Shell-less Birdseed

So anyway, I'm watching TV last night when an ad comes on for shell-less birdseed, gets the birds up near your windows and doesn't leave behind a mess when our fine, feathered friends depart.

I like that. I'm thinking I'll buy some of that birdseed because what annoyed me last time we tried a bird feeder was that gaggle of weeds sprouting sinfully beneath the darn thing, or else the shards left in a mess on the deck. Birdseed that doesn't leave a mess?--I like that. I'd love to sit at our kitchen table and watch birds ten feet away on our desk. I know tons of people who've built a loyal and colorful and entertaining clientele just outside their windows.

And they're all old.

There may well be tons of folks who, at thirty, love bird feeders and the customers they attract, but I don't know many. Most of them are old--like me.

So I say to myself, what is about getting old that prompts people to love birds just outside their windows? Why is it that some nights, just staying home feels better than anything? How is it that, come late summer especially, a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich a little taste of heaven? I've always carried more weight around than I should, but how is it that only in the last several years have I come to a point where I can really say I love food--taste, texture, whatever? The food on your plate, my feet up in the easy chair, the birds just outside, the first cool touch of fall?--they've all become far more precious than I ever thought such things to be.

And what on earth is High School Musical? I don't know. My granddaughter is really into it, my daughter says, and I don't even know what she's talking about. I suppose I should, but I'm not going to chase it down. And why should I care that David Beckham's knee went out whilst he was playing soccer? I don't even know who he is--and, what's worse, I don't care.

Just give me that shell-less birdseed, and I'll be happy, I swear--a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich and I'll be rich.

My bones are creaking this morning, as always, but I think--turning sixty soon--that aging offers an occasional blessing.

Or at least that's why I'd like to think.

Did I mention this cup of coffee beside me this morning?--good night, what a blessing.