Photo by Vanburn Gonsalves
My Real Memoir
So this was who I really was. Neuroscientists say the prefrontal cortex, that “third eye” behind our frown lines, finishes developing in our mid-twenties. The results can be disastrous. Some people completely lose their sense of self and panic. Enter my anxiety. Right on schedule.
True, I’d developed a nasty train phobia when I was eleven. But the cause had been something outside myself, something I could face and conquer. Not this phobia. It came from within. It was a coup. In an instant, the befuddled and directionless Old Me had been overthrown.
Still, I had to get on with Old Me’s commitments. Which included directing the Newport Beach Arts Festival. I’d moved it to a lavish outdoor mall, Fashion Island. Which increased the former shoebox event’s size tenfold. Juried art works exploded to over 2,000, and dozens of performers signed on. It was a smash. Old Me would have been proud. New Me wasn’t anything—because New Me was just the husk of Old Me.
A week later, I did my final directing class project, an on-camera spoof of an Italian war movie. In it, soldier Vittorio rushes into the arms of his gorgeous Sophia Loren-esque wife—who discovers he hasn’t bathed in months. I had my actors mouth gibberish, while another actress and I “dubbed” them into English. I’d written the scene to feature Dinah, the statuesque actress I’d offended the night of my melt-down. Dinah was hilarious, and suitably gorgeous. But she showed no interest in me. And just as well. How dare I drag anyone into crazyland with me?
The only person I risked getting close to was my previous co-star Jelli. And she kept it casual. We didn’t even date, just talked and made out, albeit pretty steamily. We were friends-with-partial-benefits. Jelli sensed I was going through something, but didn’t probe. She just took my hand and walked with me. Knowing I’d had thoughts and doubts about faith, she urged me “not to give up on God.”
In June, my new-roommate-slash-old-mom and I moved into the upscale apartment she’d rented at Park Newport. There, amid a gaggle of middle-aged singles, Mom would finally renew her life. And me? I was just glad to have gotten out of that windowless cave.
Sunlight! The top half of my bedroom window was sealed. But the lower half slid open, so I left it that way to allow fresh air in. And it soon let something else in: a nimble little sparrow. I fetched a bag of sunflower seeds, and put a few on the sill inside. Todd (for that was his name) flew off, but soon returned. He looked at the seeds, looked at me, and then stepped through the opening. He finished them all, and hurried away.
The next morning, Todd arrived with his wife Vera (just go with it). I piled seeds on the sill, and stepped away. Vera ate like a bird. But Todd finished the lot. The next morning, there were five sparrows.
I found unexpected joy in the way my ever-growing flock crowded inside and waited for me to deliver “their” seeds. And joy in the way they feasted, even as I watched from just inches away. But the most memorable moment came a month later.
I’d had a rough night, and finally fallen asleep twisted in my sheets like an anxious mummy. I awoke to a twitching foot and a high, strident squawk. I opened my eyes and saw Todd, standing on my big toe, demanding that I get up and fetch his breakfast forthwith! I let out my first real laugh in months. Todd was my harbinger of hope. From whom, and for what…
I wasn’t sure.
My Real Memoir is a series. To read the next one, click here.
Thank you for sharing Mitch. Is the book for sale might I ask?
That’s in the future yet, Julian. The ‘My Real Memoir’ posts are a book in-the-making. Thanks for asking.
Not one falls but what He doesn’t know. An emissary.
Matthew 10:29. Amen, S.P.
35:54
Nice
Thanks, L.G.
Awesome. Way to go Todd!
Hilarious, and unforgettable!
Thanks for a great laugh and story.
Blessings,
Anne
My privilege, Anne.
We could all use a Todd in our lives. <3
<3
This is a wonderful bird story, Mitch. Helping another of God’s creatures that “needed you” is good mental medicine. 🙂
I hadn’t thought of it that way, Nancy.
https://gustavohorta.wordpress.com/2025/06/10/olhando-so-olhando/
*[…]Uma porção de costelinhas de boi e carne de lata.*
*Ninguém ao meu redor pra reclamar da fumaça do palheiro.[…]*
?
Sorry
I’ve posted misunderstanding.
Hope actually came with wings.
It did indeed, Iba.
I love the Todd story!
does mitch has pen & paper to write from 0 to 100
Lovely story!
Thank you, Lisa. It’s a sweet memory from a dark time in my life.
“Todd arrived with his wife Vera (just go with it).” LOL!!!
This is great! And true?
Whether the sparrows were married and knew each other as Todd and Vera is debatable. ;>) But the rest is true, yes.
I have fed the birds and squirrels for years. Never had that happen. The squirrels came closer than the birds. But I just fed them bread. But they never told me their names. lol!
;>)
:^)
There is always hope some place hidden in unexpected places. Never lose your faith—loved the story—blessings and peace!
Thank you, Claudia.
Nice 💓
Thanks, PK.
Wonderful! Now I have to hear Tanya Tucker again! “like two sparrows in a hurrican”. For the inner struggle, the surviving the doubts and the signs from elsewere, that no one is alone.
Truly, my friend.
Clever naming the birds. Strays always come back for more, huh?
Yep.
Charlee: “BIRD!!!”
;>)
Just how big did that flock of birds become? Did Hitchcock’s movie, The Birds, ever come to mind?!
;>) It’s been a long time, Nancy, but I think on peak days there may have been a dozen or so.
Great story, Mitch! Todd and Vera and their friends received sustenance and you received hope!
Exactly.
one hot summers day I picked up a tiny Swallow that had fallen or been shoved out of it’s nest high above me in the 5acre shed I worked in. We made chip board there or particle board. Anyway, I took the fledging swallow home and found someone who gave me some mealy worms to feed it. The baby bird was covered in downy(not your town) feathers and had that wide beak baby birds have. It ate and ate and ate! I was living solo in those days having been divorced for about 3 years. That bird was also keeping me going too. I worked 12hr shifts at the chip-board factory and the bird came with me in my old Datsun200B. It sat on the opened ashtray compartment in the dash. Every break during the shift I hurried out to the car to feed “Tweetle” who was morphing into adult feathers. Anyway I loved the bird. One day I decided it was time to give Tweetle a flying lesson….no I cant fly! She had been flying in my home already. I walked out to the back yard with her on my chest…she had her claws into my sweater. My yard was about 15 yards square. She jumped back and flew in a circle around the yard back to my chest. She did this a few more times…on the 4th flight I heard a whoosh and over my right should I felt a flap-whoosh and watched a ‘Butcher bird’ intercept Tweetle in mid-air in it’s beak…and fly off forever. I stood there aghast! I wept…and went back into my lonely hole.
Heartbreaking, yes, Dennis. And yet it seems Tweetle had a short but meaningful life with you. And God saw every moment.
What a magical and sweet story 🐦 ❤️
Thank you, Sarah.
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What a breath of fresh air! Thanks for sharing Mitch! – Yeka ❤️
My pleasure, Yeka!
Love this story, Mitch.
Delighted to hear that, Diane.
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