Ann Curry, Kurt Vonnegut and other things I've been meaning to write about

I've spent the last couple of days, like most of the nation I'm sure, watching the unbelievable coverage from Virginia Tech, feeling tense, sad and helpless. While I can't express, at least not in any graceful way, how much I feel for the victims' families, friends and everyone affected by the tragedy, I do hope everyone involved gets the support they need during this obviously very difficult time. Whether appropriate or not I don't know, but there are always those breaks in the clouds that remind us why this life is worth living, for instance, while watching the neverending news reports this morning on "The Today Show," J got very excited when Matt Lauer, who is on location in Blacksburg, turned the camera back over to those in the New York City studio, who just so happened to be Ann Curry, Natalie Morales, and another attractive young female, whose name I don't know. No matter, the point it they were sitting on the couch in that pink-hued studio in their nicely tailored suits, and J excitedly looked up from his science paper and said, "Cara, LOOK! Look at them," you know, as though I might share his male enthusiasm for the pretty, unattainable newscasters. I am glad he tells me about his various crushes, however, as I find it adorable he has them. Particularly cute is fondness for Ann Curry, his favorite. Seriously, I don't know what he'd do if she left the show. J reminded me this morning that my father shares the feeling. Apparently one morning when we were home for Christmas vacation, he and J were the only ones up, watching the morning news, and my dad, in the midst of various phone calls, reading the mail, basically holding court from his designated seat in the den, looked up and said, "That Ann Curry, she's an attractive broad."

In other news, I was struck last week by the death of Kurt Vonnegut, whose name always brings up memories of high school for me. The thing is, I wasn't one of those kids obsessed with him, but my friend Matt sort of was and I remember, before he moved away to New Orleans for our senior year (a fate worse than death for two close high school friends), he gave me his copy of "Breakfast of Champions," which was slightly tattered, the pages soft, leading me to believe he'd read it maybe four or five thousand times. This is how I became inducted into Vonnegut's world and I read many of his books afterwards, my favorite being - not "Cat's Cradle," which all the dramatic adolescents seemed to love - "God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater," mainly because I found that foot-long pubic hair bit hilarious. I recommend it if you're up for a good laugh. In my mind it's on par with John Kennedy Toole's "A Confederacy of Dunces" -that subtle, touching humor.

And of course, in the midst of the incidents that shape our entire world are the lovely, if mundane, harbingers of spring, the fact that bluebirds have once again inhabited the bluebird house in our back yard, built a nest, laid eggs and two new babies hatched just the other day. J says they're featherless and tiny. The azaleas - two shades of pink, as well as white - have blossomed in the front yard, and the dogs have taken to basking in the patches of warm grass when I let them out in the back, that is until they spot a herd of deer in the woods behind our house, or decide to harass the dog next door and all is chaotic again.

Concerning birds, and my increasingly worrisome relationship to them

Despite the fact that my first few months without a regular job after returning from Maine last summer were rough, I've really settled into my schedule. I like my days - a lot - I like them so much that sometimes I wonder if I'll be able to return to the structure a regular job requires. I like working from home in our little office/laundry room, completing various freelance jobs and looking for new opportunities. I like checking in with the newspaper where I'm contributing regularly, having a chance to work with and be around people from time to time - part of a team. My days are more organized. Sure, sometimes I turn on "What Not to Wear" while eating lunch, but that's it. I don't get drawn into endless television-watching marathons when the rest of the world is putting in an honest day's work. I've learned to be productive while remaining flexible. For the most part, I'm doing things I like. And when I'm doing things I don't like, I'm able to rationalize their professional value.

Whereas before I tended to get a little depressed if I wasn't sure what to do with myself on a less-than-busy day, now I'm able to redirect my energy and do something worthwhile, if not directly related to becoming famous and scoring a major book deal, and one of my new favorite things to do when I've got time on my hands is take the dogs on a long walk. This is an especially enjoyable activity now that winter is becoming a distant memory. We walk around our adorable neighborhood checking out any new flowers that have appeared in neighbors' yards and thoroughly tiring ourselves out. Mina views the walk as a hunt - she's constantly ready to kill man or beast with the brute force her 10-pound body can deliver - but Cecilia is happy to plod along by my side, her tongue hanging out the side of her mouth, looking up at me every once in a while as though to say, "Isn't this the best?" - so I sometimes leave the smaller dog home. She's just a little intense, which I explain to her as she looks on, bewildered, when I bypass her pink leash and leave it hanging on the hook. "Sorry, it's not happening," I tell her.

Today was one of those days so Cecilia and I, both in a good, carefree mood, set off on a walk. It's been one of those indescribably beautiful days in North Carolina, the sky a pure, intense blue and the temperature - there's no better way to say it - perfect, around 75 degrees.

We'd gotten a few blocks from the house when I heard an unfamiliar noise, much different than the other neighborhood noises I'm used to. I know what most the common birds sound like because J, in addition to pointing their calls out to me, now has books and CDs that play their songs. And many, many thanks to everyone who gave him those books and CDs as presents, by the way. No, really.

But this sound - this sound was unlike the others - a loud, repetitive screeching and I stopped in my tracks, checking the sky and nearby trees for the source. I realized, of course, that this might be a bird J had not seen - a bird he hadn't even heard of, maybe - and that if I caught a glimpse and identified it I'd succeed in a rare double-win situation where I'd get to surprise my husband with the discovery of a new bird AND beat him by seeing it first.

I searched high and low, dragging my confused dog around with me, until I found what I was looking for. A low-hanging tree branch, swaying in the soft springtime breeze, was scratching back and forth against a metal bus stop sign, producing the high-pitched, avian-like noise I'd heard. Not a bird at all, but instead a rather shocking moment where I wondered what on Earth had gotten into me. Was I, too, now obsessed with birds through osmosis or proximity?

After we'd nearly completed our regular loop and were on our way back to the house, Cecilia and I stopped to watch a caterpillar make it's way across the street. She perked up her ears and lowered her head, placing her nose nearly right on top of its furry back as she watched it crawl, but lost interest after only a few seconds and we moved on. And then I realized that's the thing about she and I, we're not out for the hunt and probably never will be. We're too distracted to get worked up about the specifics and that's why it's important that we live with others who alert us those life-changing events, like the sighting of a Downy Woodpecker, or the arrival of the mailman.