Birdsong — Dear Dick

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Dear Dick,

hello, it’s Xan.  I haven’t written for awhile but I have been thinking hard about my sacrificial list.

You probably don’t shop much, having the important work of the Senate and the Debt Commission and all of that, so you may not have noticed that bird seed is getting ver (I am shortening words from here on out for the sake of austerity) expensy.  While wheeling my cart down and about the store, it came to my limited attention span that bird seed is spendy now.  This may be a good place for me to continue my sacrificial list.  Thus, no bird seed.

Comes Saturday morning and I awake to the comforting sound of birds singing.  Birdsong – it’s a pret word, isn’t it.  Then sadly I remembered I didn’t buy any birdseed.  Now my yard is not fancy, nor are the birds that frequent it.  They are mostly sparrows, little brown things – but they sing their little hearts out.  Unlike many of the men to whom I have been kind – the birds more than pay me back with melodies throughout the day and into twilight (I considered using the word “dusk” here in the interests of austerity but “dusk” is such an ugly sounding word.  Even “the lesser people” are struck by the beauty of language. This may be problematic for the Debt Commission.)  They are not wily like the worm-finding robins, nor are they feisty like the noisy bluejays – but their music can be likened to Bach on good mornings.  It made me sad that they no longer came to the bird feeders – it took about 4 days before they understood there would be no sustenance at my house.  And so there was no music in my home that was not powered by electronics – a sad moment indeed.

Then it struck me – my mother’s kitchen.  How she did I do not know.  But no one – no one, even her arch enemy, Mrs. Santangelo, left her kitchen without some little thing to eat or drink.  It was like a lighteni blt – it is who I am.  I am my mother, especially in her kitchen.  To the store for birdseed – where I bought 2 25-pound bags and they came back – lyrical and loud but mostly lyrical.  They are forgiving little brown things, kind-hearted and industrious.

So now the dilemma:  What can the new sacrifice be?  At this point, my two dogs seem to be nervous – perhaps worried that the arm of sacrifice will smite them.  It will not, of course.  But it’s pleasant to see them paying attention to my “commands” for a change.  Of course, as a “lesser person” my commands are tender and tentative – we, like the little brown sparrows don’t expect much, don’t really need that much and will sing for kindnesses received.

The problem is we can expect no kindnesses from The Debt Commission – and rightly so say the commentators – But mostly the tators are without heart or sense for that matter, and even my mother may have sent them from her kitchen with an empty tin cup.

Would you be kind enough to ask your fellow commishes what sacrifices they have been making – perhaps I could find a hint there of where I can make a difference in America’s future.  And, by the way, I went to your site again and found no mention of your sacrifices.  I know you have been busy what with the losses and all – but perhaps you can put this on your to-do list.  “List sacrifices for constitutents’ morale.”  

But really, don’t worry about our morale – we don’t look to the Senate or God forbid the Debt Commission for courage or comfort – please disabuse yourself of that.  We look to each other and to the little brown things in our life who deliver.  

Update:  A friend of mine called me and said  It’s “Ein bischen etwas.”  or so her family said when she was a child – In Italian, I think it’s un piccola cosa.