[ MAUKA-MAKAI ]

KEN SAKAMOTO / STAR-BULLETIN
Michelle Calabro Hubbard, shown here with Flash, is the author
of "Sour Notes," about a local girl who goes to drastic measures
to lose weight only to learn to accept herself just the way she is.

Feathered friends
fulfill maternal instinct

THE GODDESS SPEAKS

---

Michelle Calabro Hubbard
Special to the Star-Bulletin

I DON'T HAVE any children and I'm not going to. It wasn't really by choice, sure there were days when I was single and grateful to be free of the responsibility of being a parent, but I pretty much expected to have a family of my own.

Like most little girls, I played with dolls, an Easy Bake Oven and a plastic grocery cart that I filled with cardboard food. I assumed my adult life would mirror my childhood play. There were even times when I thought I'd make a pretty good mom.

It may sound old-fashioned, but I looked forward to having a home and taking care of my children. After all, I have two terrific nephews. If my sister, who was raised by the same parents and with the same beliefs as me, could have such wonderful children, surely I would too. But, I'm getting to an age and stage of life where it's pretty obvious I won't get a chance to find out.

I haven't consciously tried to fill a void that might have been occupied by children. In fact, a lot of times I think I'm getting off pretty easy. I have noticed, however, that the closer my biological clock gets to sounding its final alarm, the more involved I become with my birds.

I started bird ownership with a couple of zebra finches that were more annoying than anything else. Next came some parakeets that were pretty and made a nice sound, but not much more. When I bought a hand-fed pair of lovebirds I thought we would really bond. They did bond with each other, but I'm merely a third wheel who provides food. Occasionally, they greet me with a "Good morning" and one of them loves to watch me wash the dishes and fold the laundry.

Still, they're definitely not tame.

Three years ago this Christmas, I bought a baby sun conure. Because of his brilliant colored yellow and orange feathers, I named him "Flash."

Flash is definitely the light of my life. There is very little I do without a little orange face and bright black eyes peering from my shoulder. Flash shares pasta from my dinner, water from my glass and bananas from my cereal. I know some might consider this unsanitary, but I think the love and trust it creates between Flash and me is stronger than any germs.

Now, my husband, Tony, is not a pet person. As if he knows this, Flash says, "Hi, Toe" loud and clear whenever he sees Tony. In fact, "Hi, Toe" has become Flash's all-purpose greeting for any and all, no matter what their name really is. He also says it when the phone rings and after I sneeze.

I think my favorite time with Flash is at night. As we sit quietly watching TV or reading, he lies on his side with one foot tucked under his body and the other curled around my finger. His eyes are squeezed shut and he whispers "night night."

I consider myself lucky to have a little being in my life who is fascinated by everything I do. Flash laughs when I laugh, sings when I sing, and chases my fingers around the keyboard when I work at the computer.

I feel even luckier when I need time away from the "little darling." All I have to do is put him in his cage then walk away. And, when I return, whether from a trip to the mainland or getting a glass of water from the kitchen, I'm greeted with such enthusiastic calls of "Hi, Toe!" you would think I am a Goddess. Or maybe even a mom.

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