Friday Change Jar, Tri-State Bird Rescue & Research

Of all the heartbreaking images from the Gulf oil spill the ones that have gotten me the most are of the birds. Call it a never suppressed wish that I could fly but I love birds. Especially sea birds. Gulls squabbling among themselves, the humorous dignity of a pelican, watching sandpipers dart with lighting quickness on the shore, and cranes that move and look as living works of art.

Tri-State Bird Rescue is leading the effort to save, clean, and relocate the Gulf coast's avian wildlife. So click, look around, and see if you can spare a tuppence for the birds.



[EDIT] This was actually supposed to go on my blog, but if it's alright with the mods, I think it'd be nice to leave up for the interested.

Let the Circle be Unbroken

Buck was at the third house on his list. He walked up the steps and almost turned on his heels when he saw the Ankh spray painted on the door. But he'd been spotted, an anxious face watched from the window while the door opened. He was greeted by a young woman with a gun, people had taken to guns quite quickly in the aftermath. She looked at him steadily while a third person, an older woman, stood behind her. Strings of beads circled the young girl's throat and hung from her wrists. She spoke, "This is our home, we leave only if you prove you are the owner or a relative."


The person who had watched him from the window had walked next to the older woman, a frightened looking woman who looked to be between the ages of the other two. Buck did not want to press the issue, "I'm not a relative, I'm just looking at a list New Hope gave me." The frightened looking woman winced as if she'd been struck at the mention of that name, the older woman laid her hand on her arm in reassurance. Buck saw the clean living room beyond the armed girl, an altar had been assembled in the corner by the new occupants, pictures surrounded candles and bowls of flowers.


Buck stepped back to go, "thank you and if you need anything I'm sure New-," the girl at the door held up her hand. "Your God is strong but he is young, cruel child," Buck swallowed hard but she continued, "but he is not the only God, there are other Gods and Goddesses, some are more cruel but some are much more kind. They have passed into myth but they're as real as your God. They just need to be remembered and spoken to, and be loved."

Buck didn't know what to say, didn't know if he wanted to say anything. Her words had woven a spell of peace over the women, and himself. She looked at him, not unkindly, "We will see the Earth's children again, we'll see children again. What The Gods mend will be made whole for always. Goodbye and Good Luck."

Buck was at a complete loss, these women needed to be saved, they had rejected Christ, he caught himself, no they had rejected the God of the Rapture. Buck tried to calmly say goodbye but rushed to his car and drove several blocks before pulling into a driveway to rest his head on the steering wheel. They were Pagans, or they had embraced Paganism, or hell, they were like everybody else trying find a thread to hold onto. He knew they would welcome Christ, a sick feeling knotted in his stomach as he guessed they would see no relation between Jesus Christ and the God of the Rapture. Buck's hands tightened on the wheel as he thought of the trouble he was having finding a connection between the two as well.

Bye Bye Blackbird

Buck stopped in surprise at the sight of the young girl enjoying the unseasonably warm day in a lawn chair, a shotgun draped across her lap. She sat in front of a small parking lot half full of cars. Behind the lot was severe looking brick building with a sign planted to the side proclaiming it "Calvary Christian High School." The girl had a sign by her too, a handwritten poster board reading "ALL CARS 100 DOLLARS, NO HAGGLING!" Buck crossed the street, she smiled and stood to greet him.

He noticed a young man sitting on top of one the cars a gun tucked into a shoulder holster, Buck nodded at him and turned his attention to the girl. She was to the point, "100 dollars, no less, cash only, and it's yours, you can keep whatever you find in the car." Buck guessed that the pair had nabbed any jewelry or cash left in the vehicles but nodded. Another figure sitting in one of the cars caught his eye. She was an older woman who looked like she hadn't slept in days, she was staring out in front of her oblivious to anyone or anything. He noticed a basketball jersey knotted twisted in her hands like a rosary. Buck looked at the girl, he was surprised to see her expression soften, "That was her daughter's car, I thought she'd take the car away but she's been coming everyday and just sits there for hours and then goes home."

