ROBBIE




By Marjorie C. Lundstrom, Written in 1968




The wind was blowing white puffs of clouds across the sky, one afternoon early in August, when we found our baby.




My husband said, " We'd better kill him; he'll never live."




I pleaded, " Oh no! Let's try to raise him."

He smiled and reluctantly replied, " Alright; but we're really letting ourselves in for something !"




There in the grass, a few inches off the terrace, lay small, round ball of feathers. Two brilliantly black eyes watched; but there wasn't a sound or a movement, as Ernie examined him. The top of his two-inch long body and finger-nail sized wings was thinly covered with downy feathers. There was a moustache line for a tail. His little legs were too weak to hold him; but he wasn't injured.




Ten days earlier, we had found two dead baby robins on the terrace. They looked like miniature, plucked chickens hanging in an old-fashioned market.




Now, with field glasses, we saw the nest, all blown apart, swinging high in the maple tree. A shoe-box with holes in the cover and papers on the bottom, placed on a table in our sun-room, became Robbie's new home.




Ernie dug angleworms, and with eyebrow tweezers, dangled one before him. Nothing happened! Then we tapped his beak with the tweezers and made a clucking sound. The result was hilarious. A wide, opened beak and a long, featherless neck popped out. A small piece of worm was pushed half way down his throat before he would swallow. He could eat at fifteen minute intervals during daylight hours. We also fed him bread soaked in milk. He took naps, and I was surprised that he could sleep with one eye opened. The white-rimmed eyelids came up from the bottom to cover the eyeball. With darkness, he would sleep the whole night through.




I had often wondered how the birds could take their babies' digested debris in their beaks and carry it a distance from their nests before dropping it. On our long, black-topped driveway, a shuffleboard court is painted in white. Many birds choose this area for their dumping ground. Their parcels hit with a widespread, gushy flop. It was a white substance which changed many of the numbers. The court became a crazy-quilt of patterns, resembling an abstract painting.




As Robbie's foster mother, I soon learned how they accomplished this feat without soiling themselves. Robbie's digested exodus was a tissue-covered, jelly-like oval; which was odorless and left only a dampened spot on the paper in his box.




We called him, "Robbie". He quickly learned his name, and to recognize our voices. He soon discovered that he had vocal cords. His Chirps were wavery at first and less than melodious; but they brought him attention. This to him meant food; and the more we gave him, the louder his voice became.




Within a week, he was standing on his wobbly legs and pushing his big head and long, scrawny neck against the box top. Ernie said: " He looks like an old gentleman, who has forgotten his collar and tie."




A day later, I came indoors and found the cover pushed open, and Robbie was gone. I called:" Robbie, where are you? He answered with a friendly, "Chirp." He was exploring the magazine shelves, under the window. I immediately borrowed a bird cage. At first, he was somewhat tipsy, balancing himself on the perch.




We searched through many books to learn about feeding baby birds. One authority stated that a baby robin ate 41% MORE than his own weight every twelve hours! We couldn't keep up with his appetite, and gave him bread and milk. Ernie had made an electrical equipment to force worms to the ground's surface, which he used to obtain bait for his fish-pond. We filled a keg with dirt and worms and grass; but because of a drought, the worms were going deeper.




We received much friendly advice: " Give him grass."; "Give him lettuce."; " Give him ground beef." There was hamburg in the refrigerator; so I tried that. He ate it. I left to do other work.




A short time later, Ernie came inside and said: "Something is wrong with Robbie; he's acting strangely." I rushed to him. Yes, there he was, crouched low on the perch, his feathers puffed out, his head held against his body, and making a quivering movement. Ernie wondered: " Is he cold?" Standing behind the cage, I noticed Robbie's little rear-end, which was still naked. I exclaimed: " He is straining; the poor, little fellow is constipated: ! The fat in that hamburg was too much for his digestive system, considering his age."




" Of course," Ernie agreed, " The grit and fluid in the worms did the trick." He held him in his cupped hands, while I forced open his beak and forced three teaspoonfuls of warm water into it. He swallowed only a portion of it. We put him back on his perch and he stood upright.Shortly thereafter, the desired results occurred, and we put clean papers in his cage. Clean papers were put under his cage, before and after each feeding; because he had very rapid digestion.




