I wanted to post something today and I
began a story about an owl I saw this evening but no “story” emerged, just a
snapshot appeared. I write:
I
went for a short walk today, late in the afternoon but before evening. I walked
across the field towards the little coulee that separates my space from a
neighborhood and watched for the moon. I did not see it, this winter moon in
its waning phase for the sky was cloudy and filtered its light, but as I stood
there I heard a whoosh sound cutting the stillness. I looked up to see an owl
in flight. It landed near where I stood in a tree – perched there and
magnificent. I felt I didn’t belong there, this was his space, it is a place he
had come to many times before when there were no people, no houses and concrete.
He now seemed out of place and that made me sad. Later, as I was writing, I heard him outside
of my window. By then it was nighttime and he was hooting. There is something
mysterious about that sound. It seems foreboding and ominous.
That’s it, that’s as far as I got. I
distracted myself from the owl and began rummaging around in my folders and I
came across something I wrote last summer – I may have already posted it but,
that’s okay, I post again because now, unlike then, I can answer some of the
questions. I suppose if we just allow our lives to progress as they should, we
can find answers, but that's not what we typically do, we force things to happen - patience is a virtue. Anyway, here it is, perhaps, again.
I couldn’t sleep past 5 am this morning
even though my bedtime last night approached midnight. It’s good though, I have
wanted to see the summer sunrise and hear the silence in my house and I did
this morning. There is something special about the beginning of a day - the
feeling of aloneness, a place to connect with yourself before the rattle of the
day distracts you and you become the chameleon once again. I can see myself
more clearly and I can admit my fears
and flaws and I can get to know me a bit
better here in the very early morning when the world is somewhere in the distant
and I am “alone” in it. I set goals for myself in the quietness of this
morning, simple things like starting a canvas I have already created in my head
and packing away the childhood memories in Matt and Drew’s room and then more
difficult things like completing the unending
book I began nearly a decade ago, a memoir about Miss Sue and another goal to
untie a few more apron strings, to “let go” , to redefine my role as mom and
view it more as a sideline “job” while , all the while, wearing my heart on the
outside– this is tough after so many intense years of being in the middle of
things but it’s rather restful also – less doing and more enjoying. This post
is going nowhere…
It’s nearly noon now and I have some
reoccurring thought in my head. It’s about change, lifestyle change. I can’t
maintain the appetite of my youth - I have to let a few things go before I get
weighted down with age and upkeep. I think I will begin with the garden. I have
been gardening in one capacity or another since I was 15; Miss Sue taught and
inspired me then. I have, by early June, semi abandoned mine and as I look at
it I realize it is like a child and needs a lot of attention if it is to
blossom and reach its potential. As I look within myself I realize I am not
willing to give it the time it needs, at least not now. I have discovered this
wonderful place to give me compensation, however, the local Farmer’s Market. I
will limit my garden next spring to a square root box containing tomatoes bell
peppers and eggplant and maybe cucumbers. Done.
Then there is the question of this house –
this huge great old house where I raised my family – what do I do? What do we
do – us who have rooted ourselves in memories and a place and now want more
flexible time and less domestic work; it seems a choice between sentiment and pragmatism
– who wins? It’s a great place to accommodate my large family but nearly each
day of the year, after Elizabeth leaves, it will be an oversized space for just
two people. I do not want to be its slave nor do I want it to be my money pit –
I can think of so many other places to throw money, places that make a
contribution to someone. I am not prepared to answer this nagging question just
now, I think more needs to unravel before I know the answer. I will just pay
mind to the contents at this point and try to lighten the interior load and
perhaps one day soon, I will know what to do with the rest.
Ok.There you have a fair portion of a
summer day’s rambling – questions posed, few answered. Exhausting, but it does
help to write it down.
