The World is My Teacher

   There is a gate I have to open fairly regularly for which I do not have a key.  I had an old pair of scissors that lost the rivet and was therefore two halves of a scissors.  Is it a "scissors" or a "scissor" or just "scissors?"  I don't know, but I digress.  Anyway, I take one half of the scissors, which is a flat, thin, curved blade, and I slip it in the latch, release the bolt, and open the gate.  The other day, I had approached the gate without my handy half scissor tool and, rather than walk back to my truck with all the stuff I was carrying, I was trying to open the latch with my pocket knife.  A couple of kids walked up behind me, returning home from school, a boy and a girl I'd say were probably 9 or 10 years old, saw what I was doing, and said, "We just do this."  The boy gave the iron gate a good kick, in and downward, and the it popped open!

   Here I thought I was so smart with my secret "master key," and all the while all I had to do was kick the gate just right.  Sometimes I just don't know what I don't know.

Syllables

   One of my favorite books suggests that procrastination is really just sloth in five syllables.  Syllables seem to matter a great deal in American English lately.  I frequently hear "utilize" in place of "use," "notate" instead of "note," and "stated" for "said."  For example, "She stated that she'd notated you procrastinate rather than utilize your talents," instead of "She said she'd noted you choose to be lazy rather than use your talents."
    Simple is beautiful.  I'm a decent speller with a pretty good vocabulary, but I suck at pronunciation.  If there's a wrong way to pronounce an English word, I'll find it.
   For me, the fewer syllables, the better.

Baby Bunny

   At first, I wasn't sure what it was and I thought it was dead.  Early this morning, not long after sunrise, I happened upon this very young rabbit while recovering my Thermos and fleece I'd left among some low dirt mounds, near the canal where I walk my dogs at sunrise and sunset.  On closer inspection, I realized it wasn't quite dead and that it wasn't a rodent, it was a younger, smaller version of the cottontail rabbits the dogs live to chase (but never catch) in the large empty field adjacent to the canal.
   I don't remember ever seeing such a young bunny.  He's just a tiny version of an adult rabbit, with fur and open eyes.  I removed him from the dirty depression where he lie motionless and cradled him in my hands, handing the other items to Jeannie.  When we got home, she found a shoe box and some soft cloth and made a bed for him.  We let him rest in this safe place away from drafts, temperature extremes and predators while we ate our breakfast.  Later, we tried feeding him some soy milk and some dandelion greens.  He made a little movement and a faint noise, but didn't seem to be interested in the milk.
   I don't know much at all about how to care for rabbits, but Jeannie did some research on the Internet.  Although he's so tiny, it's a good sign that he has fur and that his eyes are open.  We don't know what, if anything, happened to him before we found him.  Did he venture from the nest on his own and fall victim to exhaustion or another creature?  Was he defective and carried from the nest by his mother?  I don't expect him to survive and thrive, but I recently rescued a pigeon from my front yard who'd been stunned or wounded and could only flap a wing and spin in circles.  I didn't expect him to survive either, but the next morning he was better, and he flew away as I released him into the air.  I will do my best for this little rabbit and hope he makes it.
   Some people and animals do not live to be very old.  I don't know why.  I don't know how or why I've lived 54 years.  I don't know how much longer I'll continue to live, but I'm learning to live in each moment and accept it for what it is, not for what I wish it to be.  I'm learning to observe it without judging it as good or bad.
   Baby bunnies are really cute.