CathyFletcher's Blog

Is it possible to bloom in adversity?

Always likely for me.

Israel, as the El Al airlines says, starts on the airplane.

Actually, it starts with security. You can't quite imagine this kind of stepped-up security until you experience it.

Definitely outnumbered by the wide variety of Israeli Hebrew speaking people.

Tarted up women, families, men with either full-fledged old-time hats and curled side locks, white shirts and long black coats vs the Jewish "light" with a barely there cap, but still with the tired white shirt.

So sometimes they would put a little box on their forehead and wrap leather around their arm, wear a shawl and say some stuff from a book. These all have proper names, of course.

The food is good except for the eggs.

Ben Gurion airport in Tel Aviv is impressive but ol' Ben has really wild clown hair.

Love the palm trees, the weather, the grandness and blue skies.

A bus taxi took me to 3,000 up a mountain outside of Jerusalem to a moshav called Yad Hashmonah, which has about 100 people living there. Many visit the biblical gardens, and also have their weddings at the outdoor synagogue made of dark volcanic rock. Then they have their reception celebrations. Seems like one every day, because it's June.

The buffet food was fantastic.

Waiting at the bus stop the next day I got a ride into Jerusalem and walked around the city, then through the old city, then through the food market. The architecture is cool.

Security is interesting: check points and guns. But the people are happy and I'd like to go again. Do it differently. Glad I experienced it the way I did, but hostel living is not my style.

I'd recommend the moshav for an all day visit, but a comfy air-conditioned hotel at night for a good night's rest.

Also, better to be rich and travel high class on the airlines.

Now I know a little of the youth hostel scene, which is great to know about. And the view of moshav life was sweet.

You've never seen anything more beautiful than the collection of big cities and little settlements on the hills at night time. The lights are all of a warm amber colour.

And in the day I walked through an up-and-coming neighbourhood next door with so much of the pale yellow Jerusalem stone that made up both the million-$ homes and walls. Just beautiful.

Love to go there again. This is a country that is intense, and is energized and full of life despite the hate that surrounds it. Pure triumph.

Fare thee well, feathered friend.

Together Adelais, my pet dove, and I came a long way in a few short months.

I gave him a last name: Featherpants (Mr.)

He learned to walk on the floor sometimes.

I learned to do spot cleaning under his favourite places to perch.

He learned to go into his cage all by himself at 7pm--so I never had to catch him again. I left the cage door open, and in the morning he'd come out again after his breakfast.

I learned to have a bird fly past me and never flinch.

He learned to laugh (then we nick-named him "Laughing Boy").

I learned to expect a variety of expressions.

He learned to "step up" on my finger.

I learned an incredible amount of information on doves.

He learned to hang out with me, and not just the wild birds.

I learned to enjoy bird company.

He learned the lay of the land in the house.

I learned to find him.

He learned that he was my flock.

And...

I learned to let him go.

All good things come to an end, and in the end the lady downstairs with MS was driven completely around the twist by Adelais' cooing. She started screaming, banging, complaining, called the city, called our landlady and had her serve me an eviction notice yesterday.

I called my friend (oh my blessed friend!) who came and got him. My landlady's happy. Working on where Mr. Featherpants belongs.

Adelais Featherpants: a good bird is hard to keep down.

Several months ago a white dove appeared at my door after a storm, and I brought it in. Found out about doves, discovered how to read the band around its leg and returned it to the friend of the previous owner (deceased) who kept doves in his barn. That man showed me how he handled doves and it looked so easy: chest against his middle with it legs folded back, relaxed.

It was ten years old, walked around and I loved her for a week. So quiet.

So later on I pined after the little thing and with more study, decided to go to the animal rescue shelter and buy one. The ends of his feathers were kind of grubby but he's a nice-looking bird. I sat out in my friend's car thinking about whether I wanted two birds (no) and which of a new couple (six weeks together) I wanted. Didn't really want eggs...I don't know what I was thinking! Guilt, guilt, guilt.

It cost eighty-five dollars, and it makes loud cooing. He coos at everything, but he also makes soft noises to communicate and is very expressive. This dove is a male and won't touch its feet on the ground. When he comes out of his cage he flies. On the internet I read about catching it with a tea towel.

I called up a middle-eastern friend who knows about birds and he said that because it was older than three months it could eventually learn anything but it would take a great deal of patience.

And he said the bird might "be silly" and refuse to bathe in water.

Don't know who is learning what but three times now I made so many feathers come out by catching it in the tea towel. And I've felt more remorse and guilt than all the years of raising my children.

First I had a flat perch made for him but he only poops the perch, and the bottom of his cage is left perfectly clean. So thrice a day I clean his perch which he won't get off of.

The last time he was out I caught him...I really don't ever want to catch him that way again. I'm going to use my hands next time.

I decided his foot cake was not acceptable. His feet were so clean because of my diligence but then he stepped on one of his home-made donuts.

So by this time I feel I am the worst bird owner in the world. More feathers came out...but I thought now that I have him I'll clean his little feet. My daughter tried to help me but it was going to take quite awhile and Adelais (his name) was awake but had gone limp. He was so limp I thought his toes were all broken. I made his feet all clean thinking "what is the point...his feet are useless...how's he going to stand?" I also saw what are called "blood feathers" which are his newly growing tail feathers.

In a few minutes his feet slowly start to flex, and I thought "ah ha" this is a thing that rabbits do, they kind of "faint". I finished up the job, and placed him on his perch and he was perfectly fine.

The good thing is: he's becoming whiter than white, because of the molt and the new feathers growing in.

Kind of like what happens to us as Christians. No wonder we're told to "wash each others' feet". It's a daily task we help each other with. The rest of the whitening process happens all by itself.

My women friends are always in my corner...they have finesse and have seen me through hard times.

My friend is striving to be certified at a higher level in her career, another is practising a high-level diplomacy.

My friends are true to me and themselves.

Gob bless and keep my friends well.

As a friend I am here, respectful of your time.

My friends reach out to me, have a way of knowing just when I need a couple words of encouragement.

My friends give me practical help.

I value my friends.

Funny way to introduce myself but I just read an article about women: that if we have done so much so far, think what we could do if we had enough sleep! http://tinyurl.com/y9s28xa