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7/23/06
Joan feeding baby Mr. Crisp cheese popcorn

Dear Kim:

Little Cayman is also home to a bird species with the funny name, Red footed Booby.

It is said that as much as fifty per cent of the world’s birds stop off in this part of the world on their migration from North to South every year.

I am not a birder. One of those people who delights in spotting birds they have not yet seen, especially is they are rare, and cataloguing them in a journal

I like to see to see all kinds of birds, virtually any kind of bird, whether common or rare. I could care less the names of things.

Instead, my joy comes from sitting quietly so a bird sees I mean them no harm. I like to slowly throw bits of fruit to see how close they can eventually feel comfortable coming to me.

Junior, one of the waiters, knew I was really interested in eating fresh coconut so when he found one on one the ground, he split it open and brought it to our table. My sister was a little grossed out that I chewed some coconut and then threw little bits of it to the birds.

Maybe it was a bit gross to a bystander. It didn’t even occur to me.

Laurel has her wild side but says she draws the line at regurgitation. She is almost always more appropriate than I am. When I see animals, especially birds, most of my reason goes out the window. One of my happiest memories was feeding my cockatiel, Mr. Crisp from my mouth when she was a baby to establish trust. Toast, cheese pop corn, chocolate ice cream. Those were our favorite foods. Ironically, I eat none of that today.

I wonder if Crisp misses those things. If eating them at such a young age ingrained them on her baby bird palette.

Although I didn’t agree with Laurel, I am willing to submit to the protocol of polite society, especially if it concerns her.

(Kim: Laurel appears that she doesn't want to be noticed while you are a socially conscious performance artist using every public occasion as an opportunity to change the world (I hope you don't read that as judgemental).)

I apologized and resumed feeding the birds. This time, with bits of melon from my plate. It was breakfast time and it didn’t seem right to be the only ones eating.

I gave the iguanas bits of egg.

I don’t know the depth of pleasure that Laurel experiences scuba diving. It is hard for me to imagine much that is more pleasurable than having breakfast with her, birds and iguanas in the shadow of a palm tree, each chewing in our own fashion, each doing the thing necessary for all forms of life: eating.

(Kim: It forever amazes me about how different we all are. And tied to that, we are not very accepting of our differences. We have different views on everything, from what constitutes a clean sink to whether war is justified to free people from a mean dictator.)

Later,

Joan

Thursday, March 16, 2006

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