We had to continue digging worms. The next day at the market, I asked the butcher to grind some beef that had no fat in it. We used this as a supplement to his diet.




Beside our house are bushes and during the summer and fall, birds feast on the berries they produce. Ernie brought in some small ones and gave one to Robbie. He swallowed it and opened his beak for another. We gave him three and waited to see if he digested them. A minute later, his beak popped open and out through the wires of the cage, flew a berry. Then came the second one, and finally, the third. He had upchucked them, one at a time!




As he grew, downy feathers appeared on his breast. There were brown spots on it; which showed his relationship to the thrush family. His stubby, little wings were growing larger; and he'd sit on the perch and flip them up and down. If we held the cage door open, and called: "Come out"; he'd come and perch on your fingers and "Chirp", for food. Then he might walk up your arm and sit on your shoulder. A few times he flew about the room.




His feeding time now was every half hour, but his intake was more. It was a laughable sight, when we put a long worm in his beak. He swallowed part of it, and then stopped to rest. The worm crawled out of his throat and dropped off his beak! He still would not pick up worms, not even a portion of one. We tried putting a small one on the floor, pointed to it with the tweezers, and said: " Look! There's a worm." He'd tip his head and look at it with one eye; then with a demanding, " Chirps ", open his beak to be fed. We succumbed to his demands.




I put a dish of water in the cage that he might drink. After pushing his beak into it a few times; he mastered the art of drinking. A half hour later, I went to feed him. To my consternation, he was dripping wet! He had bathed in the water. Each day thereafter, I gave him bath-water; but he bathed only every other day, preferably before noon.




We talked to him a lot and he answered us with a carol of chirps; sometimes running them together in high, gay tones; again they would be soft and slow, like a happy song. The most amazing sound was when we gently stroked him under his beak. Then we were rewarded with a crooning tune. He must have been humming; because his beak remained closed, but we could see movement in his throat. He objected to the smoke from our cigarettes. He made a funny, little, coughing noise, like a miniature hiccup. At night, we put a black cloth over his cage and closed the sun-room door. He didn't like to hear the TV after dark. Truly, we had a boss in our household, and his name was, " Robbie”.




We fed him small pieces of lettuce. He liked it; so I left some on the cage floor. Watching him from a distance, I noted: " He can eat lettuce without help; why not worms? We put small ones on his floor, but he'd just turn his head and watch them crawl out. One day, he came down from his perch and put his foot on one; but the worm crawled out from under and went undisturbed out of the cage. I scolded: " Robbie, why didn't you push those little claws through him and eat him?"




We have business interest in a town fifty miles from home. We occasionally go there for a few days. We put Robbie's cage in the back of our station-wagon; but we were immediately informed in the most raucous of bird language that he would not stay there. We tried to reassure him; to no avail. We feared he might break off a wing-feather by his nervous behavior. We put the cage between us on the front seat. Then he was happy !




We made two stops enroute to Port; so Robbie did get hungry. The last twenty miles, he constantly shrieked for food. He reached through the cage wires and pecked at my husband's wrist. Ernie pulled his arm out of reach; but Robbie could still grab the cloth of Ernie's jacket. He pulled it and shrilly chirped: " I'm here! I'm hungry! Can't you hear me?




In Port, we didn't have time to dig worms; so his diet was mostly beef. I put it in a dish and said: " You must eat that by yourself. " HE DID!!!




Back home again, he turned away from worms; wanted just beef. Hunger forced him to accept the worms again; which he still insisted be hand-fed to him! Then we learned about his temper. After eating a worm, he'd turn his back to us. We'd go around the cage and put our fingers inside. He'd peck them, and hang on! It really pinched and left indentation marks. The small, black feathers on his head would rise, and he'd scream out a harsh, discording note. When not angry, he'd put his beak gently over our fingers.




Almost unperceivably, over the weeks, he had grown; from a baby into adulthood. His pale breast with dark and light spots, was now a sleek, beautiful red; except for the streaked, white patch under his beak, which he will always retain.




