Stepping out …
Quail: roughly the size of a man’s fist.
Sleeping, they splay;
roused, they leap into the air,
like popcorn kernels hitting hot oil.
The females lay eggs on the run. All of them poop on the run.
One breeder says every time she leaves, her quail cry. A sound somewhere between a mew and a moan.
That’s me lately, writhing with undiagnosed infection. I doze in weird positions, then leap up for, well, the facilities.
Grousing: a verb
Twice, in the ancient Hebrew wilderness, God lavished quail on the Israelites—despite their ingratitude. Tired of manna, they demanded meat. The Almighty practically flung quail into their faces.
There. See the BLESSING?
Today, quail huddle in gangs beneath our spreading juniper shrubs, before stepping out. They make a break for it, get out of Dodge. I want out too.
I spell mad: B.R.A.T.
For now, no tangerines, no Mae Ploy sauce, no Honey Dijon chips.
And no escape from the smallest room in the house. No stepping out. Because no one knows if my immune system is functioning.
What eccentric blessing is staring me down?
And then in the wee hours, words from Isaiah:
In all their distress, [God too] was distressed,
and the angel of his presence saved them.
In his love and mercy he … lifted them up
and carried them all the days of old.
Even here. Tonight. Alone, on cold linoleum.
I want to know how to see blessings …
Quail make me laugh.
They dither. Their topknots bobble. Their heads are like spastic question marks.
So I have questions too …
- how to send roots down into hope until I feel the sap rise
- how to turn enigmas into love: valentines, worthy of stamps
- how 100 questions might whirl like lassos, aiming for heaven
I want to know gratitude’s face when it roams—homeless, in my neighborhood.
I want to know What you want to know …
For those tracking our continuing trials, er, adventures: Dreamer had a great follow-up with his cardiologist today. He’s been okayed to train with a personal coach. I hope for a diagnosis and treatment plan at my follow-up on Monday. Our daughter is almost fully recovered. No house yet.
Thank you, friends, for caring … sharing … and prayer-ing alongside us.