Different Gifts by Liz Flaherty

I watch birds through the window beside my desk. And deer. And squirrels and rabbits and even the occasional galumphing groundhog. I watch the corn grow beyond the fence row--no fences anymore, but the row is still there, punctuated by nettles and a cottonwood in the corner. I watch for purple flowers--they're always my favorites. If I look away, the corn has grown another foot--at least, that's how it seems. I wonder what's going on with the field beside the road. If all our neighbors are okay. 

I write in the morning, starting by reading over what I wrote the day before and wondering what I was thinking. It's my favorite time of day, these hours in here by the window. My kids are always asking what I want done with my ashes when I die. I've asked them to plant me with a tree--I love trees--but maybe a Mason jar in a west window would be okay, too.

I scroll on Facebook when the words aren't coming, which still entertains me. My feed isn't overtly political or profane--more like neighbors talking about corn crops and rain and...you know, what's going on in the field by the road. They post pictures of purple flowers and kittens and front porches. 

There are, of course, cranky ones there, who don't want to be disagreed with but don't mind disagreeing with other people. They remind me of a review I got on a book once (you always remember the bad ones), wherein Diane M. said, "I don't get the five star rating others gave it but if you like really dumb stories - go for it!" (The book in question is Because of Joe. I'm still wounded by the review, which I can only assume was her point.)

But that's the way neighbors are in real life, isn't it? They have eccentricities, but they're still your neighbors. You still like them. You may think they're grumpy or that their politics are pretty awful or even that they write dumb books, but you still worry when they're ill. They still check on you after surgery. You pray for each other. You celebrate each other. 

"We all have different gifts, so we all have different ways of saying to the world who we are," said Fred Rogers. 

We do. As always, Mr. Rogers had it right. Our gifts are like our opinions; some are better than others, more appreciated, better for humankind. We need to know the differences and accept that we are not all alike. Sometimes we have to walk away, but we don't have to slam doors on the way out.  

The animals were active in the yard this morning, with the resident doe standing still and staring at the squirrels. I wondered if she was doing like we do when we see deer on the road and stopping to let them cross because if there was one, there was likely a dozen. The birds visit the suet feeders in turn. The starlings are first, then the brown ones I always call sparrows but are probably several different ones, then the blue jays, and finally the woodpeckers. They're my favorites to watch. They all scold sometimes, grumpy and discordant, but not often. 

Like the rest of us, they all have their own gifts. 

Have a good week. Be nice to somebody.