It was October, and high in the cloudless sky of early Lundstrom evening, we saw the robins passing constantly southward. We were disturbed. " Would Robbie ever learn to pick for worms?




One morning, I put his cage, minus its floor, on the lawn; and put worms in the grass. He was so nervous at this new location, that he wouldn't look at them. I placed his cage on a large, stone bench. From the doorway, I observed three robins cautiously approach Robbie. They chirped, and he answered them. I don't know what they said; but thereafter, he became very nervous and rambunctious! He kept pushing his beak through the wires, wearing away feathers on each side of his beak. Flying about the cage, which now was too small; he broke off a wing feather and a tail feather. That tail, which we thought would never grow out, was now full size. He must have known it was time to fly south.




That afternoon I put a pan of worms, dirt and grass in his cage. I hid from his view and watched. He went into the pan and ate them unassisted ! " Hurray ! He had learned!"




The next morning I uncovered his cage and saw him sitting on only one leg. " Oh, Robbie " I cried, " What have you done to yourself?" I looked to the bottom of his cage, expecting to see a dismembered leg ! When asleep, his breast feathers were always puffed out like a fluffy powder-puff. When he retracted the feathers, down came the other leg, out of hiding! He stretched out one wing and smoothed its feathers with his beak; then the same procedure with the other one; then he preened the tail. Lastly, the beak was wiped clean on the perch.




I gave him a pan of dirt and worms. He ate them like an old professional!




The next day, robins were on the lawn, so we took the top of his cage outside to the stone bench. I pulled out the perch and let it drop onto the stone.He tipped his head and looked at it,- then at me. I knew he was wondering why i had done that.




We propped open the cage-door and said: " Come out." He looked out, and again we said: "

Come out, Robbie." He did, and with steady, unwavering strokes, flew to the hedge of evergreen trees.




We looked up and called: " Come here. " He wouldn't, but he answered us. Then he began picking bugs from a branch of the Norway-Spruce.




Later, I saw him with the robins, in the lawn. I called his name. They flew, but he stayed and answered me. When I came closer, he joined his friends. The next day, he and four others were in a tree, and I called: " Robbie ". They all flew, but as they passed over my head, I called him again. Making an abrupt turn in midair, he came to a bush near me. We had a conversation. I don't know what he said; but it was friendly. Then he joined the others. Whenever we saw him, we'd call him and he'd stop nearby and chat. A few days later, Robbie and his friends started south.




We do hope that birds can converse with each other. When he marries, what a tale he'll have to tell his family! ! : He had people for parents; he grew up in a house; rode in an automobile and watched TV ! I do hope they'll believe him ! We also hope that he will come back next spring and remember to say, " Hello " to us.




Marjorie C. Lundstrom

Disappointment

 I really thought that our country was smarter.  I was born in 1959 and after all these years of women being treated as second class citizens, I thought we were ready for change.

My experiences include:

• Being told by my high school guidance counselor that I was good in math and science but those were careers for men.  I was also a good writer, so I should go to college for that.
• Being told at 25 by my grandmother that I was getting old and I should be married.  She said she only buys Christmas gifts for grandchildren that are unmarried and I am the oldest grandchild she "has to buy for".
• Working as a computer repair technician, having people come into the office and asking if there is any men who can help.  I had to prove I knew what I was doing over and over again.

I started a website called Sunbonnetsue.com in 1999 to teach myself HTML (how early webpages were coded).  I was asked to teach it , so I wanted to have a lot of experience with it.   I shared Sunbonnet Sue quilts on the website and when I saw this quilt on eBay, I had to buy it:

It said "Elect a Lady in 1980". It was made when Geraldine Ferraro was running as vice president.  I thought that we would have women president in my lifetime.

I'm so tired of women being pushed aside by men.  When will this end?

We have a little Leprechaun

To M and K

We have a little Leprechaun

Who sits upon the shelf,

He tells us most everything

For he's an Irish elf.

He loves to talk and give advice

And tells us what to do,

We know he's kissed the Blarney Stone

For he even mentioned you.

He said you girls had studied hard

So you'd have passing grades,

He even said we'd never find

Two lovelier Irish maids.

