Audio Attitude

Five years ago someone gave me one of the best gifts I ever received.  It was our first summer together in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula.  Joe and I left Indiana for the U.P. where I grew up.  I had an opportunity to be closer to my parents, both in their 70’s and still enjoying their good health on their land of woods and streams.  Joe’s parents passed away some years ago.  Re-connecting with mine while still possible just seemed right. 

My parents were very happy with our decision to “come home.”  Joe and I had some concerns about moving to a small community 100 miles from the nearest shopping.  How would the community accept two gay guys?    The first anniversary of 9/11 was looming on the horizon, and people were especially friendly and social.  We opened our deck to a few of my new work colleagues.  Soon, dozens of new friends chose the deck as a favorite spot to be together - listening and watching the waterfall and small pond I built at the edge of the deck. 

We enjoyed our new friends, laughing, hugging, sharing personal thoughts and stories, and absorbing the moments.  The community seemed to think of us as just Brian and Joe – or “the boys.”  It felt like I was home at last.  Even the chipmunks were friendly – as long as there was food.  They would crawl up my pants and to my hand to load their mouths with peanuts or sunflower seeds, and then scamper off to their storage units in the ground.

One day about this time of summer, our friend Shelly called to ask if she could stop by with Barb – one of Shelly’s friends who came to one of our deck parties.  “Barb has something for you,” she said.  Shelly and Barb arrived a few minutes later in Shelly’s car.  Barb was holding something that seemed fragile.  It looked like a weed.  My curiosity drew me to my feet as I watched them trudge up the steps toward our deck. 

It was a weed!  And Barb gingerly held the base of it with a wet white paper towel in her right hand.  A small yellow ribbon was carefully tied in a bow just above her hand.  Barb alternated her attention from the steps, to the fragile plant, then to me, and returned her focus to the steps as she approached the gate, which I opened for her.  Shelly’s round bright face reflected the sun, and she smiled as her blonde hair started dancing with a little burst of summer breeze. 

I opened the gate for the ladies and gestured to the overstuffed deck furniture waiting for them.  Barb smiled at me as she said apologetically, “This isn’t much, but I thought you might like it.” 

Gifts present an interesting dilemma to the recipient.  Particularly when gifts are unexpected, and come from new casual acquaintances.  We immediately look for motive.  Why are they doing this?  I sure hope the gift is not too much, because that would obligate me to respond commensurately.  Not that I don’t want to reciprocate, but finding the proper reciprocation is an unexpected challenge.  Such thinking, of course, misses the point, and the receiver is wise to graciously accept the gift.  It provides cover for the giver’s anxiety that the joy of giving draw too much attention to itself. 

If the recipient says “you shouldn’t have,” or “I don’t have anything for you,” or “I really don’t know why you gave me a gift – it isn’t my birthday,” the whole experience becomes awkward and both parties have to quickly reach for safe topics to cover the gift-giver’s embarrassment.

We sometimes give unexpected gifts without knowing it.  Such was the case when we opened our deck to people we met for the first time.  To us, that people wanted to be with us, it felt like they were giving us a gift.  But Barb considered the time on the deck a gift from us to her, and she wanted to give something back.  I extended my arm to accept the scrawny weed, managing a smile and a “thank-you.”

Sometimes when I am not sure what to say, I chuckle.  This quirk comes from my father, and I swore I would not allow myself to chuckle at times when someone revealed vulnerability.  I continue to work on this.  But that time, I chuckled. 

I immediately realized my chuckle could be mistaken for “why the hell did you bring me a weed with a bow?”   In fact, I was curious and felt touched that Barb had obviously put some thought into this and traveled the ten miles or so from her home, first consulting with Shelly for re-assurance and asking Shelly’s assistance to arrange this presentation. 

I wanted to clarify.  “Well, I am happy you came over, and am really curious about this gift you have,” I paused a moment before adding, “Great to see you again – and on such a beautiful summer day!”  I was reminded how weather is handy as social lubricant for sticky social moments.

The gangly weed, safely held by my right hand, was rather pathetic looking.  A few of the leaves had holes, and its slightly drooping posture indicated I had missed seeing its best days.  I inspected the ribbon, “What a pretty color ribbon,” I offered along with a smile for Barb.

