Yesterday, moments before Sergei started standing way too close to me and breathing on my knee, I saw four or five of a new bird at the bird feeder. I had barely enough time to identify them as carolina chickadees before the sky turned black and the first wonderful thunderstorm of the summer rolled in. It was a mean one too and I was glad to be at home with tea and candles and Tuzanor while it shook the trees and poured down the rain. The chickadee, according to my bird book, is a common visitor to bird feeders. Apparently, they also move about in groups. I hope they got plenty of sustenance before the storm and that I will see them again.
I don’t know if it surprised anyone that I didn’t say anything about Reagan’s death, considering how often I babble on about political things. I heard and read plenty of vitriol and plenty of homage in the days following and found myself to be fairly detached from it all. He was neither hero nor scoundrel to me. He wasn’t much of anything to me, though I grew up in the right timeframe to have been profoundly affected by him. Still, he’s no kind of icon for me and his death was just one of those inevitable things that happens and moved me not much at all. I guess that’s part of the legacy of growing up overseas. However, a death that struck a chord and moved me very deeply was that of Ray Charles. It was strange to me that one death could be so meaningless and the other so meaningful, especially given the far reaching consequences of Reagan’s actions as president. Hearing about Ray Charles’ passing affected me the same way hearing about George Harrison’s and Jorge Luis Borges’ did. All the good ones are leaving us. Where are they going? Will there be more ones as gifted as these in the next generation? Their departure makes us all a bit smaller, shallower, emptier, and more alone. Reagan may have changed the world, but it’s Ray Charles I’m going to miss.