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What kind of bird are you?  I vacillate.

There are circumstances that support both species.  I prefer the ostrich guise when dealing with information I would rather not have.  Do NOT go into intimate detail about the true origins of most of my food.  I choose to believe that chicken comes on a styrofoam tray wrapped in plastic.  End of story.  I believe my salad lettuce is harvested, washed thoroughly, chopped, and placed in pretty plastic bags right there in the field.  Enough said.  I have certain ostrich-created bubbles that I’d rather not have broken.  Thank you very much.  🙂  I also have beautiful duck moments when I am able, with complete peace, to allow troubling occurences to simply roll off of my back and out of existence.  Those duck moments have thankfully become more frequent over the years.  Fewer things trouble me as life grows shorter.  Stress is toxic.  I try to avoid it whenever possible.  That maneuver usually calls for either the ostrich or duck costume.

There is another feathered friend in my life.  Did I say friend?  I think perhaps it’s foe, but not so evil that it cannot instruct and refine and bring blurred images into focus.  This particular bird is earthbound, ungainly, and not as extinct as we have been led to believe.  I am speaking, of course, of the dodo.  The dodo costume is heavy and hot and smells of desperation.  Quite frankly, it stinks and gives me headaches.  Regardless, I don it every now and again in spite of my absolute clarity about how ill-advised the donning of it would be.  I step into it and zip it up, all the while shaking my head and muttering to myself about how I should really be putting on the duck suit.  I fret over things I cannot control nor change.  I freak out and flap my useless wings until I’m too tired to keep doing it.  And then, when I’m utterly exhausted and no longer standing in my own way, I can unzip, step out and away, and then make a move in a different direction.  Oh…and did I mention that while I’m flapping and squawking my husband is usually standing just out of wing range and shaking HIS head?  He rarely if ever dons the dodo suit.  He prefers the ostrich with just a touch of duck.

All of this to say that I attempt to steer clear of dodos.  But I don’t always succeed.  So, if you happen to be the unfortunate witness to my flapping and squawking, please don’t think ill of me.  My dodo sessions are usually short-lived.

Blogger’s note to readers (if there are any):  This entry was written after a dodo session that occurred under the influence of a headache and before my  morning coffee.  No illegal substances of any kind were involved.  Doll vinyl doesn’t count.  That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.  Quack!   🙂