We asked him what we could do

To show we really cared,

He said, "Sure, I've just the thing

That's waitin' to be shared."

He up and danced an Irish jig

Then - Lo and Behold!

He picked something green as shamrocks

Out of his Pot of Gold.

"Send these to Michele and to Kim

Tell each she's an Irish queen,

Hamilton wasn't Irish himself

But he does look good on green."

------

This poem was given to me and my sister Michele at the end of a school year by Aunt Margie.  She included $10, which of course was something green with a picture of Hamilton on it.  What a great way to end the school year... a beautiful poem and a gift of money.

The 50 year old Birthday Gift

 

                            

My grandmother Agnes was always very special to me.  When I was three my mom started working as a part time bookkeeper.  My sister would get on the school bus to go to all day kindergarten and my mom would then drive me to Grandma’s house.  I would stay with her for most of the day and Mom would pick me up so we could get back home to meet the school bus again.

Those days with Grandma were special.  She had a cat named “Bridget O’Flynn”.  If I called the cat Bridget she would correct me, “Kim, the cat is Bridget O’Flynn”.  She told me she named the cat after a dear friend in Ireland.  

My grandmother was an immigrant who came to the United States in 1930.  She was sponsored by a cousin because her family in the County of Wexford, Ireland felt my Grandma was in danger of becoming an old maid.  Her chances for marriage were better in America.  She never got to go back to Ireland again.

Because I got to spend so much of my childhood with my Grandma, we had a special bond.  Her house was right across the street from my school.  We would visit with her almost every day after school and then Grandma would serve us a cup of hot tea with Irish soda bread and send us home.

When I was nine my Grandfather died.  It left my dear Grandma Agnes alone.  Also,  the house they lived in belonged to the church and since my grandfather worked for the parish, they got the house as a job benefit.  Now that grandpa was gone, Grandma Agnes had to move.

She found a second floor apartment over a shoe store downtown.  The discount store Newberry's was across the street.  I could walk to the apartment from my house so I would frequently visit her.   

My birthday is December 20th.  It is a crazy time with Christmas planning and my birthday often gets lost in the chaos.  I had an aunt who said “oh that’s right, Kim, it's your birthday.  Go ahead and open your Christmas present from me early.”   My birthday was often forgotten.

Grandma Agnes asked me to come to her apartment on my 13th birthday in 1972 and she had a birthday gift for me.   I was very excited to be a teenager.  I opened the gift and it was a Christmas tree angel.  I could tell she bought it across the street at Newberry's discount store.  I was not that thrilled to get a Christmas decoration for my birthday.  But I loved her so much I thanked her and gave her a big hug.  She made the effort to remember my day.  Little did I know that that angel that I wasn’t thrilled with would become such an important gift.

In June of 1973, Grandma Agnes died.  That Christmas angel would be my last birthday gift from Grandma.  I pray to her often and still follow her advice.  In fact, I named my cat Bridget O’Flynn.

Through the years the angel probably spent more time not being used for Christmas.  At 13, I still lived at home and my parents had a beautiful star at the top of our tree, so I lit the angel and had it in my bedroom.  

When I was married my husband didn’t like the angel so some years she didn’t make it to the top of our tree.

But in 2009, I started living on my own again and the angel has made the top of my tree for many years.  Yesterday I was putting the angel on the tree and I did the math.  The angel has been with me for 50 years.  Every time I decorate, I think of Grandma Agnes.

So that gift that I was not really thrilled with for my 13th birthday, has given me joy for 50 years.  Thanks Grandma for a truly special Birthday gift.  You never know how important a small gift can become.  

Skyscrapers

 by Marjorie C. Lundstrom

From my window I can see

    The most unusual scenery;

But not a single spear of grass - nor a tree

The tons of stone and steel and glass amazes me!

Oh buildings, with your thousand eyes,

    Reaching high into the skies;

You cost a fortune to erect - and many lives.

The concrete dream of architect and business enterprise!

Through Tides of Change

 by Marjorie C. Lundstom

Michigan, 1924

Chapter 1

   The night was dark and deserted.  The thick fog swept down in a suffocating mass.  The small car picking its way through the haze was the only living thing in the whole world.