The girl cleared her throat "So you interested or not? Better act quickly people are starting to jack up the prices now that everybody's trying to get the hell out of dodge, they think it's safe in the country."

"I'm trying to get the hell into dodge," Buck cracked.

He was curious about this girl, she looked to still be in her teens, her partner not much older. He wondered about the woman in the car, he realized for a journalist he had been lacking an essential curiosity. He had been building a strong case of just how much he was lacking over the past two weeks. He looked at the cars, very few had broken windows, the pair had lucked out with a slate of cars unlocked or easy to break into. His eyes settled on a red Mustang.

He had always wanted that car, he remembered tearing up the back roads of Indiana in his cousin Gerry's model, a beauty in solid black. The roar of the engine competing with the hair metal screaming from he stereo, fry containers on the floor, and on rare occasions when the gang would park to watch the stars in a lonely field a smoldering joint in the ashtray. Buck smiled remembering how Tom wore his Slayer shirt until it dissolved in the wash.

It seemed long ago, it was long ago. The girl interrupted his reverie "All the cars have gas in them." That settled it, he could still have found a "freebie" but finding one with a drop of gas in the tank was another matter as people had begun to hoard anything valuable. "The red one," he said, handing her a crisp 100. The youth on top of the car rooted around a bag at his side and tossed the keys to Buck.

She smiled "excellent choice, good luck and take care." He was oddly touched, she seemed to mean it, "You too, the both of you, stay safe." "We will," she said resting her shotgun against her shoulder. Buck opened the car door, "What's your name?" The girl debated answering him, "Sylvie," she said, almost embarrassed, she tilted her head towards the young man, "he's Joe." "Thank you Sylvie and Joe," Buck closed the car door and turned the key in the ignition.

It turned over without a complaint and Buck saw it had over half a tank of gas. Good enough for now, he could find a gas station that was still open later. He looked once more at the older woman, she had not moved. He pulled out of the lot, the younger two watched him go. He looked around the interior of the car, the owner had been a boy, a pile of clothes where crumpled in the passenger seat, Buck guessed these were the clothes of the owner tossed aside when the two had done their sweep of their find. He couldn't bear listening to the news right now, and doubted the youth had anything than the sanitary over processed sounds of Christian pop. He was surprised to find a Beatles mix CD when he looked at a handful of discs tucked into a case on the dashboard. He popped it in and drove into the Chicago darkness.

"Blackbird" wound its melancholy way through the whole of the car and twined itself into Buck's thoughts and he realized he was singing along. The imposing brick heap of the high school faded into blur in the rear view mirror and disappeared.

Cookie Monster Part 2

Previously our protagonist Sarah had witnessed Buck and Chloe making goo goo eyes at each other in the face of a global holocaust. This takes place about a week after that incident.

Sarah pulled down the security gate, Chip, Chip Hooray! had new hours as she didn't want to get home before it got too dark. She took a cursory glance around the small storefront, everything had been cleaned and readied for the next day. She took the till to the tiny room that served as the office and storeroom and began to count.

She didn't know why her thoughts kept returning to that couple but a prickle of guilt that had been constant since reminded her. She probably judged them too harshly, or at the least was hardly in any position to lay down judgement on anybody else. She wasn't supposed to be here.

Chip, Chip, Hooray! was an owner operated franchise, with the owner vanished the store should be closed. And it was, for a day. She had delivered the water to the EMTs and fled back to the storeroom to cry until her eyes ached on the day of The Event. Deciding to close she stopped in front of one of O'Hare's many TVs before exiting the airport.

Another scalding bath of panic washed over her as she saw it was global, as previously unflappable news anchors began to break down as they informed the viewing audience that no child under 12 seemed to be in existence anymore, and that riots were breaking out everywhere. Shaking with fear she started for home.

