It is 4:00 P.M. I am laying back on the couch, looking out at the plastic trash can, on top of which is a styrofoam plate. A half pound of bird seed rests on the plate. I just bought the bird seed with Dad about an hour ago. I bought an enormous 10-pound bag.

The birds are not to be seen in the trees. Thus, they have not begun feeding.

One of my goals for the new year is to feed the birds. Since the onset of my mental illness in 1998, I have loved birds.

My grandfather loved feeding birds. He would construct bird feeder after bird feeder out of what most would consider trash. A busted trash can became the ends to a 4 foot long feeder, beautifully displayed as an entrance down the vista/hill in Eastern Kentucky.

Grandpa was a nervous man with a wiry build who would pace his floors frantically. Reading the Bible and feeding birds really seemed to calm him down.

I am also a man with a nervous condition. I thank my grandfather for this coping mechanism in the difficult game of life.