A pelican, I am

 

SURFSIDE BEACH, Texas - There's something instructive in the pelican's dance.

As a bunch, they fly with discipline and rhythm, skirting the waves, one behind the other, in a long, majestic, aerial train.

Alone, at feeding time, they soar high, spy a fish, and plummet beak-first in an awkward fall, wings akimbo. It reminds me of my worst belly flops.

But there’s beauty in the plunge. Watching a large flock surprise the fish below is like watching giant raindrops fall.

We’re at the beach this week, southwest of Galveston. Much like Texas itself, the beach is a rough, raucous, proud place. 

Rough like the Northwest Pacific coast, with spots of timber rolling up on shore.

Raucous, because the white-capped waves generate a throbbing, growling din rather than the distinctive, successive “crack!” that I usually favor.

Proud, because here Texans are allowed to drive on the beach and pull their pickups right to the surf’s edge like it was a Sonic drive-in, then pop a beer and order seaside views sprinkled with salt air.

At this beach, the brown pelicans thrive. We counted nine in a row yesterday. On my walk today, I came upon a congregation of at least 20 resting on the beach, stretching their ungainly wings, their long faces looking nervously my way until I came too close.

And then they soared on, in a long row, undulating like a Chinese kite-and-tail, just missing the froth of the wave tops.

Odd, I know, but I feel a bit like a pelican these days. Just weeks ago, at my job, I was amid the work group, moving in harmony with my peers, creating something bigger than any one of us.

And today, after leaving my employer of 27 years, I’m on my on, eyes wide, searching for the next bit of business, taking the plunge when necessary.

A stretch, maybe. But even numbers guy Albert Einstein could appreciate nature as metaphor.

“Look deep into nature, and then you will understand everything better,” he said.

I think what I see most deeply now, on this beach this week, is time … time ticking away, of course, but also time’s broader context.

This beach and these pelicans existed long before we arrived, and will continue long after we’re gone. (The brown pelican …  Pelecanus occidentalis … stems from the 30-million-year-old Pelecanidae family of water birds.)

As probably will the bubbas, their beer and their pickups.

So I’ve decided it’s time to focus on things more important than work. Read more books. Write. Work hard to stay healthy. (Cindy and I have both pledged to do that one!) And more fully embrace the trinity at the top of this blog … live, laugh, love.   

Don’t laugh, but I’m starting with the basics. I’m now reading Harry Potter – specifically, the first book, Sorcerer’s Stone.

I downloaded the e-book versions of all seven of the Potter series last night.

It speaks poorly of me that the infamous first book was written in 1998, more than 16 years ago, and it’s taken me this long to get around to reading the series. Sure, I’ve seen all the movies – the easy path to literature (if you consider J.K. Rowling’s series literature). But the rest of my family has read each volume, word-by-word, front to back. In some cases, multiple times; in Cindy’s case, aloud to the kids.

I never had the time, I said. Which wasn’t true. I just didn’t take the time.

I’ve felt guilty about that. Not just in a family way, but as a book publisher. Now there are no excuses. 

So far it’s been great fun revisiting young Potter and the gang at Hogwarts. A real page-turner, as I knew it would be.

Which gets us back to pelicans … really! 

Interestingly, there are no pelicans in the Potter saga. But there is a white owl, Hedwig, one of Harry’s earliest friends. 

At a distant point down the road, Hedwig will sacrifice his life to save Harry’s.

Potter-series scholars, struggling to find in Rowling’s writing some key parallels to great religions, have searched for an owl analogy and noted that in medieval Christianity, pelicans also were said to sacrifice their lives for others.

I doubt Rowling had pelicans in mind when she concocted Hedwig. Owls are noble, sage and stately beasts. Seemingly brave, too. Pelicans? Given their gawky appearance, it’s hard to assume similar characteristics.  

But it does the mind good to consider such possibilities. Nobility, smarts and bravery are rarely tied to looks. I like to think so, anyway.

It’s a comforting thought, especially today, when I’ve forced on myself the attributes of a lumbering bird that falls like a fat rock, 20 feet into water.

That he invariably surfaces with the prize seems the most important.