Mom spends hours and hours every day watching the birds that come here. Dad feeds the birds every day and spends a good chunk of his retirement money every month on black oil sunflower seeds and coarse cracked corn, suet and jelly, oranges and other treats for our feathered friends. Mom used to write down important sightings but she is still making those mental lists. Since Mom starting keeping track of them, the Baltimore Orioles have shown up on or before Mothers Day almost every year--I remember one year when they were days late and how she fretted over their arrival. The most interesting bird connection this spring has been the one between Mom and the tiny Tufted Titmouse. This little bird flies up to the window nearest where Mom is and either clings to the screen or sits on the window sill, looks into her eyes, and sings away. She talks to it, too, in a tiny soothing voice of nonsense syllables. They seem to communicate quite well with each other. Mom assures me that she speaks its language. Dad is sure that little bird would come into the house if he opened a window for it.