How nice it would be if our letters were the old-fashioned paper kind. As it is, having a mailbox these days is hardly justified. Our carrier, as I said a while back, is friendly; I’m sure he’d understand if I removed ours, or at least find it humorous. He can leave the advertisements on our front step if he likes; or I can place the recycling bin at the end of the driveway and he can deposit them directly.
You mention the birds — the nuthatches, crows, and blue jays. We too love the daily activity. We don’t feed them, though some neighbors nearby do. And some feed the squirrels, and we find whole peanuts in the shell scattered around the yard or buried in the garden. We’ve already seen a baby robin, which is doing quite well, all fluffed up and bigger than its parents. It has even used the birdbath — and almost fallen out due to clumsiness. The squirrels, we have come to recognize. One is smaller, and its tail is bent decidedly to the left, possibly due to a childhood injury. Another has the habit of playing with everything it finds, doing somersaults and back-flips and then racing off through the yard. And there’s yet another that, whenever it notices a bird taking a bath, comes down from the trees and chases it off. The birds, though, realize it’s a game, and wait nearby for their next chance at the water.
Yes, indeed — I can understand how you or anyone might prefer the company of trees and wildlife over that of humans. Humans are so caught up in themselves, so busy, and so often judgmental; it seems that whatever they disapprove of in themselves, or fear in themselves, they project onto others. This is easy enough to accept — from a healthy distance. Still, there are those rare gems that always do us good to be around. And the more comfortable we are with ourselves, the more gems we find. So it’s best not to be too harsh with ourselves, too critical, too judgmental. In other words, like the wildlife we enjoy, we need to be true to our nature.
Today is another very windy day. The house is covered with fir-bits, as I call them; there are cones again all over the backyard; and there’s a general housecleaning going on in the white birches, which are gladly shedding their dead twigs and branches.
Thank you for remembering my birthday in a few days. May we both live to see it. I’m reminded once again of the movie Lost Horizon — the 1937 version, starring Ronald Colman — in which the character Chang says something to the effect of, “Every time you westerners celebrate your birthday, you build another fence around your minds.” There’s much truth in that. Sometimes I think we imagine ourselves to death. Still, if I do complete my seventieth trip around the sun, I can at least celebrate having survived my childhood illnesses, my ignorance, my foolishness, and my brushes with death. That’s probably the origin of birthday celebrations in the first place. For certainly it’s no accomplishment to have lived another year, unless the living has been done in the form of an exploration; one must change; he must wake up and realize the rare gift he’s been given.
I send my love, with wishes for a nice peaceful summer.
~
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Categories: Everything and Nothing
Tags: Letters, Shangri-La
William Michaelian 
I love this notion, the way every time we celebrate another birthday, we draw another fence around our minds. As you say, as if we’re counting our way towards death. On the other hand, to reach three score and ten is an achievement of sorts, even if it’s only that you’ve managed to stay sentient this long. And may you enjoy many more such milestones, William, not as fences but as milestones in a long life well lived.
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Thanks, Elisabeth. I’m certainly willing, if for no better reason than to “find out what happens” — a condition we both share in our writing and storytelling capacities.
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