Joy, Birds, and Barium

Last night, sitting on the deck in darkness, drinking wine, we heard the distinctive sound. Mi novia launched the Merlin app on her phone. The phone listened and informed her of the bird’s identity: a Great Horned Owl.  We have not seen the bird…well, maybe we have. Sometimes, especially in the evening hours, a large unidentified bird swoops down close to us, but its sudden appearance and its speed make impossible even a cursory guess as to its identity. We have heard it, though. Many times. This time, though, technology at the ready, we could tell who was producing those soft but piercing sounds. It is hard—perhaps impossible—to adequately describe a sound so that the listener (to the description, not the sound) can accurately imagine the noise. But that is another post. Identifying the Great Horned Owl as the bird responsible for the sound that we had earlier correctly identified as an owl, but not what kind, added to our recently-developed “current-location life list” of birds seen and/or heard. The list would be considerably longer if experiences in other places at other times were included; but, then, the “current-location” modifier would be invalid. At any rate, the “current-location life list” now includes the following:

• White-breasted nuthatch
• American crow
• Blue jay
• Carolina wren
• Red-eyed vireo
• Summer tanager
• Ruby-throated hummingbird
• Tufted titmouse
• Carolina chickadee
• Pine warbler
• White-eyed vireo
• Pileated woodpecker
• Mallard
• Downy woodpecker
• Red-bellied woodpecker
• Great Horned Owl

I do not know why each word in the owl’s name is capitalized; that is the way I see it in print, so that is the way I show it here.

If I were to add to my “life-list” experience by documenting all of the mammals—and all the reptiles—I have seen in my lifetime, I suspect I would surprise myself with the size and the diversity of the list. Add insects and the list would be overwhelmingly long; I doubt I would have enough strength in my fingers to type the entire list.

We share the planet with so many types of other creatures. It boggles the mind. With the remarkable diversity of life on Earth, I can only begin to imagine the possible diversity of life in our own galaxy. Or the entire universe. Stunning. Mind-boggling. Breath-taking.

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This morning, I return to my oncologist’s radiology lab to have a follow-up CT scan. The procedure this time requires me to drink a large bottle of mocha-flavored barium in advance of the scan; half two hours beforehand and half one hour before. I just finished the first roughly eight ounces of delicious, filling barium. In half an hour, I’ll drink the other. I am not quite sure why I was asked to drink the barium (though I have done it before, I did not ask), inasmuch as the cancer I hope I have defeated was in my lung, not my gastrointestinal track. Perhaps I’ll ask the technician this morning. But he/she may not know. So I’ll ask the oncologist next week, when I go in for the follow-up visit to learn the results of the CT scan. Though almost five years have passed since my lung cancer surgery, I get a bit on edge sometimes, thinking about the possibility of a recurrence. My intent always is not to worry when there is nothing I can do about the situation—either I remain cancer-free or it returns—but remaining worry-free about the issue is close to impossible. I do not worry a lot; but on occasion I worry. Worry seems to blossom in connection with follow-up visits involving tests. That is natural, I suppose.

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Phaedra is yowling. She is locked away in the laundry room, where I feed her and where I lock her away in the mornings so she does not wander the house making noise. At least the sounds are muted behind the door. But when they become loud enough, I tend to let her out. I realize, of course, by letting her out when the sound becomes almost deafening, I am teaching her how to get free from her prison cell. I know it, but I continue doing it, nonetheless. Insanity, personified. Right here. In my head.

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Joy. Does everyone feel joy? Would they all admit it, if they did? I am thinking of a guy— a high-school dropout who has reached early middle-age and is employed as a laborer in a rural area. Even if he experiences joy, would he admit it? Is admitting feelings of joy something only “wussies” do? That’s the sense I get, though I may be entirely wrong. I try to keep my biases out of certain of my writings, but I just cannot control them sometimes. Ach! Time is scooting past apace. I have to stop and drink my second glass of delicious mocha-flavored barium, then take a shower. I might as well end this post now. And so I do.