24hr news cycles.  She would be knitting or sewing or crocheting something creative while we dozed and watched Lloyd Robertson or Sandie Rinaldo unfold the raw details of some scandal or current event.  Then we'd be woken up early by the sounds of silver dollar pancakes being flipped and homemade syrup being readied.  We were spoiled rotten.    

She remembered every birthday, every year well into my twenties.  A card would show up, somewhat miraculously as I moved around a lot, with a cheque and some well wishes.  That's the kind of gal she was.

She use to tell me this story every time I would return for one of our week long visits.  I was just a baby...barely walking and still in diapers.  I was in perpetual revolt of sleep and on this particular night, would not lay down.  I crawled out of bed and would come into the living room where Bird Lady and her husband were trying to relax.  Finally, she picked me up, carried me to the room and laid down beside me.  "Go to bed", she said sternly and gave my bum and smack.  I got up, crawled to meet her wrinkled face and planted a big ol' kiss right on her lips.  She said after that, my bedtime was whenever I wanted it to be and brought me out to watch tv.
 

I miss and love you Gma Neal and I'm sorry I was a shitty, self-obsessed grandkid these last few years.  In your ninety-eight years you've seen it all and I can only hope that I can live as long and as well as you did.  Thank you for being my Gma.  As much as I bitched and moaned about visiting you as a kid, you were integral in forming the best parts of me.  I watch the hummingbirds and think of you.