Greetings fellow travelers!

Well, well, well. It has been a long time.

I was one of those who watched April the giraffe. Yessiree.

I didn’t intend to spend that much time in front of my laptop, but I got hooked when I was sick in bed while the hubster was in another state on business. And then, I had to keep watching to make the initial time spent watching worthwhile.

And then I had to continue watching to make the initial and the middle time spent watching worthwhile.

And so on and so forth. You get the drift.

I started in the last few days of February and the baby was born on the 15th of April. So, as the tee shirt says, “I spent March waiting for April.”

Virtual midwife to a giraffe.

Along the way I learned a lot about giraffes, about April and Oliver, specifically, and about the zookeepers and the zoo owner. I also learned some new embroidery stitches, but that’s a different story.

People asked me, “What? You just sit and watch a giraffe stand there?”
Well, I suppose that’s the abridged version.

It became a sort of Zen experience. I am sure my pulse and blood pressure were lower while I watched.

I studied April and her movements, able to clearly see the baby move and kick. I observed the nonverbal communication between April and Oliver as friends, lovers and sometimes Bonnie and Clyde making their escape. When Allyssa was with her, there was loving and mutual respect born out of a beginning struggle. When Corey was there, he couldn’t say no to her and fed her the romaine much faster. I observed April letting the vet know that he had overstepped his bounds once or twice; four times she kicked him, actually. I marveled at the roundabout ways the zookeepers had for moving Oliver from point A to point B when clearly he didn’t want to move that way. I chuckled at Oliver’s stubborn streak as he stood in the open doorway, refusing to go all the way through to his pen, then turning around for another go at April’s grain. I held my breath as the zoo keepers moved swiftly through Oliver’s pen to close the door so they could clean after he had walked outside; bull giraffes are unpredictable and can be dangerous. I learned from the owner/builder of the zoo that you can make your dreams come true and still be a nice guy who sticks to his principles.

There was a sense of peace among the people who watched as per their emails of gratitude to the Animal Adventures Park. They were so happy to have a focus that wasn’t hateful, exclusive, or political. This is where the baby name of Unity was started. It felt good to be a part of this experience.

I am happy to report that there has been no period of withdrawal, contrary to what the hubster thought. He was sure that there would be ugly scenes of me with mascara streaking down my face as I dragged the laptop from room to room, tearfully searching for videos of April.

Nope.

Do you think he’ll notice the new giraffe on the damn patio??

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I just have to say this.

I am so fortunate to be able to have a son who plays a concert tuba. He was asked to be part of the U of MN Alumni Brass Choir directed by David Baldwin in a concert that was recorded at St. Mary’s Basilica awhile ago. It was a magnificent experience. The sound of all those brass instruments played by Baldwin’s students who attended the U  from 1971 to 2016 filled that space with a golden quality, a vibrancy and a purity that spoke to the soul.

And the tubas? There were four gentlemen in this alumni group playing the biggest and most versatile of the  brass instruments. Did you know that? The instrument with the largest range of notes is the tuba. Save it for a trivia contest win.

Well, I have said this before and I believe it: if you are fortunate enough to hear a brass group play in a church, cathedral or in this case, the Basilica, listen for the lower part the tuba plays. You have to get beyond the main theme which is usually played by the trumpet or the French horn and is in the higher registers.  You have to listen for the lower part. The really low part. Below the trombone.

And then you’ll have the tuba.

Listen to it. Really listen.

And you will hear the voice of God. That low base which supports the rest of the music, tying it all together, rich, strong, full.  It allows the others to shine with the melody, all the while giving warm support from below.

That is why I am grateful that my son plays a concert tuba well and had the opportunity to play in the Basilica not once but twice.  And I can listen to the recording of the experience, allowing me to hear that voice, warm, supportive and loving.

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Well, I intended to write more, but this post became rather long. The good news is that I’ll write again soon.  The bad news? I’ll write again soon!!  Hahahahahaha!!!

Have a terrific rest of your Tuesday!

Love,

Janet