Barb sensed I had not quite developed full appreciation for this gift, so she explained.  “This,” Barb said, pointing at a little circular greenish pod attached to the stem of one of the leaves, “is a Monarch butterfly on a stalk of milkweed.”   She paused to let me absorb the information, and study the chrysalis before continuing.  “I found it on a walk today, and thought of you feeding ‘Chippy the Chipmunk’ last week.  I guess I thought you might enjoy watching this become a Monarch.”  Murphy, one of our greyhounds came over, extending her long nose to get a sniff and focused her huge brown eyes on the object to a closer look.

I never got this close to a Monarch before, and immediately felt responsible for its care.  “What do I do with it?  When does it become a butterfly?  Where should I put it?  Should I keep it outside?” 

It was Barb’s turn to chuckle at me.  “It’ll be fine,” she said, trying to reassure me.  “In a week or so, you will notice its shell becoming clear and start to see the dark orange color.  When that happens, you know it’s about to emerge.”  Shelly giggled.  Joe commented on the cool gift.  Murphy became distracted with a chipmunk at the edge of the deck.  And I became a foster parent to a bug.

One cloudy gray morning, after about a week of caring for the sleeping butterfly on the milkweed, the color of its shell became clearer and I could see the dark orange colorings of the young Monarch inside.  I was actually feeling excited and looking forward to the transformation – so much so that I decided to stay home from work.  I checked on it frequently throughout the morning, and moved it out to the front porch where I sat with it – watching and waiting.  Around noon the shell began to crack open.  I ran to grab my camera and returned to take position where I could record the beginning of this new life. 

I was alone on the porch with what was soon to be a Monarch butterfly.  I wanted to share the moment with Barb and Shelly and Joe and all the others.  But, they were all at work.  Murphy the greyhound stared at me from inside the front screen door like she was wondering what possibly could be so important to get this much of my attention.

Then, it happened.  The shell split open and the butterfly slowly began to take its new shape.  Very slowly, it moved its legs into position and its wings started to unfold.  I was so fascinated that I forgot to snap pictures until it was completely transformed into a stunning display of royal color justifying its name.

The butterfly struggled against the slight breeze until the breeze blew the stalk and new butterfly from the ledge to the porch floor.  I rushed to its aid, letting it climb aboard my finger where it could finish getting fully with a bit of shelter.  It seemed fine, and accepted the ride on my left index finger.

A few minutes passed.  Then, the sun broke through the clouds flooding the porch with warm rays that seemed to ignite the young butterfly with dazzling orange brilliance.  The Monarch seemed instantly energized.  It unfolded its wings, flapping them a few times, like a pilot tests flaps on a plane during preflight.  The Monarch did not hesitate.  It flew out of the sheltered porch and circled in the sunlight.

 

I felt a mixture of sadness and joy.  I was happy, of course, that the Monarch was free and healthy.  Sad, because I had to let it go.  Happy I could help the Monarch.  Sad, that my role ended as its new role began.

Then, just as suddenly as the Monarch flew away, it returned to my hand!  I was delighted that it decided to come back but also worried that it might be confused.  It rested for just a moment before flying into the air and disappearing beyond the trees. 

I don’t know why the Monarch returned to my hand.  But it did.  Just for a moment, it returned “home,” and it seemed to reassure me that I did something of value for it. 

The deck is no longer busy.  My cocooning in the cold north has been a time of growth and pondering.  I have felt the breeze of new possibilities.  I now enjoy a new virtual deck, filled with new friends.  My shell is cracking open and I feel a change.

Just a few days ago I saw a Monarch and wondered if it was the same Monarch I held before its first flight.  Maybe it was one of its decedents. 

The butterfly makes me think of Adam Curry, whom I admire for his creativity, honesty, candor, and enthusiasm for life.  His willingness to candidly share his struggles, setbacks, and successes with his listeners is inspiring gift to me. I think of Adam, because today is my Dad’s 82^nd birthday.  And, today also happens to be one year since Adam lost his mother to cancer.  Valerie loved butterflies.   Every time I see a butterfly, I think of Adam’s mom, and the Monarch that launched its first flight from my finger.  

The summer breeze and blue sky seems inviting.  Like the Monarch, I want to stretch my wings and absorb the energy from the warm sun above the clouds.  Sometimes the most profound gift can be as simple and honest as a bug on a weed.

 

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