What was a 15-20 minute ride on the El took three hours as the El wasn't running and she had to walk. She passed more EMTs pulling people from cars and when she saw she could be of help she stopped. She ached to go home, to bury herself in her mother's arms like a little girl but she couldn't keep going. Not when there was a stretcher a pitifully lone EMT was trying to load onto an ambulance. Not when a man begged her to use her cell phone as his wasn't going through and knowing that the lines would be jammed and hers wouldn't either she gave it to him anyway.

The closer she got to home the slower her pace became and a gnawing fear that her mother was among the vanished began to overwhelm her. She walked up her block and saw her mother waiting anxiously on the stoop and she ran to her before her mother even had time to leave the stoop and meet her halfway. She began to cry again and her mother led her into the house and sat her down at the kitchen table and busied herself making hot chocolate.

Sarah tried to collect herself, she realized how insulated her life had been. Her father had left her mother when she was still a baby. Paying his child support regularly including an extra check at her birthday and Christmas. He had sent one for her high school graduation and that had been that. School had been okay, neither the pariah or head cheerleader she had enough friends, enough invitations to sleepovers, and a date for the prom not to feel left out. In truth her greatest pleasure was to be able to spend the lunch period in the library reading.

The worst ache had been when her grandmother passed away when she was seventeen. It had been a crippling blow to the family's fiances too, though her mother had tried to keep it from her. Her grandmother had fallen into dementia and required round the clock care. When her mother started mentioning that she might want to considering taking a year off before going to college Sarah realized her college fund was gone. The next blow came when her mother was laid off from her tech support job the following year. Sarah decided to forgo even community college classes and get a job.

She knew how unhappy her mother was at this and tried to assure her it was "just until things straighten themselves out", and her mother would smile wanly and pretend, "of course sweetie". Her mother had been temping as her year off from college was beginning to stretch into two. But even then they had managed to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table. And evenings provided plenty of time for reading, or even calling up an old school friend who was still around to go to a movie. Nothing had ever pierced that rock hard shell that there would always be a place to live, electricity, food to eat and clean water to drink until The Event.

As she watched her mother slowly heat the milk in the pot she took stock of where things stood. The power was still on for now. The contents of the fridge where a little a scanty but it would be better to start stocking up on canned goods. She knew she needed to be watching the news but she wanted just a few more moments of blessed quiet before reality had to be faced.

Her mind raced wondering if anyone would be calling about Jeanine, her boss. Money, she wondered if the dollar would mean anything after something like this and made a mental note to talk to Shanti. She worked at the airport's duty free shop and Sarah had a feeling that a bottle of good scotch would get more things done than a hundred in the coming days. She recalled reading an article couple of weeks ago about rumblings that there were serious moves being made to adapt a single global currency. A warm mug was pressed into her hands and her mother and she walked like mourners into the living room and turned the TV set on...

Cookie Monster Part 1

Sarah looked up from wiping down the counter top when they walked in. The two seemed to have walked in from over a week ago, a normal totally infatuated couple who seemed to oblivious to world around them. Not there was anything wrong with that, well not anything wrong a week ago.

The man looked oddly familiar as he ordered two coffees and two double chocolate chunks, Sarah told them she'd bring them to their table. The man pawed around his wallet for cash and shrugged giving her a credit card. She smiled politely and pointed to the sign she taped to the register "At this time we can only accept cash, we apologize for any inconvenience." There was a pause and Sarah said "It's alright I'll bring them to you anyway, no worries." The woman said "thank you" and the man said nothing, unable to take his eyes off her as they walked to a booth in the small shop.

They talked in low voices and the man absentmindedly rubbed a spot on his head for a moment, Sarah's eyes hardened. She did recognize him, the reporter. She felt her self being pulled back to The Event. She had been handing over a drink to a customer when *fhit* there was no customer, only a pile of clothes and a cup of soda spreading rapidly across the floor. Her manager had been on a bathroom break, Sarah's first instinct was to run and fetch her but she stood rooted. Panic digging it's icy fingers into her ribs and the sounds of shouts and screams rippling up and down the terminal. Then the planes started falling.

