We were just standing in the kitchen, putting the final preparations on our dinner for the evening when I looked into the next room and saw a bird flying by.
We are assuming that it flew in through the open door in our bedroom which opens up to become our fire exit. How long it had been flying around, we do not know but it appeared to be fairly familiar with part of our house as it flew from corner to corner of the dining room. We were surprised and totally at a loss for what to do.
I first noticed the little visitor as I was dialing the phone to do a daily routine call to my father. The call is usually made earlier in the day but I decided to take a break and postpone so that I would not have to answer the inevitable question "so, what are you going to do today?". This is one of those questions that leave me feeling confused, guilty perhaps. I never know the correct answer so I just say "I don't know yet".
So, I called the number and as he answered, I blurted out "there's a bird in the house" before I even got to saying hello. My dad would never get how ironic it was that the bird had just flown over and landed on the table that holds an empty birdcage, an antique that I purchased for Joe for Fathers Day. I tend to think there are a lot of things he no longer "gets" so I avoid many conversations. I keep telling myself that it's okay to give up.
Without missing a beat, clear as a bell, sharp as a tack, my father came through, just as he always really has.
In his most New York Police Department voice he simply said "open a door and it will fly out".
And it did exactly that, and he was very pleased to hear that. I could almost see his smile. I heard the lilt in his voice, a little chuckle as I watched my mother fly off to a tree outside the door.