Birdsongs

Sitting still, with the windows open and my eyes closed, bird calls, squawks, tweets and whistles remind me of so many places and experiences past. The faces of family and friends I shared those experiences with are there too, clearly seen with my eyes closed. 

As with certain songs that come on the radio, I am immediately reminiscent hearing the bird songs. In just these few seconds I hear the same bird chatter I remember hearing as a child camping in the tent camper with my brothers and parents, when nothing more than a thin layer of dew damp canvas warming in the sun, scenting the air, was between their song and my ears. 

My grandparents camped with us sometimes. I can see Grandpa smiling, a little, it's really more of a pleasant relaxed expression than a smile. I think to myself in this moment that the memory is incomplete without the call of the whippoorwill, and then I hear him. He is not one of the more frequent morning birds I hear, but with my eyes closed, listening, there he is, and again. Whip Whipp-oor-will.

I think about the pheasant that flew into the glass of my brother's bedroom window, and the flock of honking geese that dropped by my house for a rest from their flight south, like a travel break at an exit off the highway where there is a Cracker Barrel.

I think about "the big guy", a red tailed hawk, perched on the stop sign at the corner in front of my house. My youngest son, four at the time, charged in the front door from play to announce that the big guy was out there. I was a little afraid of what he meant by that statement and a lot relieved to figure it out! I guess to a four year old that hawk up close was quite a "big guy"!  That same four year old once conversed with a blackbird in the back yard on another open windows day. Standing at the table making himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch, he told that bird in no uncertain terms that it was his sandwich, and no, the bird could not have any, it would have to get its own. 

I remember how odd I thought it was as a new Floridian to hear the beautiful songs of night birds instead of crickets. These little birds in the palm trees outside my open window, were just getting started with their everyday routines when I laid down each night to finish mine. I think of an owl in the small patch of woods where my daughter works. She spotted him in the tree watching us as we watched him. He hooted for us. I'm reminded of the two yellow canaries I had years ago, and of the day I was delighted to discover buntings, green, painted, and even their elusive cousins the indigo's, living happily near the nature center just ten minutes from my house. I have been back several times to sit and watch and enjoy them.

I think of sparrows, and Jesus' sort of dime a dozen reference to them in the bible. The sparrows are many, they are not very distinctive or unique or rare to see or hear, they are plain and easily dismissed or overlooked. But Jesus uses those little birds as an example to clarify His point, not one falls to the ground apart from the will of God the father, not one that He does not notice, has not cared for, and does not value even though they seem in the whole of creation rather insignificant. How much more He values us, his crowning creation, made in His own image. Nothing about us is unnoticed or not deeply cared about by Him, every detail of our life is in His loving Fatherly hands. We may not be held in high esteem in the eyes of other people, but to Him, we are precious in his sight,

I love how this uninterrupted moment , with eyes closed to visual distraction, listening to birds reminded me of goodness. Past goodness, present goodness, and because of these, expectant hope for future goodness. Come what may, no one can take away the goodness that is already impressed in my mind and heart. 

I love what I am able to see with my eyes closed.

A Dress

So nine days before my son’s wedding its official, I am boycotting women’s clothes, in particular, dresses. I have purchased a dress that quite frankly, I don’t want to wear. The fabric is pretty, the style is pretty, with a little nip and a little hemming, on me it will be okay, certainly not wonderful. A mom wants to feel pretty on such an occasion. I will feel self conscious and confined in fabric if I wear that dress, tugging and constantly wondering if anything that should not be showing, is. I have not yet returned it for lack of time and a more suitable alternative. In the end, if it comes down to it I will wear it, tugging and checking its status all evening if I have to. Confirming the abrasive cliche “beauty is pain”.  

I know what I want and I know it exists only in my ideas. I would make it myself if I had the time to do so, but my to-do list is lengthy. I could have made one weeks ago if I had known I would get to this point and still not have met with success. Now time is short.

I don’t understand why it is so difficult. I don’t understand how store after store offers more of the same as the one before it. A handful of designers have obviously decided for the population what the trends will be while the consumer is never even consulted. If they were there would be a far different selection.

I’m tired of clingy jerseys in hideous prints; they are heavy, hot in warm weather and not warm in cold weather. The fabrics I am convinced are made from my recycled plastic milk jugs. All of the polyesters, rayon and spandex are unwearable without a good dousing of stinky Static Guard. Some of those man-made fabrics are so noisy ones clothing announces their arrival into a room just by the crackling and swishing sounds that come with every move. I don’t want clingy or noisy clothes.

I also do not want clothes that are so see through that a second, under layer is necessary just to keep from feeling naked. 

Then there are the dresses with slits up to here and necklines down to there, strapless, spaghetti strapped, gaudy ruching, ruffles and tiers, that make a girl look like she’s wearing a Halloween costume. I said no clingy fabrics that show every lump and bump but neither do I want to be wrapped in wads, clumps and layers of fabric to cocoon me either!

