Send Help! King of oblivious concentration meets his match - Akron Beacon Journal

It has been mentioned many times over the years that Kristin and I share the same workspace at home. It was a dining room back when normal people lived here. Now it’s mostly filled with easels, canvases and dozens and dozens of tubes, bottles and even gallon jugs of paint. Paint brushes numbering in the hundreds fill chipped mugs, coffee cans and even a repurposed utensil rack from our old dishwasher. Then there’s the "inspirational materials" including, but in no way limited to, cartoon character figurines, tiny wire bird sculptures, countless Rolling Stones motif trinkets and even a bobblehead of local retailing legend Jay Lehman.

Then there’s my corner: a tiny, quarter-slice of the office space pie, where I crouch in front of my computer and try to ignore the flea market bargain bin that surrounds me. It’s an interesting place to work, to say the least, but distraction that would easily undo lesser men holds no power over me. If I’ve got my writing groove on, the whole of Kristin’s bric-a-brac collection could spring to life and sing "Gimme Shelter" and I wouldn’t be swayed from a sentence. This level of focus, however, comes at a price — I sometimes entirely miss things that are happening right in front of me. (Or actually behind me, because my nose is in the corner most of the time.)

Kristin would be happy to point out numerous examples of my "obliviousness" but the one she is most presently disturbed by has to do with Ditto, our rescue parakeet. Apparently, Ditto, who actually lives just 5 feet away from me on the window shelf, had gone off his feed, begun pulling out feathers and spent many hours of the day sulking in the corner of his cage. I noticed none of this. Kristin, however, was beside herself.

"What could be wrong?" she pined. "Is he sick? Is he too cold? Is he too hot? Does he dislike his new food? Does he suddenly hate me?"

I let her work through various theories, doing my best to ignore it all until she said the magic words: "Do we need to take him to the vet?"

"I’m not taking a $10 bird (which we actually found for free) for an $80 dollar checkup!" I snarled. "If he’s sick, then he’ll croak and we’ll get another one."

I doubt I can adequately describe the verbal backlash I faced from this comment. And needless to say, my ‘solution’ was nothing more than fuel for her to begin a series of experiments to identify the source of his trouble. She changed his food, his surroundings and even rearranged the toys in his cage. (Which, by the way, he’s entirely ignored from day one.) After more than a week of dining room-turned-office-turned-laboratory tests Dr. Kristin concluded that the problem was (drum roll) the wrong type of entertainment!

Now, instead of listening to National Public Radio, CNN and Late-night TV comics all day, Ditto is being treated to six or eight hours of parakeet sounds. (Thus proving with absolute certainty you truly can find anything on the internet.) His favorite video at present is "Three Hours of Budgie Sounds for Lonely Birds." In close second is: "Hot Footage of My Lovely Parakeets Chirping."

The bird is now thriving, and I …, well, I am looking for a new office — or at least a really, really great set of headphones!

(I’d love to hear your questions or comments! Write to John Lorson Send Help, P.O. Box 170, Fredericksburg, OH 44627. Be sure to check out Facebook for time-lapse film clips of Kristin’s artwork and other fun stuff at JohnLorsonSendHelp)