~thankful thursday~ collecting butterflies

11/1/21

~30 days of gratitude~ day 1

Today didn’t have any obvious things to set it apart from other days. Coffee and eggs. Handling gross fish guts. Then coming home. Coming home is something I am keenly grateful for, having spent quite a bit of time away from home recently. I’ll say more about the away days in other posts, I’m guessing. But hand in hand with coming home, is who I come home to/come home with, who I sit down and read voter guides with over popcorn, who still builds me and the kitties a wood stove fire every November day. I am grateful for my partner in all of the things, including road trips that are not vacations.

 

11/2/21

~30 days of gratitude~ day 2

When taking trips that are not vacations, I am grateful for my camera, which gives me a great excuse to take breaks from non-vacationing to collect images of butterflies. Collecting butterflies while not vacationing is a lot like practicing gratitude. You start with an intention. You have to pay close attention. You find them if you look, sometimes in unlikely places. You can’t hold onto them, only notice them. Gratitude and butterflies seem to both teach about letting go. I have been grateful for butterflies in past years, I was grateful for them exactly two years ago today according to the data, but I have been looking hard for butterflies during this season of our lives and they continue to appear and appear.

 

11/3/21

~30 days of gratitude~ day 3

Grateful for this human and honored to be his mama.

the portal

I reached the light at the end of the swim tunnel.

I continue to rise at 4:00 to write every day.

The portal is open, the ideas are flowing onto the page, I am diving under each wave and coming up breathless and ready for the next.

 

I have been accepted into the Mountainview low-residency MFA program in Creative Nonfiction.

 

 

This is just one of several amazing doors opened by taking a new step towards actively pursue my writing goals.

 

My mentor reminded us at the end of my first workshop that it’s necessary to write daily, but also to sometimes put down the laptop and go for that hike.

Which is wisdom I already embrace.

~summer shorts~ molting

I passed the tub of paid-for veggies to the outside of the sneeze guard and the customer turned sideways to me to pack them into her bag. I dipped my gloved hands in bleach again, looked around at the customers standing six feet apart, the colorful fabrics of their face masks. As I turned back towards her, her earring caught my eye – a beautiful piece, rose colored stones, the kind of earring with a tear drop shaped central stone and many little jingly bits of metal and beads dangling, like a musical feather. “What beautiful earrings,” I said.

“Thank you, they were my mother’s. When I was little, I would hear the sound of them, so now when I wear them, I hear that sound and feel surrounded by her, and by those happy memories.”

Hearing of mother connections is especially poignant as I grapple with separation, and her story came as an unexpected gift. I feel surrounded by my mom’s love when I am wrapped in one of her quilts. I have been delivering care packages in my own attempt to wrap my love around Quinn as well, as we approach five months of separation. Snacks, books, a box of seeds to grow, feathers.

It’s molting season for the birds. Every few days I look down during our bayou walks and discover a new feather shed by one of our local jays and once even a raven! This ritual shedding of items that are no longer useful seems apt. Mom and I have been talking about how we both base a lot of our worthiness on our usefulness. I am underproducing for work and powerless as a parent, so my usefulness is quite diminished. Perhaps it is time to molt, to let go of old ideas about worthiness, like feathers that need to retire from service. These feathers have done their gravity-defying work and have performed valiantly, but their ragged edges are no longer streamlined, no longer serving to decrease resistance to the flow.

The day I found an owl feather, I had really been missing Quinn, and it was a small comfort to find a trace of his favorite animal that I could pick up and hold in my hand. Its softness and lightness brought a lift I was needing. I held onto it for a week or so, but when the time came to deliver another care package, I tucked it in a ziplock bag with the latest stash of feather finds.

That same afternoon on my walk with Rich, I found one more owl feather, in the very same spot I had found the first one. This one I think I’ll keep.

Quinn will be the first to tell you that birds are dinosaurs. I would fill his care packages with live baby dinosaurs if I could, but feathers are the closest thing I can surround him with, my nestling who has fledged too soon. Of all the ephemeral things, a feather, when as a mother so much of my energy has been spent striving to overcome impermanence for him. He is a sensitive person who was a bit devastated when the peep we microwaved could not be reconstituted into its previous form – things that are fun for other kids cause him grief. He explained that he did not want to study the woolly mammoth, one of his all-time favorites, because he really wishes he could see a live one, and their extinction hurts too much. Change, transitions, extinction, impermanence. Throwing anything away is a struggle for him, so every week he went to his dad’s I carefully removed detritus from his room just beneath his limits of detection.

I have been realizing that my mom did this for me as a child, too. Thinking of birds and dinosaurs and peeps just reminded me that she once learned how to poke a pinhole in each end of an egg to blow the contents of the egg into a bowl, leaving a pristine egg surface for decorating that would not spoil. I have a feeling she might have been wishing she could just put her feet up, but she strove to overcome some impermanence for me when I grieved the demise of my colorful easter eggs.

Part of the devastation of this time is there is no protecting our children from these losses they are enduring. However, protecting our children from learning how to handle loss might be another idea that is ready to be molted, replaced with some new plumage. We will just have to trust that it will grow in brighter, stronger, readier for streamlined flight than that which it is replacing.

~rainbow mondays~ uplift

~rainbow mondays~

a splash of color on monday morning

a photo study documenting the colors of the spectrum: the balance points between light reflected and light absorbed