Hope Is Borne On Wings

“Oh, look, the dove of peace - that must be a good sign!”

I looked where Hayes was pointing. Sure enough, among the pigeons searching for food on the macadam, one had completely white feathers, which looked dazzling in the morning light.

“Proof, if more were needed,” I said, “that there’s no difference between a pigeon and a dove except what it’s called by humans.”

“What do you mean? It’s right there!”

I hesitated before I spoke again. This was a rare moment of calm in the endless round of boot camp. The rising Sun was lighting up the grounds, making even the bare macadam in front of the barracks look beautiful, especially with those birds on it. That’s why I was out there, in spite of the cold, even though I didn’t smoke. I’d started coming out early since a few days before, when I’d heard the opening notes of  Dreamweaver coming over someone’s radio, amid the noise of 83 men going about their evening routines. I’d wished it were quiet, so I could listen to that beautiful song, regretting that of course nobody else would care. Until someone called out, “Pipe down, guys - it’s Dreamweaver!” The whole barracks-room fell silent, and we all gathered around the radio until the song was finished.

It had been a reminder that there was such a thing as beauty in the world, even this strange new world of gray paint everywhere and runny noses every morning. I’d begun looking for that beauty since then. It was also a reminder that these guys weren’t so different from me, and I needed to work on my condescending attitude.

I didn’t want to start an argument that would spoil the moment. But my inner smart aleck, never far from the surface, spurred me to pursue the point.

“Yeah, it’s right there among the other pigeons. The only difference in that one bird is that its feathers are all white, instead of being gray here and green there and white in a few places. Look at the shape of it.”

“Okay, but still, that one’s white. That’s what’s different about it.”

Gates said, “Back in Texas, there’s a lot of white doves. They’re not hard to catch, and pretty good eating.”

I was interested. I’d never heard of dove hunting before.

“Oh, man,” Ontraverros said, making a mock-disgusted face. “In New York, we don’t eat the pigeons.”

“No, no,” I said, “he eats doves.”

That brought scattered laughter to the group.

“I call my sister paloma,” Ontraverros added. “I wouldn’t ever call her ‘pigeon’.”

“Hey,” Hayes said, “I call my girlfriend ‘pigeon’. Or sometimes ‘pigeon-pie’.”

“Ewww”, I said. “You eat pigeons, too?”

“No, dude, I just eat my girlfriend.”

“Aw, man, that’s just nasty,” Gates said.

“Nuh-uh -- that’s why she’s still my girlfriend!”

The white bird started picking at a loogie on the macadam.

“Okay”, Gates said, “I ain’t eatin’ that dove.”

A pigeon with completely black feathers, as well as black feet and beak, settled among us.

“Look at that one,” Hayes said. “That’s called melanism. It’s the opposite of being an albino.”

Rogers said, “Nah, man, that’s a black pigeon.”

“No, no,” Ontraverros said, “that’s a black dove, man!”

This time the laughter was general.

 

http://www.yourdailypoem.com/listpoem.jsp?poem_id=2457

The Magic Eight-Ball says, "The map is not the territory."

Elseworlds

https://youtu.be/bRRjlIycb9o

 I like making up my own Elseworlds stories - I'm sure that's not a rarity.

I think it's too bad that Wonder Woman's German Expressionist Elseworld was based on  The Blue Angel rather than Alraune.

A girl named "Diana" is raised on an island in the Baltic Sea by a group of scientists who think of her as a science experiment rather than a person. She is physically and mentally extraordinary, but seemingly heartless - until, of course, her existence is discovered by Luftwaffe pilot Stefan Traeger, who awakens her capacity for love.

One of my favorite "Imaginary Elseworlds", though (one I'd REALLY enjoy actually seeing) is, "Crash Kent on the Planet Krypton" Yes, a retelling of Flash Gordon in which reporter Lois Lane and football player Clark "Crash" Kent (an ordinary Earthman in this universe) wind up accidentally flying in Doctor Luthor's rocketship (blue with red fins, of course) to the rogue planet Krypton which is on a collision course with Earth. There, they find it inhabited by a myriad of strange races, from the winged Hawkmen of the flying city to the swift-footed Flashmen of the central desert and the Aquamen of the Sea of Monsters.

It is a world ruled by the bald tyrant Dox and his many sons (although his Number Five son seems to be dubious of Dox's reign).

Crash, naturally, disapproves of Krypton's system of government, and joins the underground, but it seems there is little hope to overturn the tyrant...until Crash happens upon a legendary artifact, a green ring which glows like a tiny lantern....

Admit it, that would be a way cool Elseworld.

The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Maybe"....

We Never Belonged To You

Dear Mom and Dad:

Thank you for all the care and love you put into rearing us. We are all pretty well-adjusted and well-launched into life, and we have you to thank for a lot of that.

You need to know, though, that we are launched into life. We’re not your babies anymore. We need to decide things for ourselves now.

Last week at Thanksgiving, you both attacked Bettina for bringing Leslie to dinner, and belittled their relationship. We were all shocked at your behavior.

Leslie is the person Bettina is closest to, at least for now he is. The fact that they are not romantically involved is beside the point. Bettina isn’t looking for a romantic relationship, and like Leslie, she might very well be aromantic. Or, she might just be focussing on her career right now, and will be open to romance later on in life. That’s irrelevant. What matters is, it’s Bettina’s life, and you need to respect that.

 

https://genius.com/Margaret-atwood-the-moment-annotated

The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Nope."

It Happened so Quickly

We’d gotten up early to drive to Portland. This was the culmination of years of effort, struggle, sacrifice, tedium, false starts, disappointments, embarrassment, humiliation.

Anyone who thinks adoption is easier than pregnancy and childbirth should come try it for themselves.

But now, we had finally come here, to this spot at PDX, the Portland International Airport. Standing together, the three of us, John and Kathe and Waldy, waiting for them to come.

We saw a pair of dark-skinned girls, but as they got closer we saw that they were not Hamitic, and older than the girls we expected, and there was no boy with them. We saw another girl, and looked for her sister and brother, and didn’t see them, and went back to waiting.

Finally, we saw what we were looking for: two girls and a little boy, all dressed in white linen Ethiopian formal wear, and wearing small backpacks. And they saw us as well. First one girl, then the other, then they called their brother’s attention to us.

They didn’t run. They’d surely been cautioned not to run, and they were good kids. But they picked up their pace a little bit, and it felt as though I was connected to them by an elastic bond that drew them toward us.

Then they were in our arms, my wife hugging one girl while I hugged the other, then the little boy, who had already hugged Waldy.

Touching them seemed to make them real. These were our kids. We were their parents.

It happened so quickly.

The Magic Eight-Ball says: "Hurry up and wait".