    The one sound in the car was the, click, click, click, as the windshield wipers swished an arc across the glass.  The small hands gripping the steering wheel were white at the knuckles with tenseness.  Had anyone been with her they would have noticed that occasionally she would wipe one hand, palm down, across her knee, then would quickly grasp the wheel again; and go through the same procedure with the other hand.

    Ruth Thorne's face was white, her mouth set in a straight line, - but the eyes peering ahead were bright with tears.  The first time that she spoke aloud, she jumped a the sound of her own voice.

    "This can't be true!"  Then she cautioned herself:  I mustn't think, I must just drive.  Well, I'll try:  Let's see.  I'm making twenty miles and hour, that should be slow enough.  Terrible fog.  I never drop in anything like it.  Doug always does, Doug, Doug, where are you?  Who is she?  Millicent, I never heard of her, anywhere.  Certainly is beautiful, who can she be?  Where did she come from?  who is she?  Who? Who? Who?  oh, stop thinking bout it!  When you don't know, you don't know, and that's that!  So stop it, I tell you.  Think of your driving, and nothing else:  It's quite a drive from Anne's, never noticed before.

    White clouds rose against the windshield and ran down like rain.  The car was just creeping new.  Ruth leaned forward, straining her eyes.  She thought, no wonder it was so warm dancing, this air, it's awful.  I wonder if Anne noticed that I left alone?  No, she wouldn't, there are too many people.  I wonder when he'll come home?  He said not to wait up.  That he wouldn't be home, will be stay at Anne's?  No, he wouldn't stay there at Millicent's.  Oh God, who is she?  What does she mean to him?  Where does she live?  Oh stop it, stop thinking , I tell you!  but good heavens, how can I?  This is my life, my marriage, going to pieces.  No!  It can't be! I won't havit it so!  I've got to do something, but what?  I'll kill her before I'll let her come between us!  Oh, what a kind of crazy talk is this?  Get a hold of yourself!  Yes, but "Love, honor and cherist", certainly meant longer than six months!!  We've been so happy, how could you do such a thing, Doug!  How could you change so, just when you met her?  But you knew her before though?  Didn't you?  When?  How did you know her?  oh God, if I only knew, Knew what , she asked herself,  Well what is all means, what ia ll means, waht it means.  What should I do?  Oh, I dont know, I love him and want him always, that's all I know.  Oh heavens!

    She stepped on the brake, stopped, then backup up a few feet and drove into the circling driveway.  

    A smile whic did nothing but life her lips upwards move over her face, and she tought:  I'm glad June left the lights on when she weht home.  Leaving the car in the driveway, she walked slowly into the house.  She dropped her gloves on the hall talbe and glanced at hte mirror's reflection.  Silently she said: "You look like the same person.  But the eyes staring back at her said, No six hours ago, you had different eyes, eyes blue with laughter: gay, happy eyes, but now,...she turned wearly away.

    Ruth sat before her dressing table, and methodically removed her make-up.  She told the white face in the glass: "maybe I can think more clearly in the morning.  Sunlight is better than fog.  I will find a way to hold our lives together, the way it was, it's got to be the way it was. "  And she walked to the bathroom, took a sleeping tablet, and crawled into her bed.

    The next morning when the maid brought two glasses of orange juice to the table, Ruth said, "Only one breakfast, June.  Mr. Thorne was called away on business last night."  She hoped she sounded convincing.

    "Will he be back for dinner, Mrs. Thorne?"

    "He didn't know, I'll probably hear today.  In either case, we'll eat out this evening.  So, when you have finished your work this afternoon, you may go."  This was certainly embarrassing, making excuses to one's own servant!

    Ruth found that she was glas that she had an appointment at the beauty parlor this morning.  Driving into the city she decided that the only sane thing to do was to see Doug and talk to him.  She knew that he was at the office, Otherwise Miss Sterns would have phoned the house for instructions.

    As she came out of the beauty salon she stopped before a long mirror.  Her auburn hair curled tightly around her small face.  She pushed her hat farther back on her head and went to her car.  Through her mind flashed a picture of the girl, Millicent, and she thought: She was so beautiful!  

