Me & God's Pigeons

Grateful readers ought to erect a statue of me in the park — or at least award me a kernel of corn.

About 5 a.m. this morning after another 20+ hour marathon at the computer, I finally finished scanning in that shopping bag full of Barbara White’s newspaper features. (See my August 20^th posting).

The result adds up to 758 pages of text in Word.

Now, all I have to do is turn this raw material into a book (or books).

Since each feature in those 758 pages came from between 2 to six columns of news print and since because of wrinkles, fold, staples, tape, torn ages, uneven copy and bleeds of ink from pages behind — each column had to be scanned one at a time.

Thus, I’ve spent a lot of time recently hunched over the scanner.

This has been pure dogged clerical work; I keep thinking that I could be replaced by a trained pigeon.

Yes, long ago I saw a tv documentary about how some pharmaceutical company had trained pigeons to work in the production of the life-saving prescriptions we take.

Don’t you find that comforting?

They taught the pigeons to tap computer keys in a specific sequence to manufacture the pills. If the pigeon tapped the keys right, a kernel of corn dropped down a chute; if the pigeon goofed, no corn.

Saves the company from having to hire Chinese workers to manufacture the same drugs.

Pigeons work cheep (Lord, I’m clever!) — almost as cheap as I do.

But I don’t think my job is in danger.

Most American pigeons don’t want to do the work I do.

Speaking of pigeons, remember the collapse of that bridge In Minneapolis, Minnesota, that killed all those people on August first?

Well, a study just came out which blames the disaster on pigeons!

Yes, pigeons!

The weight of pigeons roosting under the bridge and their corrosive droppings made the bridge fall killing all those people… If the pigeons can be blamed, then the disaster was an Act of God and the insurance companies don’t have to pay.

It’s all God’s fault.

There’s a news story about the pigeons on the bridge at http://www.guardian.co.uk/worldlatest/story/0,,-6869086,00.html .

I wonder who paid to have this study done?

No, that couldn’t be. Insurance companies are honest.

It had to really have been the pigeons’ fault.

The Bible says that God knows every sparrow that falls; it does not say a word about pigeons.

I’ll bet that Hell is just full of burning pigeon feathers.

Or maybe that’s insurance papers I smell burning.

Speaking of acts of God, I took Ginny out to see one this morning because last night we got into an argument.

You see, while we agree on major issues: politics, religion, Iraq, global warming, etc., other issues divide us.

I’ve heard that if you take care of the big issues, the little ones fall into line.

BULL!

That’s nonsense.

I’ve never heard of a marriage in trouble over nuclear disarmament; it’s the little things that rub.

Our argument last night was over relish.

We ate hotdogs for supper. Hotdogs with mustard and relish.

I scrapped out the last smidgen of relish from the bottom of the jar to go on the last hotdog I had …

Then I went to toss out the empty jar.

That woman I married stopped me.

She said there was still relish in the bottom of the jar.

I said there wasn’t.

She said there was.

She said the bone-empty jar still contained enough relish scraps for a potato salad.

I defended my evaluation of the relish jar.

A heated discussion developed.

I slouched off to the tv room to watch football; she slammed things around in the kitchen.

Irreconcilable differences.

For a time.

It’s all ok now because I’m so thoughtful. Sort of.

As a gesture of conciliation, at 5 a.m. this morning I woke her up to go out in the yard with me to see the eclipse of the moon. Wasn’t that a thoughtful husbandly act?

Shouldn’t viewing a beautiful act of God together strength our relationship?

Not being a nature lover, Ginny proved un-conciliatorized.

She did not relish getting up an hour earlier than usual.

But she got to laughing at my enthusiasm.

It’s all ok between us now.

But, know this: If our marriage ever does break up, it will be all her fault — Hey, I’m not the one who married an idiot.

Back to the statue of me and the pigeons:

When I was a kid there was a funny popular song about a sailor who thought a stature should be erected of himself because of his heroism in World War II.

I only remember the refrain about the pigeons in the park and his statue:

They build nests on Lincoln,
And they build nests on Lee,
Oh, what will they do on me?
On me. Oh, what will they do on me?

That song keeps running through my head this morning.

And I have this strange craving for a kernel of corn!