88 Partridges in a Birthday Tree

Busyness is one of those things that I try to avoid writing about.  And experiencing.

My focus has been more on the 88 keys instead of the qwerty keys.  This week I performed a concert with my husband.  Every time we do a concert together it is preceded by intense stressors.  How long is long enough to start talking about things really candidly and with way too much information the way that octogenarians speak of their life?  Suffice it to say, there was puke involved.

A few weeks ago I ran across a self-published family history book at a thrift shop.  It was beautiful, leather bound, poorly formatted, very big, and had an entirely boring chronological table of contents.  It was signed by the author, and selling for 15 cents.

This week my daughter turned four (!) She said on the morning of her birthday that she still felt three-and-a-half. Today she informed me that she feels four.  Oh good.  We need a break from three.

Our Christmas tree this year is beautiful. It is very small.  It’s a real tree.  It has lights, and pine cones, and birds, and bows on it. The decorating was all accomplished by my man and his two little elves.  There is something special about imagining them all – yes, all three of them – oogling over the lights and tinsel, placing the little trinkets upon the spindly branches.

Sometimes random is good.

This post was a response to a prompt to quickly write 500 words about anything, then delete 250 of them, retaining the essence.  I’m not sure this had any particular essence to begin with, but here ya go…


By Naomi Bird

Wife of tenor Nathan Bird, pianist, organist, former music therapist, writer, tea-drinker, mom of two mini-sopranos and two mini-tenors, and learner of loving the arts.

1 comment

  1. Much appreciated! You have a very dear AubreyElla! There are so many things I never seem to remember to tell you. She kindly gave me an affectionate love pat and hug at noon. She went around placing pieces of dried parsley wherever she felt it needed a touch of green. She even got a very, ever so wee nap, and told me about it. She stacked a pile, about one foot high, of books we were going to read, clearly indicating which ones she was not interested in hearing again. She loves working in the kitchen with sugar to sample and does a remarkable job helping. Oh, yes, she sings nearly upside down waiting for me to wipe her bottom in the bathroom. (Laugh:)

    Forgetful Mom

    Please note: message attached

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