Dove In The Wreckage

I feel like Judy Holliday at the moment. Or at least, one of the actress's zany characters. Maybe you know the ones I mean? The ones that no matter what - precipitate farce; farce happens to them, farce happens to me. Far far-out farce, the kind that is kind of tragic, but at the same time a little funny, because it just keeps coming, gushing really, and it's so darn illogical. Just yesterday, I received a letter from an unknown name but familiar address - the address of my friend who just passed away. I thought it might, maybe, be a letter from his family acknowledging my heartfelt condolences written on my best Italian note-paper (my friend loved Italy). Or perhaps, a last minute note from my friend just before he passed away and sent only now. Or a note from the heavens with an earth-bound address so as not to set off suspicions. Or a small inheritance. But alas, it was none of the above. It was instead a bill for services rendered, or not-rendered. It was a bill from an unknown woman bearing my friend's address. In effect, it was a sham bill charging me for my ten-year friendship. Oh, the inanity of it all! And because I feel like Judy Holliday these days, or one of her naive, vulnerable, tender angels that suffer iniquities intently, with a teeter-totter walk, dimples, and squeaky voice, I thought instead of taking it all in, I would just have a hearty chuckle and a quizzical look on my face that reads "this can't really be happening, can it?" Not possible. I'm just having a bad two years full of hot-air, and buffoonery. Opera buffa with real-life sets. However, as much as I want the bull to roll off easily and efficiently, I have to be honest, that the series of events in the last two years have hurt as well. My funny-bone has been knocked one too many times. Even Judy might have permitted one of her cinematic incarnations to let out a brassy cry along with an embarrassed giggle.

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Last week, while sending out resumes, and cover letters, I peered out the window, and saw a dove nesting in a filthy construction site. The delicate beauty of the dove juxtaposed alongside the coarse dirt and scum of the site made me sad. To my mind, this distressing tableau was a microcosm of all that is going wrong in the world - of man's encroaching step on nature, on animals, on the environment; of an animal having to make do with the little space he has left, even if that space is polluted. I identify with the dove, not only empathically, but I feel I am sort of like the dove. I am trying to go about my life, pressing on with my career, but I've temporarily chosen hostile ground to set up my nest. The construction can't go on forever, there has to be a resolution right? Eventually, later that afternoon, the dove got up and out of the site. I think she went to follow the sun, having had enough of the wreckage and the curious dawdling presence of farce.