Morning was off to the unusual start.
Yoga. Coffee. Son to School. Coffee. Work. Coffee.
Then out of the corner of my eye from a seat in the sunroom, I spot a large dark feathered form, pear-shaped, sitting atop the 7-foot high chain link fence in the backyard.
I stage yell, not knowing what it is or how good it can hear and not wanting to scare it off, to my husband to come see this massive fowl that is perched on our fence.
“I think it’s a …” I search through my Big Bird Names and recall the hippie music festival I went to once in upstate New York. “… a Blue Heron.” But squinting more closely at its dark brown feathers quickly add, “… or maybe the North American Sepia Heron.”
“Cool. It’s a wild turkey!” he says.
Wild Turkey (Washington, D.C. November 2013)
Right. Turkey. That was my next guess.
And it makes sense. Our backyard is only minutes from the center of Washington, D.C. And Benjamin Franklin did want to make the wild turkey the national bird of the United States. Not the bald eagle, a scavenger that, according to Franklin, is a bird “of bad moral character” and “does get his Living honestly.” Lastly but least, it’s my husband’s favorite bourbon.
Excited and impressed, my husband snaps a quick picture of the turkey retreating to the woods. Pointing out nature, something not in my nature, connects me closer to my husband, who like Mr. Franklin has strong opinions about wildlife and woodland creatures and says things like, “You know, people may not know it, but squirrels had it pret-ty good back in Colonial Times. Pret-ty good, indeed.”
Always the good host, I go to The Google to find out what turkeys eat and feel very prepared that I can concoct a suet patty from the morning’s bacon grease and a collection of chia and flax seeds collecting dust in my pantry.
With one wild turkey that just happened to wander through my yard, I strengthen connections to nature, my spouse, a Founding Father and the Colonial importance of my address. I have learned the definition of and recipe for “suet” and with a major score in the nature siting games, will most likely get lucky later in the day. Cha-cha.
All in all, a pret-ty good morning.
But like a dead canary in the coal mine or one of Edgar Allen Poe nefarious ravens, The Turkey is a harbinger of things to come.
I’m still basking in my hey-I-spotted-a-turkey moment when my husband yells down from his political HQ (Home Quarters).
“Hey! Cher just mentioned me in a Tweet!”
And then he calmly continues his political call, something about candidate viability.
What stars aligned for this to happen? Just how do my husband and The Cher connect on Twitter?? Turns out, when my husband comments that biker bitches and Cher pioneered tattoos, she adds “AND Janis Joplin” to the conversation. She just chimes in from CherLand to connect to his Twitter conversation. Just like that.
However shallow and tenuous this connection is, I relish it. I relive every minute spent watching The Sonny and Cher Comedy Hour as a little girl which I would have linked to but couldn’t find any episodes that are still funny. (One of those things better left in one’s memory.)
But I will link to Moonstruck, because she beat out Meryl Streep, Holly Hunter and Glenn Close for the Academy Award for Best Actress. And it’s a really great film.
Sigh. Just look at her. Cher. My Close Personal Friend.
I relive every costume party where I dressed like her because I have her 80s hair and with
just a hint a lot of make up can fake her nose, eyes and cheekbones. Add some feathers, dim the lights and I can almost pull it off.
This attempt to connect to The Cher makes me feel cheap but that doesn’t stop me from sharing our newly found friendship on Facebook. Or blogging about it. Obviously. Like a one-night stand with a long-standing crush I sacrifice all self-respect for a little more time together.
I’m so Moonstruck that I don’t even mind that my husband’s National Treasure, a long-necked beauty with exotic plumage, trumps mine by a long shot. A gorgeous Vegas-style long shot.