Last year my husband and I went for a walk at the bird sanctuary by the lake. Suddenly, we saw an osprey nearby and my husband took a few pictures. We knew that the city had built a platform for the osprey and had seen them in their nest, but we had never seen one so close before.
I decided to scrapbook those pictures and I worked for hours on the pages. When I proudly showed them to my daughter Christine she said,"That's not a real bird, that's a sculpture."
I peered at it closely, "You're right, but it sure looks real."
"Mother," she said with a sigh, "It's all the same steel grey color and anyway, it's a heron, not an osprey."
I took off my glasses, put my nose to the picture and realized she was right. I now remembered the sculpture and where we had taken the photo; it was at a park near the lake.
I've decided I don't care. After all that work it is staying in my scrapbook. When I'm older and my mind is going I'll probably think it's an osprey again and then I won't feel embarrassed every time look at it. Which reminds me, I can't find the pictures of the real osprey anywhere.