Reinvention

Reinvention

Comments 0 Comment

Reinvention is in the air, new ways of being and doing things. Many of them seem flat to me, necessary evils, the now-familiar checkerboard of faces in Zoom squares.

But there are benefits, too. Free classes, curbside services, a keener appreciation of the here-and-now, of how important it is to be strong of body and healthy of mind. I’ve just attended yet another remote Mass, one enlivened by the priest, who began intoning the Sign of Peace (where we shake each other’s hands), only to say, “Oh, that’s right, you can’t do that anymore.”

Experimentation can bring smiles or exasperated sighs. I’m hoping I can go with the former most of the time.

Through trial and error and reinvention we come to know each other better — and perhaps this, too, can be an avenue of love.

Empty Nest

Empty Nest

Comments 0 Comment

Yesterday there was much fluttering and chirping in the garage as a bevy of Carolina wrens flew in and out the window. For the second or third year in a row Mama Wren had nested on an upper shelf full of old vases, tucking her abode in between a green vase and a clear one, using the shelf in between as a patio of sorts.

The fledglings must have been practicing their first moves over the last few days, when there seemed a confusing preponderance of bird life in and around the garage. There were suddenly wrens everywhere: in the holly trees, at the bird bath, at the feeder and the suet block.

Now that the nest is empty, I climbed up to take a look. How still and silent and abandoned it looked. One fact struck me: Unlike human nests, which empty and refill many times over a lifetime, when bird’s nests empty … they stay that way — at least for the season.

Bustin’ Out

Bustin’ Out

Comments 0 Comment

I’m not sure how much of my world view has been shaped by Rodgers and Hammerstein musicals — probably more than I would care to admit. Given that, perhaps I can be forgiven for hearing a certain refrain from “Carousel” pinging through my head these days.

“June is bustin’ out all over
All over the meadow and the hill
Buds are bustin’ outta bushes
And the romping river pushes
Every little wheel that wheels beside the mill

Because it’s June — June, June, June
Just because it’s June, June, June.

And my favorite verse:

June is bustin’ out all over
The sheep aren’t sheepish anymore
And the rams that chase the ewe sheep
Are determined there’ll be new sheep
And the ewe sheep aren’t even keeping score

Because it’s June — June, June, June
Just because it’s June, June, June!

All of which is to say … it’s a June-is-Bustin’-Out kind of day!

Newborn Fawn

Newborn Fawn

Comments 0 Comment

On my walk this morning I spotted what I first thought was a pile of speckled leaves but which on closer examination turned out to be a newborn fawn.

The little thing was curled up in a ball and trembling, his big eyes staring up at me as I walked toward him. I kept my distance, not knowing if mama was nearby, talked to him gently, visions of The Yearling and feeding him from a bottle in mind.

This was midway through my walk, but I thought about the little guy all the way to the end of the street and back, wondering if he would still be there on my return. He was — so I called Animal Control, which informed me that mother deer often leave their babies in a “safe spot” and return from them in a few hours.

Since this “safe spot” was in clear view of passerby, I made a sign asking neighbors not to disturb him. But when I went to check on him a few minutes later, the little guy had scampered into the woods to get out of the rain.

In my rush to protect him, I forgot to snap a photo, so I found this picture online (it’s exactly what he looked like). In a few weeks, this little tyke will be ravaging my garden, but for now, all I wanted to do was take care of him.

Puddles of Petals

Puddles of Petals

Comments 0 Comment

To love a climbing rose means to accept it in all seasons. Last week it was at its peak, green and pink and aromatic, bursting with life.

This week, there are as many petals on the deck as on the flowers. Today, when the wind blows, it’s raining roses. There are puddles of petals at my feet.

It’s easy to mourn the end of the plant’s most bountiful blooming season.  But there is such beauty in the spent blossoms.

June Afternoon

June Afternoon

Comments 0 Comment

An afternoon walk on the W&OD Trail puts me in the very middle of summer. That ribbon of asphalt is a former railroad line, after all, and is as open and sunny as you would expect it to be, bright and straight. 


The trail is edged by tall grasses, daisies, Queen Anne’s lace and a tangle of other weeds and wildflowers that hang their sweet heads over the paved path. This time of year, it’s honeysuckle-scented, too, and the combination of sound and scent makes me feel like I’m eight years old and wading through the clover-filled empty lot behind us in the old-old house. 


What is it about summer that brings out the kid in us? Is it that when we’re young we practically eat summer up, sucking sour weed, whistling through a blade of grass, rolling down a hill? In summer we’re skin to skin with the natural world, we breathe it in and it becomes part of us. And every summer thereafter we live on that stored fuel. 


George Eliot said, “We could never have loved the earth so well if we had had no childhood in it.” To which I would add “ — and no childhood summers.”  

Reflections on Race

Reflections on Race

Comments 0 Comment

We were given today off to reflect and recharge, a generous gift of time that I (as always) struggle to use as wisely as possible. The day is meant to mark a pause in the tensions that have roiled this country over recent instances of police brutality against African Americans. 

I’ve done some reading to mark the day, but for me race relations are a lived event. Because both the grand-babies I’m waiting to welcome will have brown skin, I think often about the world they will inherit. What kind of prejudices will they fight? What kind of opportunities will they have? Will they be roughed up by police because they happened to be jogging in the “wrong” part of town? 
Suddenly it is not “the other” — it is flesh of my flesh. So whatever I think is no longer a matter of mind only, but also of heart. Which makes me wonder … is this what it will take? Will things truly improve only when most marriages are mixed-race and most families blended? 
I certainly hope not; I certainly hope it happens much, much sooner than that.
Visiting

Visiting

Comments 0 Comment

A late post today, in part because I’ve been mowing and weeding and spending as much time outside as possible. But also because I’ve been visiting.

When I was young, that’s what Sundays were for. We would go to my grandparents’ house after church for a big afternoon meal and then hang out with family, which seemed tedious to me at the time but I’m sure was a boon for my parents.

Conversation was the name of the game. There wasn’t much else going on, and we kids would slip outside as soon as we could and play in the backyard. (I can especially remember trying to clamber up the antenna, a tall, triangular, aluminum ladder-like thing that practically begged to be climbed.)

But I digress. Today’s visits and visitor were especially welcome because of how little social contact I’ve had these last few months. The interactions weren’t that long, but they were long enough to remind me how invigorating it is to chat, trade stories — and while away an hour or two in pleasant company.

Catching Up

Catching Up

Comments 0 Comment

Saturdays are usually for catching up, for buying groceries and running errands, for cleaning the house and doing the laundry. 

Today I’m posting this blog using a new browser, which is a different kind of catching up, the technological kind, one I’m less familiar with and not very good at. The switch is not altogether by choice. It’s been progressively more difficult to write posts using the previous interface, and an older browser wasn’t helping. 

So now there’s a new browser and a new back end for the posting process and … it’s anybody’s guess what this will look like once I press publish. 
Wild Things

Wild Things

Comments 0 Comment

On yesterday’s walk I marveled at the wildflowers — the daisies and clover and honeysuckle — how they hemmed the sidewalk along West Ox where I was huffing and puffing in the late afternoon humidity.

Last night, I fell asleep to a chorus of frog song, as the critters enjoyed a dousing in the thunderstorms that rolled through our area after dark.

Then this morning, Copper and I saw a fox cross the road in front of us. The creature trotted confidently through our neighbor’s yard, turning his head occasionally to stare at us, as if to ask, what are you doing here?

We live in a tame suburb of Washington, D.C. — but we are surrounded by wild things. And yes, they make everything groovy.


(A tip of the hat to the Troggs and their great one-hit wonder.)