The Hierarchy of Feeders

Yesterday afternoon I filled all the birdfeeders and this morning watched the hierarchy of desirability of the food.  First was the peanuts, without a doubt.  The squirrels leaped from the birdbath, to the suet feeder, clambered up the crook to the one holding the suet pellets, then a long stretch to the peanut wreath.  There was a quartet of squirrels taking turns on the peanut wreath and the cobs of corn but the peanuts were the prime target.

A pair of Bluejays came squawking to the peanuts, barely deterred by the squirrels that sat on the top of the crook.  This Bluejay waited on the birdbath until its turn.

Once all of the peanuts were gone only then did the squirrels turn to the suet pellets.  This one stayed on the feeder for a long time.  The rest gave up and scampered off.  And by then it had started to snow.

We got a couple inches of snow over the afternoon and evening.  It was tiny flakes, not the big floaty kind, that make the roads slick.  Guess I'm shoveling tomorrow.  Better go downstairs to drag up the boots.  In the morning.

I finished Cast Sock #9 this evening.  This yarn sure is a non-color, and I have two more skeins of it.  Why ever did I buy it?

27 December--Barbara Malcolm, The Seaview. 

Chapter 29

            It was time to do the last favor for Jim.  He asked me to spread his ashes in the sea because he'd loved scuba diving so much.  Part of his ashes stayed at home in the parking lot flowerbeds of his favorite football team and part of them came to Anguilla with me. 

            The sea was calm with a light breeze blowing the smell of diesel back over the boat.  The ride out to the dive site had been smooth, the wind of our passage cooled the midday sun that beat down.

            I talked to Dougie, the divemaster.  "I'll trail behind the group," I said. "I have a last promise to Jim to fulfill." 

            He looked at the small handmade paper box in my dive bag and nodded.  "You do what you need to do, Mrs. Rose.  Mr. Jim was a good man."  He put his hand on my shoulder for a moment then called everyone to attention for the pre-dive briefing.

            Never before had I dallied so long getting suited up for a dive.  My fingers fumbled buckles and slipped on zippers.  A fin strap broke so I had to take the time to replace it.  I began to get the feeling that the universe didn't want me to go on this dive but I was determined.  Freddy, the boat driver came over, took the fin and strap from me, and fixed it, returning it without comment.  Then I was all geared up and ready.  By that time Dougie had the rest of the divers in the water and swimming toward the buoy.  I shuffled to the side of the boat with Freddy's help, put on my fins, picked up the blue mesh bag with Jim's ashes in their box, and stepped off into the ocean. 

            As the water closed over my head in a swirl of silver bubbles my sadness diminished.  Jim and I had dived together for almost thirty years and it was something we both loved.  I started talking to him in my head, telling him about the dive, about the types of fish we were seeing, about how the shipwreck of the Commerce emerged from the depths as we descended sixty feet toward the sea floor. 

            I saw Dougie and the group of divers leave the mooring buoy line and begin to swim around the wreck, Dougie's fins barely moving as he held his place keeping their eager hands away from the fragile corals and sponges.  One of them grabbed a trailing line and immediately dropped it.  I knew just what she felt.  Those ropes are colonized by small animals that look fuzzy but deliver a nettle-like sting.  A spurt of bubbles floated out of my regulator as a laugh escaped.  It was mean of me, I knew, but I'd heard Dougie emphasize how important it was for them not to touch anything so it was fair that she had gotten stung when she disobeyed. 

            As I swam behind them, I held the box of Jim close, thinking about where I'd open it.  When I looked at my hands I realized that the ocean had made the decision for me.  The fragile paper had begun to dissolve and the ashes were leaking out, trailing behind me like Hansel and Gretel's breadcrumbs. 

            A big burst of laughter bubbles exploded from my regulator as I realized that I must look like a big parrotfish when it munches on coral and poops sand.  With Jim's lifelong love of bathroom humor I knew that he'd approve. 

            Carefully I pulled the box out of the mesh bag and removed the lid.  I shed a few tears in my mask as I said goodbye to the last ashes, put the remains of the disintegrating box back in the bag, tucked it into my pocket, and followed the group to explore the shipwreck.

            At the end of the dive I handed my fins and weight pockets up to Freddy.  He put them down at my spot on the boat and then came back to help me aboard.  He held my hand a bit longer than necessary and squeezed it.  I bumped his shoulder with mine, said "Thanks," and went to sit down so I could change my gear to a tank for the second dive. 

Today was a telephone day.  I called Aunt B in Florida, CH in Indiana, and AJ in Sheboygan.  It was good to talk to all of them and also good that we don't have to pay for long distance calls by the minute anymore.  If we did, I'd be selling a kidney on eBay tonight.  We talked long.

--Barbara