the blue-billed coot that became a swan, and so-forth.
It was a perfectly windy day on a noisy side of a very quiet pond when an unusually fine specimen of a swan-chick waddled up most elegantly from a particularly green tuft of blades looking for a place to spend the rest of his life...'Ah, I see a most superb mound of fresh mud just ahead, quite soft and slurpy, just the thing for an unusually fine specimen like me to live for the rest of my life (however long that is)...'
There is no question that, after quite a long walk or while with this strange little swan-chick, one could undoubtedly note that there was something of the blue-billed coot about him. A funny little webbed gait, a proud if not extremely subdued honk and a decidedly black (yet he imagined) an almost blue hued gilt lay about the rim of his very noble, otherwise slim-swanned bill.
He paid dear attention to all the other coots and did all the things that any coot would do. When he woke up he honked a bit in the nearby brambles, pecked for his breakfast, flapped around (but didn't go far) while trying to fly from the north side of the pond to the south. He was quite a bit larger than the other coots and upon trying to stay cool in the willow marshes, he was more of a shadow than the willows themselves to his fellow coots below. When dusk came he muttered in the muck for his supper but kept bumping into the others, which he simply couldn't help.
'Well, he may act like us but the similarity ends in the south side of the willow marsh muck' the other coots would say.
On and on this progressed. He eventually embarrassed himself to the point of the ridiculous and thus decided to visit with the local retired psychotherapist, a nice owl from Vermont. He was very wise and very in touch with his inner owlet. He always had some good advice and great walnut chutney on hand for anyone who knocked on his tree trunk. During one session with the confused little chick, things got quite out of hand during free-association.
"But I must be a blue-billed coot, I want so much to be a blue-billed coot! You don't know how much of me really is a blue-billed coot, its right here, right in my heart! I KNOW THAT I AM DEEP DOWN just as much of a blue-billed coot as, well...THEY are!"
The owl took a drag from his forest filter-tip and leaned forward on his wings speaking candidly to his little friend. "Just because one wants very much to be one thing in particular cannot begin to remove his beak (and rightful bill) from the fact that he is most certainly, most extremely, absolutely something else.
"Are you implying I can't be a blue-billed coot?"
"Right. You can't be one because you aren't one."
Silence, then a lament. "But I've GOT to be! It's what I've always wanted! How could I possibly stop wanting something as wonderful as that? Who are you to say I can't be what I want to be?"
"You need to decide something, specifically: if I can't be what I want to be, how can I be what I am?"
With just a tiny coot tear dripping from his snowy feathered head, his blueberry-black eyes spied a remarkable sight right in the furthest end of the pond through the old owl's trunk cottage leaded window (footnote: this window was the first and only one commissioned by the pet parakeet-student of the brilliant architect Frank Lloyd Wright. Many did not know he tutored a parakeet who could speak fluent classical Spanish, sing, tap dance and had a thing for organic-modernist architecture. Anyway it's the only window in existence built by a parakeet that boasts FLW's thumbprint on the outside- Frank couldn't check it out from the inside, as it is quite difficult for a grown man to get inside a tree trunk. Everyone clearly remembers him desperately trying to get his kneecap from out of the second floor skylight. He gave up after extricating himself from the 4 inch doorway and getting moss all over his pants. Suddenly, he stood transfixed by the window and ran his thumb over the parakeet's handiwork. 'Sweet!' he exclaimed and left never to visit the forest again after making his first million. 'Falling Water' actually should be credited to the parakeet. Now you know.) Back to our story: the little swan chick saw something very interesting. Swans. Many swans. All together having what seemed to be a very nice time.
"Agony! And I've tried so hard. I scratch like one I crow like one I spy and (at least try to) fly like one. I've tried my best to stamp my web feet in the mud and make that lovely mucky sound, I caw in the willows at dusk like the others and I've tried heaven knows how I've tried to LOOK like one, but...
Will someone please tell me why I canNOT be a blue billed coot, one of the most beautiful and rare birds here on this entire earth. You there can YOU tell me why I can't be a blue billed coot?"
"Because you aren't one." It was the parakeet. He was very old now and wore a tiny plum velvet smoking jacket. "I decided to drop by before flying to Switzerland. Listen, swan-chick-coot-whatever-you-are. I've always wanted to be an architect. Well, I'm a parakeet and I can't do anything about it. Actually, that's more than Frank Lloyd Wright will ever be. You're meant to be something more than just a blue-billed coot. I've watched you try to cootify yourself and I only see one thing: a swan."
"A swan! Oh no! Please look closer, don't you see anything else?" The swan chick was horrified.
"My, my. I would have thought that being a swan was quite enough. I know many coots who live out their flightless days attempting a swan's pond glide with the task ending in a tail grapple with tadpoles. Coots do get a bit distracted its true, however, no matter how hard they try, they always seem to have much more fun being themselves."
"I always thought I was missing out on something. But it was no fun. I suppose it wasn't my kind of fun.
"Could you try being a swan? You might like it so much better and it does suit you."
"It might be nice not getting mud all over my white feathers. That's another thing why all these feathers? And I'm so much bigger than the rest of them."
"Try being yourself and see what happens. You might have more fun being true to yourself. And you might do something great someday that only you were meant to do."
The swan-chick thought about it all...I suppose I'm not really having that much fun being a coot. I just thought coots didn't have fun. Well, they are having a terrible time chasing each other on the water & fighting for tadpoles. It looks like fun but all in all a rowdy group I must say... now look at the swans over there...
I suppose it's a different kind of fun. A fun more suited to me!
"But do you think they will let me glide on the water with them?" the little chick asked the parakeet.
"Give it a shot babe!" he said.
and so the swan-chick did.
