Morning Wonder

 

      Lately, I have been going outside in the early hours with my steaming cuppa joe and ready to take it in. This morning did not disappoint.  Sitting quietly I thought to myself that there seemed to be WAY more birds that early then there are typically at other parts of the day. I held my phone up with my trusty bird app up to pick up the different calls.

    First of all, I was amazed to learn just how many feathered friends had joined me, but also, and most importantly, the unity in their songs. They took turns, they responded to each other, and they didn't overlap. It truly was amazing to behold. The app identifies the bird, but also lights up as each bird calls. Were they singing to each other, or where they singing solo?

   Every once in a blue moon my app hits a bird that is not in the data base and I am left to wonder what bird was singing that beautiful song.

   But I think it's good to wonder.

Backyard Bully

   If you read my posts you know I'm a confessed bird lover and I've recently acquired an app that identifies all my feathered friends instantly by their call.

   With this little fellow you don't need an app. He is unmistakable not just in his regal beauty, but because his call his distinct, and unequivocally the loudest. He is California Scrub Jay and don't forget it.

    He is the biggest, the brightest blue, and that's not even getting into the fact that he is, as afore mentioned, the loudest. 

    I've been watching him lately. I have several bird feeders, and he's pretty much the backyard bully. He clears out all the smaller birds.  When he lands they all seem to scatter. They defer to him and wait till he is done. Sometimes, he invites a few of his cronies. They all gather at the feeder, much too large, but not willing to give up. When he is gone I am  guessing it's probably a relief. The smaller birds return one-by-one,  accepting his "sloppy seconds."

    The balance was completely disrupted yesterday with the arrival of a crow. Stay tuned.

Parenthood

 

       From the moment I became a parent there were so many different transitions. I remember being bewildered, feeling like an imposter, and often being scared out of my wits. In addition, there were so many demands that were instantaneously thrust upon me that were both physical, and mental.  I just felt like a tree in a the storm. And although many years have passed since then, and the physical challenges are gone the mental ones still remain.  I must confess that even now with my little hatchlings pretty much hatched, there is still so much I still do not know. 

Forgiveness

    My first experience with mortality was with my grandmother and believe me it was scathing. It has been etched unwavering in my memory for years.

   Try as I might I cannot unsee it.

    We didn't live near them, and because our visits depended upon on my grandfather's generosity they were annual ones.  The last several years up until, and then after my grandfather's passing, had left big gaps in our visits. Maybe it was that gaps, or maybe even my own immaturity but I was not prepared to cope with that visit to my grandmother that day. I could not handle not only viewing her debilitating illness, but also finding her so altered. I broke down in sobs, and could not compose myself. (I am embarrassed even now when I think about this).  

     My grandmother gave hugs that pulled you in tight. She had warm, doughy arms that kept you safe, and a laugh that was both throaty and delightful. As I stood in the doorway of that room of the convalescent hospital I was frozen. This emaciated, gnarled up figure was not my grandmother! All that remained were those piercing blue eyes.

   For so many years I have thought back to that moment and wished with all my heart, that I could go back in time, and do that hospital visit differently. Oh, how I wished I could walk back into that room, and have a "do over." This time I would control my emotions, and instead be an emotional support to my grandmother. And to this day, whenever I visit a loved one who is terminally ill, I inevitably reflect back to that moment with my grandmother, and realize how I betrayed her. She knew just how sick she was based on my emotional reaction.

   As an adult, and someone who has had now so much more experience with illness, and death I can now finally forgive myself, just as I know my grandmother already did during our visit so long ago.

An Offering

       This little nondescript origami frog may seem inconsequential or even unimportant but don't be fooled. This little joyful fellow represents not just the pure love of an eight year old, but the elusive connection with her.

    Today I returned to a class that I subbed in recently, and a student who kinda struggled that day produced this little black frog. She smiled shyly, and said, "Mrs. Gersho I made this for you."

      If you have ever worked with kids (whether it be volunteering or even teaching) you know exactly the significance of this frog. 

   And I treasure him. He sits on my bathroom counter, and I love to look at him. He never fails to make me smile.
 

Assuming our Places

 

    My cousin and I have a running joke that we are now on the roof, or the top level of the house that is our family.

      During one of my annual visits home (I live in Ca., both of my parents were from North Carolina), my cousin and I both shared how weird it was that all of our older relatives were passing, or in declining health, and now we were the ones who were in charge. We were the caregivers, or we were the ones that were being looked to for advice, care, etc. We were officially the "older generation."  We both remembered playing together out in the yard, or at sleepovers, or simply being the youngest and now our children (and in her case, her children's children) had swapped places with us.

     I'm not gonna lie, sometimes I do go back in my mind to those hot summers of my childhood. Those summers were humid, hot and wet and wrapped our skins like a blanket. I can easily see myself running around in the backyard feeling the soft grass between my toes, or even the welcome coolness of the night and catching fireflies. Yet at the same time, even though this was a big responsibility for my cousin and I, we actually welcomed it. Our mother's had laid the groundwork for us so well.

Ties That Bind

    From the moment I first dropped her off at the airport to head off to college and she blurted out incredulously, "Are you crying?" she has been cognizant of her power.

    I think she was both taken aback, but also secretly relishing the idea that she could evoke these deep feelings from me. From then on, there seemed to be no turning back.

   Every drop off, and every parting in the driveway involves a sly, cocking of the head, and even sometimes a look over to shoulder to more closely examine mom's eyes.

     And I don't mind, mind you. It's almost as if she is gauging, or checking the water. You DO still love me she is essentially asking. And if I disappoint her (as the partings over the years have grown more commonplace) and have no water works display for her at that moment, I will shake my head. And no matter what I do she doesn't believe me. She will hold me at arms length, and study my eyes furtively before making the final decision.

    And sometimes she will rub my arm affectionately and quip, "That's alright mom. Sometimes, this kinda stuff hits you later. At least, it does for me."  And usually at that point she will smile, and wave and drive off. Even if her window is up I can still hear the music. 

    And I know she is right. This stuff will hit me later.

Moral Dilemma

     Every morning when I head into the gym the temptation of this brand new French bakery is laid out right in front of me.

    Typically I head in Orange Theory with my water bottle, gloves, and my heart rate monitor band. Every once in awhile, I might look wistfully across the street at the bakery. Often the bakery has a line with a steady stream of customers. Frequently, someone strides out solo with a steaming espresso, while others might walk slowly together, talking animatedly, and nursing their coffees. Sometimes, I even see the elusive golden baguette. Yet, still I manage to turn on my heel, and make my way into the gym. I would liken it to clockwork, I guess. It's almost rote. I always leave stronger, fitter, more positive and ready to tackle the day.

    I will confess that when I'm leaving I might steal a second glance at the bakery out of the corner of my eye. As I slide my sweaty self into the front seat I make a solemn promise to myself that I've got a date with a freshly baked croissant soon.

   And I want to be clear; I just made good on that promise yesterday.

Acceptance

     They are all grown up now- or some reasonable facsimile at 22 and 24 years old.  Yet, there is a feeling I get wherever I am in the house and both of them are home. It never fails. This morning I paused on the stairs as it enveloped me like a warm blanket. The house feels different. The house feels complete, or maybe I do? I started being aware of the feeling when my oldest left for college and it's stuck with me since.There is a sense of security when they are sleeping, and I am doing my morning tasks. And whether it is loading the dishwasher, or even making coffee- I am content. I know they are safe. Initially, I wanted to keep that feeling tight in my hand but I know that I cannot.

    And then the day rears its' ugly head and we are off into the thick of it. And the moment is gone, as quickly as it came.