I do not know why this obsession began, but I can pinpoint when. About three years ago, I walked across the Oval at Ohio State and there, situated just behind the art buildings, was a small art glass sale. Ohio State has a glass blowing program, and several students sold their art once a year.
Sitting along a concrete wall, a row of glass-blown birds caught my eye. They were of various shapes and colors, some large and small, most of them squat, fat little birds. All twinkled in the light shining down between the trees. I immediately fell in love with a little bluebird. The feeling overcame me and I felt attached, and suddenly happy, to this little bird. To this day, I still call it my bluebird of happiness.
The next year, I watched for the art sale and picked up a larger, green bird. It was my last year at Ohio State and my last year for the little hand-blown glass birds. But this last Christmas, I found a small, shiny bird on the shelves at Target hidden among the decorations for the season.
And now, everywhere I go, I look for birds. Little bird paperweights, pretty glass birds, shiny metal birds – I suddenly have a love for birds I never had before. In a way, I think it is a part of my late grandfather shining through in me. He loved birds. Some days, he would sit and watch them for hours from the dining room in my grandparent’s house. The sun would stream through the glass and he would watch the birds peck at the feeders. There was a quiet happiness about those moments. Now, every time I look at my little birds, I feel that same, serene feeling I once felt as a child.