More Crows

Crows again? Yes, crows again.

 

Walking in High Park on the first day of March, I was contemplating how un-connected I am. How I want a sign, a Sign, from the Universe that I'm in the right place, doing the right thing. I want some signal, please, to keep me on the journey.

 

Now isn't that always my way? Always I'm looking for the Epiphany. Always I want to be reassured that things are moving as they should be. And what right do I have to expect a sign just for me? None, of course.

 

Ever since the Toronto outbreak of West Nile disease, a mosquito-borne virus that killed many birds and also affected humans—ever since then, there have been no crows in the High Park area. A big flock of crows used to frequent our neighborhood and would greet me when I left the house, accompany me as I walked through the park. But for the last two years, nothing. My life has been crow-less. I know that they still exist, because friends who live north of Toronto report seeing flocks of them regularly. But they haven't come back to my area, and I miss them.

 

So as I was walking in High Park on March 1, whinging and complaining as usual about not being able to connect, I was interrupted in my grousing by the sound of crows. I was astonished. Crows in High Park again! At last they were back.

 

And the next thing I knew, there were two crows just above the trees off to my left. I heard them first, then looked up and couldn't believe my eyes. Two very large crows, calling to each other (to me?) and wheeling, wheeling, playing above the treetops amid the light snow, two crows back-and-forthing until they were sure I had seen them, sure that I got the message. And then poof! They were off to the north, still calling. Still wanting to make sure that I got the message.

 

Six weeks later I still hadn't seen another crow. But I did get the message.

 

 

Copyright 2008 Ann Tudor   

www.anntudor.ca
http://scenesfromthejourney.blogspot.com

Dance with the Dolly

 Eight homemade paper dolls, holding hands, dressed to the nines, balancing on my table. My favorite of all has a swell to the belly. She wears tights with a different design on each leg, and a little black dress. The dress is unassuming, but its skirt flips out to the other side, already dancing to a rhythm we can't hear. Multicolored hair scraggles down beside her face, as if she forgot to care. But that doesn't matter because her little black dress, swinging with joy and movement, reminds me that that's all we need in life: joy and movement. Plus love, of course.

 

When I become queen, the children will be taught love, joy, movement, poetry, art, and the music of the soul.

 

And this dancing dolly will be part of it all: we'll dance to our own beat, our own rhythm, feet on the ground, bare feet on the solid dirt, feeling them extend into the earth, feeling them connect with where we are, where we came from. We'll dance until we can't dance any more. That little black dress isn't essential, but we'll all wear something that swings, because even a three-year-old knows the joy of twirling in a dress that swirls around her legs.

 

Copyright 2008 Ann Tudor   

www.anntudor.ca
http://scenesfromthejourney.blogspot.com

Skip to M'Loo

Have you seen anyone skip recently? Does anyone over the age of nine skip? And yet skipping is surely our most joyful form of locomotion.

 

So why don't people skip these days? Well, I think it's all about the shoes! The best shoes for skipping are leather-soled oxfords. You can't skip for very long in sandals, and certainly not at all in Birkenstocks and their relatives. You can't skip in high heels or wedgiesand it's hard to skip in boots of any sort. The ridged soles of sneakers grip the sidewalk too well for skipping.

 

A society that doesn't skip is a sober society indeed. In the first place, think what a good exercise it is. Run 20 paces. Now skip 20 paces. Which one gets your heart going? And skipping adds that jouncy little bounce-to-the-bones that encourages the bones to be strong.

 

But leave aside our fitness obsession. Just remember the joy of skipping. You can't skip without smiling. Laughing, even. Skipping takes you back to your best, most innocent self. Skipping fosters joy for its own sake.

 

Lauren Bacall said, "You know how to whistle, don't you? Just pucker up your lips and blow." It's hard to condense skipping to such concise instructions. "You know how to skip, don't you? Just stand on one foot and give a little hop and skid and land on the other foot and then hop-and-skid with that one and so on." It definitely doesn't have the punch of "pucker up your lips and blow"—but don't let that stop you! Go out there and teach someone to skip!

 

Who needs rollerblades or a Segway? If you can skip, you're only a hop, skip, and jump away from happiness.

 

 

Copyright 2008 Ann Tudor   

www.anntudor.ca
http://scenesfromthejourney.blogspot.com