Since I started blogging I’ve noticed that my inclination to write blogs runs in spurts. Today I wasn’t in the mood so I thought just for the fun of it I’d try writing anyway. I’m starting to write about six p.m. on Monday evening. Let’s see what might make its way to my first draft pages.
I’ve seldom admitted the suggestion of writers’ block, but then I haven’t been pressured to write except for school assignments long ago. Writing, for me, has always been just for fun. Frankly, I’d be scared to go pro in this or any other venue. I wouldn’t want to write just for money. (Good thing; I might starve.)
So, what if I’m not in the mood? I say to myself, who cares? No one will be upset if I never write again at all. Except me. I'd wish I could get in the mood again though because it’s fun. (These first three paragraphs, you see, are a stalling technique. I’m really waiting to get in the mood.)
My sweet canary doesn’t have any trouble that way. He sings, he swings, he flaps his wings, and then he takes a sip of water or samples the seed cup or a morsel of apple and he’s performing again. How he puts his heart into it! It doesn’t matter to him that I don’t know what he’s saying. Nor does it bother him that I pay attention only a fraction of the time. I love his melodies but can’t make out the lyrics at all. Does he know? Does he care? Apparently not. God must have made birds to sing for Him. They must have more in their make-up to put them in the mood than vanity or mere instinct. What is it?
I admit that at times I feel sorry for Tommy. Does he know what he’s missing by having been born into captivity? Is his song his secret open gate to freedom? I know many people think we should not buy birds. They think it’s cruel to deny them their original habitats and that if everyone would stop buying birds the industry would die out. Like real fur coats. Maybe. But this little creature who graces my home? He was there in the pet shop waiting for someone to take him home. Someone would have bought him. Why not me? He will not father any more of his kind. Is that good? I’m not sure.
If I were totally convinced that it is cruel to raise birds in captivity I might start a campaign to outlaw that. But I’m no spring chicken. It’s too late for me to become a wild bird activist. Someone else will have to take up the cause. Anyway, one of the most bird-loving persons I ever met, one who took countless people on early morning bird-watching walks and knew about as much as any bird lover on earth, (Doc Wanamaker) had a half dozen or more canaries and other birds in his home. I never asked him if he felt guilty about that. Should I feel guilty about my Tommy Tucker?
I think not. Tommy’s singing is natural. His swinging too. He’s great company even though he doesn’t like to be petted or touched. He shows appreciation for the care I give him and he sings all day long whether he has an audience or not. That must mean he’s healthy and happy, don’t you think? I would be grateful to have something to keep me so in-the-mood.
Well, what do you know? My blogger friends can thank one small songster for this one. It’s taken about two and a half hours to write this first draft. Editing will come later and then I may feel in the mood to press the button that says, “Publish.” If so, you can thank Tommy!