Hitchcock’s film: the inspiration for “revenge of nature” disaster films everywhere. But if you’ve never read the short story The Birds, by Daphne du Maurier, do it.

Back on track… (she says while laughing loudly, wondering when the neighbors are going to call the men with the white coats.)

Once upon a time, I had an uncle who was a real nutjob. (Seriously, he was the kind of man who makes me look sane, but he did shed some light on the places the insanity gene on my mother’s side could go if provoked.) He juggled. I saw him do it once and thought, “I need to learn how to do that!” So I taught myself. I’ve always loved him for that, because I can entertain children for hours with this skill. Although this post isn’t supposed to be about juggling…

My nutty uncle liked to scare the crap out of little blond children in that “I’m gonna get you” kind of way that ends with the grabbing and the tickling and the lifting the child upside-down and flailing them around until their heads are full of blood kind of way. I hated that. I also hated that he’d hide around corners and jump out with “The birds! The birds!” I was three, I think. I’d never seen the movie. But the first time I did, as a teenager years after my uncle died, I had a traumatic little flashback.

Words stick. If you make them.