Every spring a vocally dominant mockingbird takes up residence in my neighborhood. While I sometimes complain about three a m concerts, generally I am thrilled by the variety of musical patterns the birds produce. This year, however, I am haunted by the stunted expression of the songster who sits somewhere on a tree in back of my house. He arrived a week ago; I welcomed him with a smile. It must be spring. But wow, this bird has a major problem. He can’t sing. Is he incapable? Or just lazy?
I lie in bed listening to him repeat three syllables. Three syllables! Tui tui twee! Tui tui twee! And sometimes he gets stuck on the third syllable. Tui tui tw! Isn’t a mockingbird supposed to copy other birds? How can you mock with “tw.” I feel sorry for him, but then, he hasn’t yet tested my compassion in the darkness of the night. At seven in the morning, when he begins to practice, I am awake and busy putting together my schedule for the day; I register vague sadness over his lack of song, but quickly proceed to think of yarn, oatmeal, and seedlings.
Today I am intrigued by the word “variegated.” Soon after I brush my teeth I go to my computer and look up its exact meaning. Wiktionary says: “Streaked, spotted, or otherwise marked with a variety of color.” Merriam Webster sees it as: “Having discreet markings of different colors.”
I’ve always loved variegated yarns. Some are unpredictable since their markings change at irregular intervals. Others are less daring in their two-tone repetitions. Some produce bright splashes of color while some crawl along in subtle tonal shifts. Their names make me think of poetry. Aspen. Painted Desert. Watercolor. Camouflage. Peruvian Print .
Variegated yarns are wonderful for teddy bears. Paired with solid colors they produce in my brain the image of cotton candy, the sound of ocean waves, the solitude of a walk along the seashore in autumn. Lately I’ve gathered as many “variegates” as I could find in my big bucket of yarn balls, and knitted the shells of twelve bears. There will be more. I have to set an example for the mockingbird.
After breakfast I reach for my gardening gloves and head outdoors. “Variety is the spice of life,” I say out loud in the direction of the pine tree. I often use clichés when I am philosophical. “Tui tui twee will not make you king of the hill. Put some color into your song! Variegate!*
*Variegate - according to Webster’s College Dictionary’s second choice: to make interesting by variety.
