There’s a Pigeon in My Kitchen

The first, and only, Writer’s Workshop I ever attended was in Dayton, Ohio. It’s held every other year in honor of the late humor columnist Erma Bombeck, and offers comedic camaraderie for writers who enjoy crafting poignant prose.

Day one kicked off with a class called Essays Gone Wild. Never mind that my long-haul travel to this workshop, along with a three-hour time change, left me feeling far from reckless. I was, however, full of waffles from the hotels breakfast bar. So, fully fueled, I went to a workshop on writing essays that, as the title implied, might go off the rails.

I took a seat in the middle of the room and listened as our instructor explained that a writing prompt could help cultivate our creativity. Since the workshop was bent on humor, I paid no mind to her choice of the word pigeon as our writing subject. 

So, I got down to business, writing a piece about these pesky birds that flock to the City by the Bay, my home in San Francisco, and from where I’d traveled four hours by plane to take this workshop. 

The instructor broke our silence, asking if anybody wanted to share their writing. I’ll admit, my arm wanted to raise itself, like back in 6th grade when I was the teacher’s pet. But with age comes wisdom, and I beat that arm into submission. So, the woman to my left read about gathering in her family’s kitchen and the wonderful memories that room holds. I kept waiting for the part where pigeons made their grand entrance into her story. Maybe they would fly in and ruin a perfectly good Thanksgiving gathering. Or perhaps, Cornish game pigeons were cooked in some culinary catastrophe!

But, nope, nothing about pigeons surfaced as she rambled on about her kitchen. That’s when some waffle fuel kicked my brain into gear with a lightbulb moment. I thought, “Wait a second here, the words pigeon and kitchen sound kinda similar!” I looked down at my chicken scratch, knowing everyone else in the room wrote about kitchens, the correct prompt, and probably didn’t include one word about pigeons!

It’s said that if you can’t laugh at yourself, then you’re missing the joke, and this joke was on me!  In my defense, it had only been a few short months since my hearing went on permanent hiatus. I experienced what’s called Sudden Sensory Hearing Loss. Now my right ear can’t process sound like it used to. Ironically, it happened while I was standing in my kitchen! One minute, I could hear just fine. Next, my hearing just shut down. Now this pigeon/kitchen snafu happens to me all the time! Nearly half of what is spoken to me gets lost in translation.

I suppose this is proof that life is full of uncertainty and unexplained things. Like the fact that ‘pigeons’ and ‘kitchens’ are not only similar in sound, but somehow in meaning too. Both have to do with flocking, gathering, foraging for food, and even flying to a place where friendship is found. Like the type of camaraderie I was fortunate to find with my fellow folks at the Erma Bombeck Writer’s Workshop.

Since this time, I’ve never looked at pigeons the same again, and their persistence is a lot less annoying than before. I guess these Erma folks are my personal homing pigeons. The ones I want to invite into my kitchen so we can break bread and exchange banter about how special Erma Bombeck was. These lovely folks, and fellow kindred spirits, fly from long distances to flock together, migrating to meet up in Dayton, and maybe even in someone’s kitchen…every other year.