Doing the Turkey Trot

I’m running in circles today. Like a turkey chicken with it’s head cut off.

I’ve never actually seen a chicken run around with it’s head cut off, thank the dear Lord.

But today, I totally understand the feeling.

I woke up with a simple List.

1. journal
2. blog
3. write feng shui tips
4. sketch Christmas tutorials

A simple List. A do-able List.

Until I looked out the window and saw a couple of turkeys. Right by the fence.

I’m not a great photographer. I admit it. Not even a good photographer.

In fact, I wouldn’t even call myself a ‘photographer’.

But I like taking pictures and sharing them.

I snuck up to the sliding glass door and snapped as many pictures as I could of these guys.

You’ll notice only a few pics came out. The rest were fuzzy, blurry, and more of the fence then the birds. No, I’m not a photographer.

So why on earth would two turkeys trottin’ around the fence at 7 a.m. throw my entire List off?

Because wild turkeys make me think of Dad.

It’s not that my dad was a turkey.

Well . . .  many times I thought he was.

No, it’s more because when Mom & I see wild turkeys all over the county we laugh because Dad was instrumental in bringing them to El Dorado County.

Way back in the ‘60’s.

Dad and his Fish & Game buddies thought it was a good idea at the time. Bring a few wild turkeys in and “let’s just see how they do.”

Fifty years later, let me be the first to tell you, they’re doing well. Very well.

They’re all over the place. They drive people nuts. They get in the gardens. They’re in the roads. They’re a wee bit of a nuisance.

But they make Mom & me laugh and remember Dad.

Which makes me think of the resort we owned where I grew up in the summers . . .

Which makes me think of a promise I made a few weeks ago to my very best childhood friend.

 

She’s a writer. No, she’s an Author. A published author. She writes books. Entire books. GREAT books. Award-winning books.

{not just little blogs posts  (referring to my writing attempts)}

I promised her I would write about my summers at Echo Lake. This promise came after I was trying to write some little articles and called her for some support. From a real-life writer.

Not just my mother.

It seemed like a good idea at the time. She recommended, no, she insisted, I write all about the resort, the staff, Dad . . . tons of stories. Tons.

Promise me, she said.

Sure, no problem, I told her. How hard could it be to write about your childhood?

I even made a List.

Lists are the way I fool myself into thinking I’ve actually accomplished something when I really haven’t.

I write loads of Lists. Every day.

I looked at the Echo List today. After I saw the turkeys. After I thought of Dad. After I thought of Caroline. And I remembered my promise.

Which made me run around in circles. Like a chicken with it’s head cut off.

If only I could sever my head – or my mind – just for a day or two.

Just kidding. Sort of.

Because now I need to write a new List for today that includes writing about Echo.

And feng shui.

And designing Christmas painting kits.

Because, you know, Christmas is a-comin’ and the turkey’s getting fat.

Wrong bird, I know, but as far as I know, Dad didn’t bring any geese to the county.