The Old Crow: An Introduction

The Old Crow owns a house in North Seattle, of which we rent the downstairs. It is a beautiful house and she works very hard maintaining it and keeping it nice. I’ll post pictures when I get around to it. Check here to see if I’ve done it. Yes, she works hard. As a matter of fact, that’s all she does. Her world is quite small, and very closely managed.

Rumor had it (from her daughter) that the Old Crow married young; back in the days where a high school education was less important than an eligible suitor. As a military wife, Old Crow maintained the home and reared the children. Unfortunately for her (and me) and also important to this story, she never learned anything else.

Old Crow is sharp as a tack. However, the only thing she clutters her mind with is the garbage & recycling schedule, and everyone else’s business. For her communication and social grace are as inexplicable and foreign as brain surgery to me.

Case in point: as I am pulling my car from the garage, she is industriously weeding the front yard—as she always is. I stop the car to fiddle with my cell phone—as I always am. She walks up and stands in front of my window. By the way… this is where most of our communication takes place… one of us in the car, and the other standing in the driveway; either one initiated by her.

Anyway… she simply stands in front of my window. No knock; no ‘roll-the-window-down’ gesture or no wave; just her four-foot-something staring at me through the window. No doubt I rolled down the window with an eye-roll—I hope not, but I think I did.

She says, “[Mrs. eSquared] has a flat tire.”
“Oh”? I say.
She responds, “Yup.”
“Thanks.”

She turns on her heal and goes back to the bush she crawled out from under.
I’m left wondering what just happened.

The interaction that I mentioned in my previous post has come full circle. It is mind boggling. First, a bit of explanation…

To know me is to know that I don’t like hot weather. Furthermore, we have had uncharacteristically hot days lately. Last fall I put a fan in the shed that didn’t work, thinking I would take it to the dump when I accumulate enough crap to make it worth the $20 fee.

So… again, just as I am pulling into the garage, she walks up and stands in front of my window:

Whirrrrrrr (the sound of the window rolling down)
Me: “Hi… hot today huh”?
Crow: “That fan… in the shed.”
(Awkward silence)
Me: “Yeah”?
Crow: “You uews’n it”?
Me: “Uh… I would if I could; but it’s broke.”
(Another awkward silence)
Crow: “OH, (looking surprised) I lent it to the neighbor.”
Me: (growing perturbed) “WHAT”!?!
I narrow my eyes as the voice in the back of my head tells me I can’t reason with her.
Me: “Yeah… it doesn’t work.”
Crow: “Well… he’s an electrician. Maybe he can fix it.”
(More awkward silence)
(Remember, it’s the hottest day of the year, and my repulsion for being hot.)
Crow: “If he can fix it, you want it back”?

At this point, I realize this is not a hidden-camera prank, or an episode from the Twilight Zone. I am face-to-face with the absurdity that is my life.

“Sure.” I say as I pull in to the garage and close the door behind me.

This marathon post is long enough. I’ll finish the story tomorrow… Stay tuned.

Old Crow & Magpie: Preface

People and cultures place birds and animals in certain esteem.  Generally, this regard is based on perceived mytho-poetic qualities in the animal and the psychic projections of the culture.  Shamanic traditions give totem animals para-human abilities.  For example, birds may be able to see in to the future or past to be a warning or reminder.

For my purposes, old crow and the magpie will not imbue shamanic characteristics, or even positive attributes.  On the contrary, rife with my psychic projections, old crow and magpie will assume human characteristics, but only pejorative ones.

Perhaps, dear solitary reader, you are ahead of me.  Over the past three years I have shared the stories I intend to chronicle here in oral tradition.  As I was fuming after my last encounter with old crow, I thought how perfect it would be to share these twilight-zone experiences with you.  

In an attempt for some transparency, let me say this… Both old crow and magpie push mother buttons in me that even my mother doesn’t push.  I realize they are just living their life as they know how.  And occasionally, I even feel sorry for them - however fleeting.  Mostly… they just piss me off.  If I wasn’t so close to the situation, I would think it was hilarious, and then I would praise Fortuna herself that I didn’t have to deal with them.

Getting my Shit Together

Many of my mornings recently have been interrupted with this nagging voice in my head compelling me to: “Get your shit together.” The ensuing conversation is merely synapses firing across my caffeine deprived frontal lobe. Supposedly, this is where higher brain functions such as reason takes place. Before coffee in the morning I hold this notion highly suspect. This nanosecond of inner-dialogue goes something like this:

“I need to get my shit together.”
“What shit, and where is it”?
“I dunno… shit, no coffee.”
“Shit… I’ve said shit in every sentence... humm... Where was I”?
“What”?
“Huh… what was I going to do today”?
“Something about shit.”
“Starbucks”?
“Are you kidding? Looking like this”?
“Drivethrough.”
“Ah… d r i v e t h r o u g h.”
“Keys”?
“Keys in pants… I’ll need pants.”

By the time I get back from Starbucks, and the cerebral jumpstart of caffeine, I’ve moved on to planning a day packed with playing Xbox, riding my bike, napping with the cat and both abstract and general ass-scratching.

I go about my day never stringing any connection between the thoughts of Grad School applications, the GRE, gainful employment, meaningful employment, planning my men’s group yearly retreat, studying for the GRE, updating my curriculum vitae, blogging all the fodder that stumbles in my head, reading the stack of books I’ve denied myself for the last four years and cleaning the house all clamoring for attention.

This is the closest thing to a to-do list I’ve done.

I need to get my shit together.