Worrying pigeons

Recently, Chaos HQ decended on St James's park. Both girls were in their full pigeon-chasing glory, and there there was much winged trembling and gnashing of beaks.

My offspring differ greatly in their avian-stalking habits. Ana chased the same knot of pigeons in a circle for an hour, like some kind of hamster wheel exercise. Eventually the pigeons thought better of it and flew off in the direction of Slough (a mistake). For Ana, bird-chasing and most everything else in life is about pure joy (hers) and clunky attempts at imitative human flight (also hers).

Ali, on the other hand got a hungry murderous glint in her eye when she spotted a clutch of  'peepee'.* She gave chase muttering something about fava beans and a nice Chianti. Her method reminded me of the Tom Lehrer approach to pigeons:

I've mentioned before that I love London parks - to a simple person like me, they are magical. Since moving back into the Big Smoke last month (in a boggling reverse migration from the suburbs) we've been on a mission to stake out all the local playgrounds. We have our work cut out, because they are simply everywhere, and they are incredible. 

Our great pigeon-caper was part of a catch and release mission. We were St James's Park to welcome back two dear friends from the clutches of the wide world, and then release them back into the wild where they belong.

Our friends, Matt and Nickiy, spent the past year wandering around the globe aided by nothing but their wits, a great photographic eye, the odd helpful/drunken guide, and a fearless motorbike called Frank. They kept a travelogue along the way - I admit that I can only look at their incredible photos for a few minutes at a stretch without becoming overwhelmed by insane-travel-lust.

Cielo (photo courtesy of Nickiy and Matt).

I have learned some very useful things from these expert travellors. For instance, heaven - in spite of Bolivia - is located in South America. Not a lot of people know that. Additionally, heaven is full of terrifying yet strangely beautiful bugs. And to judge from Nickiy and Matt's happy glow: extended travel seems to be as much an inward journey as an outbound one. Of course, an alternate explanation is that some bottled enlightenment company is paying them big bucks to serve as a walking advertisement for happiness - a suspiciously plausible alternative.

As I surveyed the pigeon-baiting and basked in their residual sunshine exposure, I thought of a snippet from a letter Nickiy sent us when they first landed in heaven:

I think you would love it here. Great big, snow-capped mountains, green fields and large trees perfect for hugging. There is music everywhere and everyone seems so alive – even the granny’s are dancing salsa into the wee hours of the morning!

Recalling this note caused a little sad thought to take roost amongst the happy ones: the realization that I have taken the path most traveled by in recent years. A path that is infested by terrifying yet strangely ugly buggies. It doesn't lead to heaven, or even to Bolivia, but rather to ketchup stains and the playground. Or maybe ice cream and the zoo on a good day.

Road less taken (photo courtesy of Nickiy, Matt and Frank). 

But before you** get too worried that this post has taken a complainy-self-indulgent turn for the worse, be comforted in the knowledge that I curtailed this glum thought-trail quickly with the conclusion that in this life one simply doesn't get to chase all the pigeons that one wants to. Life - like pigeons - is all about focus, limitations, and variable hygiene.***

Currently my kids require fruit shoot injections every three minutes to remain sociable. The phrase 'pack light' is as offensive in Baby Esperantu as speaking ill of someone's mum is in Spanish. But perhaps I'll hit the open road when they are a wee bit bigger and logistically more reasonable. Or possibly I'll head out into the wilderness after they fly the koop. Failing that, I'll just have to journey out into the great wide open when I get to heaven.

*In Ali-speak, 'please climb into my hand Mr Pigeon' comes out as 'pee-pee ham'.
**Just nod if you can hear me.
***Before you judge this mixed-up pigeon-metaphor-simile-nonsense to harshly, kindly remember that I am severely distracted at all times - huh? what? - and that the stress of hanging out with two short people every day is starting to show on my ability to reason and form googaliblahblah.