The Birds

The winter may be creeping up on my mom in Boston, but for me, I have escaped to my oasis from Los Angeles: Palm Springs. Today is an official work holiday and I'm so grateful for those since I'll be using my two weeks vacation in July when we go to Italy. Driving the two hours to get here is second nature to me now and I'm always hungry when I get here, so I stopped at one of my favorite restaurants. Hamburger Marys is half outdoor seating and half in and it was quite crowded today, so I opted to sit near the bar. Halfway through my meal, in it flew. The little sparrow, alas, not related to Edith Piaf and memories of Paris. Immediately, the memory of my grandmother came back  as vividly as if it were yesterday. Birds indoors were bad omens, they belonged outside, not under the cover of one's roof. I can still hear her yelling for my grandfather, or maybe it was my dad since they share the same name.

"Alfred, the bird," she cried at the top of her lungs. "The bird. Get the bird out of the porch!"

Our covered front porch was a haven for the nasty flying rodents. I'm not sure how long that particular bird managed to hold onto its perch, but I will never forget the superstitions that came along with it as it flapped its wings in the house. So you can imagine how much fun it was to go to Venice all those years later and see how pigeons ruled St. Mark's Square. I don't know how my mom will react to so many winged creatures - after all, she used to take my brother and me into Boston and somehow foolishly, we fed the dirty pigeons as they crawled all over us seeking nourishment.

Today, however, the sparrow did not stay long and I got to enjoy my meal. Now there are quite some months to go before I have to face the swarm of birds that overtake the Venice square, but one thing for sure, I won't allow Rosemarie to let me feed the birds.