The little swan had a wonderful time that afternoon and decided to be true to himself and what he was meant to be from that moment on. And of course when one follows ones destiny without distraction, the inevitable happens: he lived happily ever after.
There is no question that, after quite a long walk or while with this strange little swan-chick, one could undoubtedly note that there was something of the blue-billed coot about him. A funny little webbed gait, a proud if not extremely subdued honk and a decidedly black (yet he imagined) an almost blue hued gilt lay about the rim of his very noble, otherwise slim-swanned bill.
He paid dear attention to all the other coots and did all the things that any coot would do. When he woke up he honked a bit in the nearby brambles, pecked for his breakfast, flapped around (but didn't go far) while trying to fly from the north side of the pond to the south. He was quite a bit larger than the other coots and upon trying to stay cool in the willow marshes, he was more of a shadow than the willows themselves to his fellow coots below. When dusk came he muttered in the muck for his supper but kept bumping into the others, which he simply couldn't help.
'Well, he may act like us but the similarity ends in the south side of the willow marsh muck' the other coots would say.
On and on this progressed. He eventually embarrassed himself to the point of the ridiculous and thus decided to visit with the local retired psychotherapist, a nice owl from Vermont. He was very wise and very in touch with his inner owlet. He always had some good advice and great walnut chutney on hand for anyone who knocked on his tree trunk. During one session with the confused little chick, things got quite out of hand during free-association.
"But I must be a blue-billed coot, I want so much to be a blue-billed coot! You don't know how much of me really is a blue-billed coot, its right here, right in my heart! I KNOW THAT I AM DEEP DOWN just as much of a blue-billed coot as, well...THEY are!"
The owl took a drag from his forest filter-tip and leaned forward on his wings speaking candidly to his little friend. "Just because one wants very much to be one thing in particular cannot begin to remove his beak (and rightful bill) from the fact that he is most certainly, most extremely, absolutely something else.
"Are you implying I can't be a blue-billed coot?"
"Right. You can't be one because you aren't one."
Silence, then a lament. "But I've GOT to be! It's what I've always wanted! How could I possibly stop wanting something as wonderful as that? Who are you to say I can't be what I want to be?"
"You need to decide something, specifically: if I can't be what I want to be, how can I be what I am?"
With just a tiny coot tear dripping from his snowy feathered head, his blueberry-black eyes spied a remarkable sight right in the furthest end of the pond through the old owl's trunk cottage leaded window (footnote: this window was the first and only one commissioned by the pet parakeet-student of the brilliant architect Frank Lloyd Wright. Many did not know he tutored a parakeet who could speak fluent classical Spanish, sing, tap dance and had a thing for organic-modernist architecture. Anyway it's the only window in existence built by a parakeet that boasts FLW's thumbprint on the outside- Frank couldn't check it out from the inside, as it is quite difficult for a grown man to get inside a tree trunk. Everyone clearly remembers him desperately trying to get his kneecap from out of the second floor skylight. He gave up after extricating himself from the 4 inch doorway and getting moss all over his pants. Suddenly, he stood transfixed by the window and ran his thumb over the parakeet's handiwork. 'Sweet!' he exclaimed and left never to visit the forest again after making his first million. 'Falling Water' actually should be credited to the parakeet. Now you know.) Back to our story: the little swan chick saw something very interesting. Swans. Many swans. All together having what seemed to be a very nice time.
"Agony! And I've tried so hard. I scratch like one I crow like one I spy and (at least try to) fly like one. I've tried my best to stamp my web feet in the mud and make that lovely mucky sound, I caw in the willows at dusk like the others and I've tried heaven knows how I've tried to LOOK like one, but...
Will someone please tell me why I canNOT be a blue billed coot, one of the most beautiful and rare birds here on this entire earth. You there can YOU tell me why I can't be a blue billed coot?"
"Because you aren't one." It was the parakeet. He was very old now and wore a tiny plum velvet smoking jacket. "I decided to drop by before flying to Switzerland. Listen, swan-chick-coot-whatever-you-are. I've always wanted to be an architect. Well, I'm a parakeet and I can't do anything about it. Actually, that's more than Frank Lloyd Wright will ever be. You're meant to be something more than just a blue-billed coot. I've watched you try to cootify yourself and I only see one thing: a swan."
"A swan! Oh no! Please look closer, don't you see anything else?" The swan chick was horrified.
"My, my. I would have thought that being a swan was quite enough. I know many coots who live out their flightless days attempting a swan's pond glide with the task ending in a tail grapple with tadpoles. Coots do get a bit distracted its true, however, no matter how hard they try, they always seem to have much more fun being themselves."
"I always thought I was missing out on something. But it was no fun. I suppose it wasn't my kind of fun.
"Could you try being a swan? You might like it so much better and it does suit you."
"It might be nice not getting mud all over my white feathers. That's another thing why all these feathers? And I'm so much bigger than the rest of them."
"Try being yourself and see what happens. You might have more fun being true to yourself. And you might do something great someday that only you were meant to do."
The swan-chick thought about it all...I suppose I'm not really having that much fun being a coot. I just thought coots didn't have fun. Well, they are having a terrible time chasing each other on the water & fighting for tadpoles. It looks like fun but all in all a rowdy group I must say... now look at the swans over there...
I suppose it's a different kind of fun. A fun more suited to me!
"But do you think they will let me glide on the water with them?" the little chick asked the parakeet.
"Give it a shot babe!" he said.
and so the swan-chick did.
The little swan had a wonderful time that afternoon and decided to be true to himself and what he was meant to be from that moment on. And of course when one follows ones destiny without distraction, the inevitable happens: he lived happily ever after.
posted by Napoleon at 8:34 AM
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