I googled dresses with sleeves. Up came a bunch with a tank top style or spaghetti straps, apparently even the very definition of a sleeve is up for debate these days. I want a sleeve because I get cold. Some girls want a sleeve to conceal upper arm wings that they prefer not to bare. Whatever, I want a sleeve. The only time I really want a dress without a sleeve is in the summer when I will be outside for any length of time, otherwise I am in the seventy five degree or cooler air conditioning. That is good for men in suits but not ladies in sleeveless dresses.

 Clearly designers and manufacturers can mass produce dresses without a sleeve more quickly. It is always the construction of the sleeve that requires the most time and effort for me when I am sewing my own clothes. I could always buy a two piece, simple dress with a matching jacket, but why? Why not just give me a dress with sleeves? I could also carry a shawl, but why? Why must I have yet another something in my already full hands or fumble with a shawl that continually slides off my shoulders? Why?

I know exactly what I want. Can't somebody just give me a springy, semi formal, natural fiber, sleeved, comfortably fitted dress that I feel pretty wearing. Why is that too much to ask?

I know in my heart that style and comfort are possible, I resort to making it for myself most of the time. I just wanted a little assistance in light of the busyness of my schedule. 

Since the fashion world has failed me again, I am boycotting it. All in favor say I!

Maybe miraculously my time will increase and I will yet be able to pull off a custom made. And well, even then it’s only half the battle. Don’t even get me started on shoes!

I Am Happy, Really

Well, there you have it. Six sons and thirty seven years later, testosterone no longer bounces off the walls of this humble Florida address, though it will probably be quite some time before its residue  clears. There is evidence aplenty to prove this has been ground stomped by boys; baby boys, little boys, medium sized boys, big boys, boys with friends who are boys, and boys with girlfriends who enticed them to new addresses. 

Leaving for work this morning the Sable drove easily forward out the crescent driveway. There was no little red Suby to prevent it. Mimi, the cute little Miata that the one daughter drives, was standing guard at her usual post but her sides were not flanked by any of the vintage cars, race cars, VW's, pick-up trucks, project cars, boats or trailers that once occupied the spaces. She looked so little, so alone in that great big driveway by herself. 

In the back yard a bulging PVC shed with corners that had to be screwed together with "L" brackets for all it has contained, will once again become the place for tools, lawn equipment and household fix it materials. Of course the lawn mower's gas can will no longer magically fill, but I will know right where to find a hammer when I need it for those household repairs on my honey do list, that only I will see. Weight benches, bikes, and tires will no longer stow on the concrete slab back there either, which means perhaps patio furniture will. Perhaps it will become a spot where coffee is enjoyed, or breakfast, or a bit of reading at that near future furnished patio. 

If I could devote the time to it I would have the place ship shape in a month, but that is wishful and not realistic. It will likely be years before all that's been left behind of these boys and these years is sifted through and weeded out. 

That's okay. 

I am happy, really.

Already things are being pinked and shoe shelves planned. For the first time pitifully non-functional closets will cease to frustrate. Space will be allotted to various art and crafting stations. Materials will be conveniently accessible instead of the usual move this to get to that as things fall out and down in a domino effect, disrupting the precarious attempt at organization and order. Curtains will be drawn back welcoming the sun to splash on walls through windows delightfully bare. Bare enough to peer into the now still rooms.

All of life is a boohoo or a woohoo, maybe even both at the same time, like now. 

I am happy, really.

I'm happy for my sons who have made a way to pursue and achieve their own dreams and visions for lives well lived. I am happy for my daughter and I to be able to spend girl time together for as long as we have until that too changes. 

Some things have to be left behind, in order to move onward and upward. There is no time for stagnancy. After thirty seven years of fluffing, flurrying and flitting about the nest, I know this well. Now invites the time to primp and preen and prissy the nest in preparation for estrogen domination. I look forward to the change, anticipating a new fullness of life, deepening the bond with daughter. 

The floors will stay clean, and when they have been too clean for too long, I'll send out a ca-caw ca-caw. They will recognize it and fly back to the nest of their beginning, and for a while, all will be as it was, only bigger and better. They'll bring with them their Mrs's and the fledglings. Downy feathers will drift and dive on wing rustled air. Boy-strous chatter will fill up the house and spill out into the yard. The bobble-headed lady birds will smile with a fresh wonder at the comical entertainment until the sun fades, plans are discussed for next time, and well wishes and hugs are distributed. 

When the last one goes, again, I'll lock the doors, tidy up a bit, have a bath, and consider with deepest gratitude all the ways I am the wealthiest person I know. On my slipper footed way to the fridge for a cup of ice to munch while I relax in my easy chair, I'll marvel at how one brief family gathering can so dirty the floors. Drips from sippy cups, stepped on bits of lunch, grass and sand testify to the day's full nest. Tomorrow I'll mop, I will think to myself, mop like I have thousands of times before, only there will be so much more to smile about. 

Peering through the bare window one might not see it, but I do. I see all that's been left behind. 

I guess all that testosterone will forever bounce off the walls of my heart.

I am happy, really.