NO MAKE-UP SUNDAY

I spend about 30 minutes, six mornings a week, putting on make-up. I know, I know. Just how big is my face? But still... I do the lotion, the yellow stuff to take away the dark circles under my eyes from getting up so early just so I can put on make-up, the tinted moisturizer (one cannot have too much moisture at my age), the eye shadow, the liner, the mascara, the lipliner, the gloss... geez. I'm exhausted just talking about it.

So I have declared Sunday to be a No Make-up Sunday.

Which is why I am appalled when someone brings out a camera on a Sunday.

Or when someone schedules a meeting in the middle of the day that I MUST go to.

Or when I have to go to the store and cannot seem to miss running into the firemen that are shopping for the week.

Shoot. I give up.

I tried Pajama Sunday. But that just looks silly with full make-up. No, seriously. I decided that Sundays were going to be Pajama Day. I would go through the routine of make-up, but stay in my jammies all day. That worked. Until someone brought out a camera and forever captured my image in my fuzzy monkey pajamas. And the boss wasn't too excited about them either when I showed up for that exec meeting. But the firemen sure did get a kick out of them.

So, here I am, back to another Sunday - with a meeting scheduled, the camera in plain sight, and a trip to the grocery store is in order.... sigh. Where is my make-up kit?

DAVID & GOLIATH

I watched a hawk today. Fierce, strong, proud. Sitting at the very top of the tallest tree on our campus. Surveying the land, looking for mice, baby birds, small children to devour. He was simply, fearfully beautiful sitting atop his throne, perusing his kingdom for his next victim. The crows screamed their protests and dive bombed in an attempt to distract him from their nests. He simply ruffled his feathers and shook them off with a withering look of disdain. He would not budge. Then, in the distance, my eye caught the blur of a hummingbird. The smallest of winged fury, plain with no adornments or loud calls, she began buzzing the hawk. At first, he never noticed her. She would move to another perch, gather her wits, and take another pass at this magnificent bird easily 100 times her size. Over and over again she passed by his carnivorous beak, risking it all to get close enough to annoy him and make him move. Each time she would pass by, he would glance her way, growing more and more flustered at this pesky annoyance. Again, she took aim and did her best to distract him and send him on his way. Her message was clear. He was not wanted. Even the crows joined me in watching this dance with death that this little bird had committed herself to.

Finally, in what can only be described as hawk exasperation, he yawned, stretched out his feathers, and, as if to say, "You bore me," the king of the skies took off to different pastures. She had won the battle. I watched as she left the battlefield and headed to her nest, far away from the gaze and sharp claws of the great beast. Her babies were safe.

I was so proud of her. She took on a seemingly impossible fight and stuck to it... even when the bigger crows gave up, she kept on going.

I am sure the hawk will be back. Afterall, the field over which the tree sits is his own personal buffet. But I know one little hummingbird that isn't afraid of him.