Ain't Nature Great

I know my limitations. Years ago, when I was trying to impress a prospective beau, I attempted to prepare Julia Child's coq au vin. While the shallots and bacon were browning, I became engrossed in the outerwear section of the L.L. Bean Catalog. I vaguely smelled a pungent aroma, but it wasn't until four fireman appeared at my door, that I realized the dish would not be a success. Now I impress prospective beaus with my prowess at selecting just the right rotisserie chicken from the Associated deli counter.
For a long time I tried to balance my check book. I painstakingly reconciled the checks I wrote with those listed on the statement. They were always a perfect match. What never reconciled was the balance in my checkbook and the balance on the statement. Some months I was pennies off. Some months I was $727.37 off. I spent days I could have been bringing peace to the world trying to find my error. Now I simply write my checks and hope to stay out of jail.
Friday, I had a reminder of a limitation too painful to acknowledge. I signed up for a twilight walking tour of "flora and fauna" in Wagner Park. I love to walk. I love flora. I love fauna. The weather was glorious. Jim, the ranger, distributed binoculars and introduced Helen, the lay birdwatcher, to give a lesson in their use. My heart palpitated in panic. I suddenly recalled Costa Rica.
"Look up; there's a sloth in the tree."
"Where? I don't see it."
"Right there. Follow my finger."
"I still don't see it."
"You can't miss it."
"Oh, now I see it."
Only I hadn't seen it. I just got tired of sounding like a blind idiot.
Sloths don't move. They sit on the same branch for a week, so inanimate that moss grows on them and insects use them for vacation homes. Birds, on the other hand, don't stop moving. If I couldn't find a stationary sloth, there was no possibility of my locating a yellow bellied warbler.
All the binocular use lessons help me not one bit. Focus the middle piece. See a clear circle. Adjust the right eye piece. Useless. What nobody mentions is that in order to locate a creature through binoculars, you first have to locate it with the naked eye. And my naked eye is extremely near sighted, even with my $1000 bifocal, toric, superstellar, 4000x magnification contact lenses. Ever the optimist, I try to locate the rara avis, knowing that I have as much chance of finding it as Tom DeLay has of winning a cha cha contest.
Despite the threat of repeating the Costa Rican experience, I was delighted that I had no difficulty spotting the first fauna of the walk.
"Here's a bumble bee," said Ranger Jim. It was on its back on a leaf, directly at my eye level. "It may be drunk."
Helen, who seemed quite knowledgeable in all things bird and bee, said, "I think it's dead."
The second fauna was a flying grackle which I did not find worthy of even trying to locate through the binoculars.
Then, God smiled on me. Robins were nibbling on the lawn three feet from me. A cardinal hopped on the concrete fifteen feet away.
So I didn't see the yellow warbler that everyone oohed and aahed at. I got fresh air, walked a total of 25 feet and experienced nature at its fullest. It's not like a missed a Hugh Jackman sighting.