Synthesis

Synthesis (sin’-the-sis): An apt arrangement of a composition, especially regarding the sounds of adjoining syllables and words.

I had grown a beak. A big yellow beautiful beak. I was wondering why it happened when I thought of my bird feeder. Feeding the birds was my hobby—helping them survive and thrive. My major bird buddies were Juncos, Gold Finches, Purple Finches, Tufted Titmice and one male talking Cardinal. All the rest of the birds just peeped and chittered, but the Cardinal was a real yapper. Christopher Cardinal told bird jokes: “What do you call birds who don’t know song lyrics? Hummingbirds.” That’s damn funny! He could actually sing songs about birds. For example: backed up by the Cat Bird Quartet providing the tune, he could kill the lyrics of Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “”Free Bird” perched on top of the feeder with his Cardinal crest dyed blond:

But if I stay here with you, girl
Things just couldn’t be the same
‘Cause I’m as free as a bird now
And this bird you cannot change
Oh, oh, oh, oh
And the bird you cannot change
And this bird, you cannot change
Lord knows, I can’t change

He would flap his wings when he sang “Cause I’m as free as a bird now . . .” And the Catbird Quartet would bob up and down. I played my “Howdy Doody Peanut Gallery Guitar.” It had a crank that an engineer friend of mine had refashioned to play “Free Bird” over and over again when I cranked it.

Every once in awhile we’d do a night show. I would duct tape my flashlight to a mop handle and prop it up against the front of the house, about ten feet from the feeder. I would turn on the flashing function and we’d have a real light show. We’d do “Rockin’ Robin,” “Robin in the Rain,” and we’d often close with Leonard Cohen’s “Bird on the Wire.” It is totally depressing, but it gives you a lot to think about:

Like a bird on the wire
Like a drunk in a midnight choir
I have tried in my way to be free
Like a worm on a hook
Like a knight from some old fashioned book
I have saved all my ribbons for thee

Wow! And then, last but not least, the Cardinal recites bird-oriented poetry! My foavorite is Emily Dickinson’s “Hope is the Thing With Feathers”:

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all, , , ,

This is all pretty amazing. I feel blessed to have a talking Cardinal for a friend. As long as I keep feeding him and the other birds they all keep coming back for more. Two days ago a Canada Goose landed by the feeder and looked straight at me and said “F*ck you!” I did what I had to do and had roast goose for dinner that night. I blew a hole in the kitchen window screen, but that does not matter. I will not let a goose get away with insulting me.

So, what about my beak? I must admit it’s fake. It is part of the chicken suit I wear around the house, out in the yard, and grocery shopping too. it has an egg pocket in the back that works to lay eggs. Without fail, I lay two per day! Christopher thinks it’s hilarious.

Let just say in closing, after I saw the movie “The Birds” I couldn’t sleep. It made me realize that there are bad birds who hate humans and want to peck them out of existence. In a way they are like my neighbors who want to metaphorically peck me to death with taunts when I play my Howdy Doody guitar or wear my chicken suit to the grocery store. Maybe I could do to them what I did to the Canada Goose.

Ha ha. I can see Mr. Joblousy on his back on my dining room table with his arms and legs sticking up and his butt stuffed with chestnut dressing.

Definitions courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).

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