Published October 14th, 2004

There’s a birdfeeder outside my window. Charlie hung it up when he was here the last time and filled it with sunflower seeds. It’s almost empty now—the expression "eating like a bird" doesn’t apply here, "Pig" would be more appropriate. In only two days the birds--but mostly the squirrels--have drained it.

It’s such a pleasure watching these charming creatures, who found this new source of food the very first day it appeared on the side of my deck, where I can observe the goings on from my lift chair, in which I spend a lot of time these days. Through the sliding glass doors, I watch their antics, and force myself to do the exercises I’ve been taught to try and get back my strength.

What is equally important to recuperate, however, is my sanity, and it seems Charlie, in his infinite wisdom has decided that watching the birds would be the right kind of therapy on my way to recovery--another feather in his cap…[Charlie grimaces as he types]

Birds are a great source of entertainment and give you so much pleasure that I can only advise anyone, especially older people that live alone, not to deprive themselves of this wonderful experience.

I realize now how much I had been missing all those years, when I existed without this gift nature has provided.

Outside, the last of Hurricane Jeanne drops a steady rain on Lisa’s deck. Undaunted, birds fly in and out of the birdfeeder, while beneath it a squirrel and a chipmunk battle over the leavings; Lisa calls them the "Recycling Crew". It’s now eleven a.m. the Occupational Therapist has come and gone, having spent most of the session with Lisa in the kitchen helping her to navigate the refrigerator and the stove.

Minutes after he leaves the physical therapist arrives, and it’s time to do her exercises.

Meanwhile, a second squirrel has discovered easy pickings on Lisa’s porch, and chases the first squirrel, while the chipmunk, hidden behind an ornamental oak barrel, sneaks in and makes off with the seeds.

"Remember what I said the other day," the therapist reminds Lisa, "a few warming exercises before standing up."

"It helps," she concedes, as she launches out of her chair and makes the rounds of her condo with the walker. "Now sometimes when my phone has run out of juice…out of battery," she says, moving toward her office. "I sit in this chair here."

"That chair’s fine," he says, "as long as it’s against the wall."

I zone out and stare at the steady drizzle, as the squirrel, tired of taking what’s on the ground, shoots up the bird feeder displacing a tufted titmouse who looks in at me, and cocks his head as if to say, "why don’t you gat rid of that stupid squirrel?"

"You know," the therapist says, returning with Lisa to the living room, "I put peanuts out for the squirrels; it gives them an option to the bird feeder. You might want to get a thistle feeder, as well for the finches."

We chat about bird food, while Lisa does a few reps with a hot-pink two-pound dumbbell.

"Who would ever have thought I’d be working out with weights?" she says, while shooing away the squirrel, who is not easily thwarted.

"I’ll tell you one thing, which has nothing to do with this writing. Yesterday, Debbie from the Jewish Federation was here and said how this place is really wonderful. I told her all you had done, and she thought it was "really me". And I have to say that I’d hate to have to leave this place." Her comment hangs in the air. Because the big question on the table--two weeks out of rehab--is can Lisa remain in her own condo, or is she looking toward a move to an assisted living facility?

"You know my friend Emily came and fixed my hair the other day. And she came with another friend, and they were both so energetic, and they’re coming back. And I’ve been asking Emily if couldn’t she figure out a way to spend a few hours with me—not at night—but she’s thinking about it.

"I guess the real question," I ask, "is can you get to the point where you feel steady enough to go without an over-night aide? How do you think that’s going?"

She doesn’t answer directly, but hands me a list of aides she’s looking to interview, as aide number two, has not been a wonderful fit, not as bad as aide number one, but…

A blue jay, hidden in the crabapple dives for the feeder, as an upside down red-capped woodpecker holds tight to the chicken wire that surrounds the core of seeds.

I take the list of names and read through them, noting the prices. I also take stock of all the projects that Lisa has gotten underway in a relatively short span of time. There’s the carpenter coming to make new steps, she’s arranged to have some carpet ripped out and replaced with laminate-wood flooring, and because she says she’s scared of me, she’s yet to clutter up the efforts of the Clean Sweep team; her place looks better than ever.

After the therapist leaves she comments, "I wanted to tell you, and maybe it’s not so nice, but I really do want to mention it. When I moved to this retirement community from Manhattan, I was so looking forward to nature and to watching the birds and everything. But when I hung a birdfeeder in the tree in front of my condo, some of my neighbors complained. "We don’t want those animals here." I was told I had to take it down; I was heartbroken. Now, finally having one on my deck—where I can do what I want--I realize how much fun I missed all those years; it’s better than television. I’m perfectly content, sitting here for hours watching the birds and the squirrels.

In other words, I think to myself, what she’s saying is that she’s going to try and make this work. She’s snug back in her nest; she’s home. And like the squirrels busily storing seeds in preparation for the winter to come, she’s here to stay.

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