She walked out into the hall, the cookie place was next to the duty free shop. Her friend who worked there had come out to investigate too. She met Shanti's frightened eyes with her own. Shanti turned when a sound like a cry of agony from animal in a trap echoed out from the store. A woman was holding a tiny bright red coat over a pile of clothes on the floor. Shanti gulped and walked to her, Sarah looked down the long concourse at the stream of rescue workers and volunteers carrying in the hurt and the dying from the tarmac.

She walked back into the shop. Her manager wasn't coming back from that break. Panic congealed into cold hard fear. She couldn't just stand there, she had to help. She saw the cooler full of bottled water and juices, she rolled a cart out of the storeroom and loaded it up. She wheeled it down the hallway, passing unBearably Cute, where the customers acted like a mix of the woman at the duty free shop and frantically digging and searching through the barrels of stuffed animal skins and stuffing and pounding on the employee only door at the back. She stopped at the Pan Con Club member lounge, it had been turned into a makeshift infirmary.

People groaning on stretchers, a frantic EMT trying to attend to a severely bleeding patient and people sitting in a state of shock or frantically trying to call loved ones on their cell phones. The reporter had been sitting near the entrance, reading an email with great interest, holding a wet cloth to a cut on the back of his head. She rolled the cart slightly in, a few looked at her "I've brought some water and juice, if anyone needs it." The EMT tightly fastened a bandage on his patient, "Thanks, I could actually use some water to clean wounds, I'm just about out of antiseptic." She handed him several bottles.

Those that weren't still trying to reach someone, anyone on the phone had turned their attention to the wounded. A woman draped her coat around another who sat on the floor stock still and shivering, another held a man's hand as he sobbed uncontrollably. A few took bottles from the cart and walked to nearby gates handing them to rescue workers and wounded people who had the strength to take them. The reporter drummed his fingers on his laptop and murmured some notes into a personal tape recorder. A well dressed man walked up to him,

"I'm a doctor. Let me dress your wound." The reporter looked rather blank, and nervously fiddled with his press badge.

"Just let me do this pal, I'm going crazy here with nothing to do, and I have my bag."

The reporter shrugged and the doctor went to work. The EMT had caught this exchange and started incredulously at the man wondering why he hadn't volunteered before. Then Sarah noticed his arms where streaked with blood and while he chatted airily with the reporter he would grimace in pain. The doctor stepped to the side and she saw one pants leg was soaked through. A woman approached with a clipboard. By her name tag she was an administrator for one of the private charter services O'Hare offered.


"Dr. Dives?"

The Doctor looked at her curiously.

"You need to come with me sir, your wife has been airlifted to Cook Regional, we need you right away."

A kind of heart-scalding rage and grief seemed to fill the doctor's face, his efforts to mold it into a casual air made it all the more terrible

"What do you mean?, she's fine, I'm with a patient."

The reporter had fallen back into reading whatever he was with rapt attention. The EMT walked to the woman, she took him aside and told him quietly, "He was on a flight with his wife and daughter, they where clipped by another plane trying to land, the pilot somehow got it on the ground, but he didn't make it, neither did the girl, and the wife's critical. Her fingers tightened around her clipboard "The girl looked to be just about sixteen, he tried to save her."

She looked at Dives again, he allowed himself to look at her, that same drowned, desperate look of denial, she took a deep breath "Sir your wife and daughter need you." He stopped attending to the reporter he stared at her, she continued "Emily and Anna are waiting, they need you there."

Sarah felt turned to stone and she didn't try to stop the tears that were pooling on her lips as her nose began to run. The doctor picked up his bag and tried to walk after her, the EMT signaled another to help him, he put his arm around the doctor's shoulders and the doctor limped after the woman. The reporter still hadn't moved. She made it back to shop and locked herself in the tiny storeroom, crying until her throat felt like tissue paper.

She shuddered remembering that day, and watching the reporter playfully wipe a crumb off of the woman's mouth. The woman appearing to have a struggle to find that gesture charming instead of supremely off putting. She walked over with their snacks, feeling a strong urge to dump the coffee on his head.