Back from Maui + Seahawks + Strange Things + Philip Seymour Hoffman

We are back from Maui, and it is cold in the Bay Area. I realize that I slept much deeper in Hawaii. It must be from the lack of cat dander, or the lack of cats all together.

The Seahawks routed the Denver Bronco's in the Superbowl yesterday. I was calling it the Super Bong since both states have recently legalized marijuana. I would have bet on the Broncos myself if I was a betting man. I was rooting for the Seahawks mostly because I love the city of Seattle. I'm just a northwest/northeast kind of guy.

We didn't watch the dame because we were in flight path over the Pacific ocean. We got one update from the captain in the cockpit at halftime. Seattle gave Denver a hell of a shellacking if I do say so. I think maybe Denver was over confidant, smoked too much hash oil before the game, and never did get their act together. Tripping.

Just before I started this blog today I was doing some research on the computer, and I heard these loud thuds in the front of the house. The dogs starting barking in unison at whatever had occurred.  Of course, I got up, and went out to see what all the commotion was  about. When I opened the door I found two birds lying on the front porch. One was dead, it's neck broken, and the other was in the throes of death. I picked it up gently, and held it until it's tiny life passed in my hands.

I was pacing nervously trying to figure out what the hell had happened. There was blood all over the floor, and then I glanced at the window. The one facing westerly on the front porch to block the wind from the ocean. That's what they had flown into. A splatter of blood covered the window. Then I saw a third bird, still alive, between the aluminum decoration and the screen.

I quickly got the bird free of the door, and held it. This one's neck was strong, and it was struggling to free itself from this unwanted encounter. I outstretched my arm over the bow of the porch so it had unobstructed freedom to fly. I opened my hand, it flapped it's wings, but could not take flight. I lightly closed my hand around it, and stroked it's crown. There was blood on my left hand, and more on the porch screen door. Still, I had hope for this one.

The bird was stunned, and in shock, but it was upright. It's wings were not broken, and it was alive. I held it for five minutes, trying to give it strength from my body to live, saying, "Please, please." It didn't bleed anymore. I looked at it closely and said to the bird, "Your in natures hands now."

I placed it on one of the slats of the trellis that covers the walkway at the top of the front steps. It held it's ground, it's dark eyes surveying the world for more trouble. There was nothing else I could do. I went about  cleaning up after the other two birds, and wiping up the blood. I kept an eyed the survivor as I carried on with my tasks.

I went into the house to get some paper towels, water and a cloth to bury the two birds, and when I came back it was gone. I checked all around the grounds in front of the house, and I couldn't spy it anywhere. Did it live?

These birds appeared to be some member of finch breed. They were grey, black beaks with white lines, yellow feathers on the breasts and the tips of their tails, as well as the smaller feathers of the wings. Very beautiful.

Is there any meaning in these things that  appear to be happenstance? Are they omens, signs? No one knows, do they?

Before this all happened I had gone to visit my friend Michael in the hospital. He is very derpessed.  He said, "My other two roommates have died, I'm number 3." Then he said, "I want to die."

After I returned home from visiting Michael I had put up a sign that we had made in Hawaii. A gentle soul by the name of Tom designed and constructed it out of sandalwood. The letters of the words were sketched onto the hardwood, carved out, then sandblasted, painted ivory, and the whole sign was varnished 3 times. The message read, "Be Good Or Be Gone!"

Wherever you are, Philip Seymour Hoffman, I hope you are no longer in pain. The world has lost a very talented man. RIP.

That's it.

Life is what happens in between meals.

Peace,

Make Food/Not War