    She purposely drove pas the tall building where Doug's offices were located.  And she questioned: Should she go up?  It's so strange to be afraid to go there!  But he might be out.  What if he should refuse to see me?  After last night, I can't tell how he'll be.  But he was drinking then, he'll be different now.  How do I know that he will?  Because of our six months!  One night and that woman just can't wip out those months!

    Don't be afraid, she told herself.  Everything's going to be alreigh.  It has to be, I know, I'll phone, ask him to come to lunch with me!  After all, I'm his wife.  Certainly should have some explanation why I should be sent home alone, so that he cout take her home!

    She left the car in a parking lot and walked determinedly to a drugstore telephone.  After dropping the coins into the box, her hands shook so much that she could hardly dial the number.  The secretary answered and upon Ruth's request to speak to Mr. Thorne, replied: "he is out to lunch with a customer.  Is there any message?"

    "Thanks, I'll call later."  Going out of the booth she thought: Good thing I seldom call, Miss Sterns didn't recognize me.  But I will Call later, ask him to meet me for dinner.  I've go to know what all this means!

    Just as she was entering the Gaey Tearoom, she met Anne.  Her sister-in-low smiled and exclaimed:

       "Rue, I've been trying all morning to get you.  June said you'd gone out.  Are you meeting Doug or anyone for lunch?"

    Ruth replied that she was alone, and Anne continued: "then come in and eat with me.  I want to talk to you."

    As they went from the lobby into the cool dining room beyond soft strains of music greeted them.

    When they were seated at a secluded table, and their order taken, Anne took out her cigarette case and offered one to Ruth.  She smoked for a few minutes in silence, glancing over the room.  They she looked across at Ruth, took a deep breath, and began:

    "Now, don't think I'm meddling, my dear, but I know something went wrong at my party last night, something between you and Doug.  You've been my friend for too many years, for me not to be concerned.  All through college we shared our problems, and that was long before you met Doug, and now that you're my sister-in-law, please don't stop, just because it happens to be about Doug."

    Ruth's face had taken on a guarded look, but Anne kept on:  "He's my brother, yes, but has has his faults, plenty of them, some of them I may know better than you do.  Now tell me, just what did happened last night?  There were so many people, I didn't get a chance to talke to you.  It wasn't until Doug was leaving that I learned that you had gone on alone.  When I saw him taking to Millicent Turner home, I didn't know what to think.  An couldn't find out, with her with him.  I couldn't sleep, worrying.  Tell me, Rue, is anything wrong?"

... to be continued

Not New York

 Written by Kim Cronin, 1982

Four.

She believes in leprechauns
little men that enchant me
with their tricks 
and their magic
and their rainbows
and their gold.
She tells me all about them
and how she almost saw one
as a little girl in Ireland.
My Grandma was so lucky
to live in a land of magic

not New York.

I wish I lived in Ireland

just like grandma.

Eight.

Grandma says a leprechaun 

snuck in last night

finishing the candy.

He didn't leave a trace.

Maybe it was Grandpa

munching on the taffy.

Don't leprechauns live in forests?

In Ireland?

Do they steal?

I'm not sure Grandma has 

her leprechauns straight.

It's been a long time since

she was a little girl in Ireland.

Twelve.

My cousin Kelly (such a child)

loves to hear grandma tell stories

of the little green men and magic.

She sits for hours and listens

missing the fun outdoors.

Sometimes I like to come indoors

pretending I'm tired 

just to listen for a minute

to grandma and her stories

But leprechauns can't really exist

at least not in New York.

Sixteen.

My brother broke the glass

not an Irish elf.

Grandma isn't protecting him

by blaming a leprechaun.

I know he did it, 

because leprechauns don't exist

and my brother does.

Her stories are cute

but the only prove her senility.

Twenty-one

Grandma died today.

Her stories went along

Someone should have saved the magic

to pass it on.

But I was too wise

to discuss what appeared nonsense.

Now the magic is stilled with Grandma's lips.

I wish I'd been wise enough

to remember the leprechaun magic

to delight my children in

New York.