Birds in the Trees / The Number

Saturday night

Dream 1: Birds in the Trees

I was riding in a car with some other people, and I was in the right front passenger seat. It was a nice sunny day, and as we passed a long strand of green trees to my right, I was pointing out birds to my fellow passengers. At one point one of them said, "What's that?" I looked up to see a beautiful Brown Thrasher sitting on the end of one of the branches. I knew what it was, but for some reason I was drawing a blank, and couldn't remember the name of the bird. I felt like a batter who struck out when the pressure was on; in other words, I choked.

Dream 2: The Number

I was back at work, toiling away on my list of employees, their phone numbers and other assorted information. As I stared at my printout I realized something that I hadn't noticed before: the sales rep. # for every single employee was 1704.

*****

Dream 1: Birds in the Trees

My wife and I have been discussing my memory lately, or lack thereof. It's a source of constant frustration to her, particularly when I'm driving her to work in the morning, and she tells me where she'd like to be dropped off. Frequently I'll ask her 10 or 15 minutes later, "Where would you like to be dropped off today?" I suggest that I might have the beginnings of Alzheimer's or something, but more likely than not, I'm thinking about CD projects or my own upcoming workday, and not paying enough attention to details of our conversations. My friend Preston is a reporter, and, as such, he always carries a small spiral notepad. I think I should probably carry one at all times, to help me remember the important stuff.

This dream probably harkens back to an incident that embarrassed me some 12 or 13 years ago. I was getting into bird watching in the 1990s. One time I was out with my then-friend Tricia and my brother, Andrew, when Andrew noticed some birds flying by. He said, "What are those?" I squinted to see them, but couldn't tell; they were too far away and in direct sunlight. Besides, the coloration wasn't distinct. As I looked through my binoculars, Tricia became impatient. She said, "He doesn't know. C'mon, let's go." She was definitely putting me down, and it stung. It still stings, and that's the feeling expressed in Dream 1.

Brown Thrashers are fairly common, but I've only seen two or three of them. The first one I ever saw was pecking around in the grass in Shenandoah National Park in VA. I saw another one several years ago here in Nashville, in a neighbor's front yard. The Brown Thrasher is a fairly large thrush, with a brown back, long brown tail, curved bill and white breast with prominent brown spots.

I enjoy bird watching, but I'm not sure that I have the patience to be really good at it. In my opinon, there's just way too many brown birds. I frequently say, "If a bird is big, or brightly colored, I can identify it. If it's small and brown, I don't know what the hell it is."

I may have thought about the Brown Thrasher because I'm working on my third straight vintage Springbok jigsaw puzzle, all of which feature pictures of birds, including Brown Thrashers.

Dream 2: The Number

1704?