Humanity

FLudge: transition kicks my ass.

I’m not good at transition, I never ever have been. And here we are, in transition. again.

I went from working every second of every day and feeling like an asshole absent parent to having all the kids in school and three days off a week, in which i am supposed to fit all the writing and editing in forevermore.

i’m okay, but not okay. i’m not happy with that blank space in my income, in my adventure, anymore, as much as last year was still all tentative about schools and kids and quarantines, this year does not feel that way. So I’m a bit at a loss, and a bit afraid.

I can pivot and turn and react on a dime, yes.

but when it is an ACTUAL dime? more challenging.

i’m tidying. i’m writing every day so far. i’m reading more. these are the things that are necessary for me when I transition back to work at home, they ground me and get me all ready to go sit in front of the screen. I find that the more I read, the more there is in my brain that opens portals to all that I have ever read, and felt, and I can find it again. the words spill, the gardens are remembered and I can see the jar of buttons for the wild source of story that it is.

It will be a short transition, this, into working too much again, or being torn between what is ‘work’ and what I can be distracted from, and complaints of a sort about chauffeuring kids. They aren’t real complaints anymore, as I see the end of this chapter of my life in the air before me. Just noticings. A habit of complaint, maybe, but no honest one. I see it in its last days now, and already know I will long for such simple time spent with my kids.

Its time for me to rocket off in search of another thing to tidy. I’m not ready to face the applications for jobs yet, its my least favorite part, though I can submit in a flurry fury once I am ready.

love you guys, see you soon.

-me.

  • I’ve had two offers of an ax, by the way, so it looks like i’ll have to save my fancy outfit and candles for some other event. Maybe I’ll chop the wood in it? Or maybe hold the candles up while my boys split? I’ll decide as I go.

Pink candle to bring the light.
Humanity

lord

my first baby had his last first day of school yesterday.

I’m in a large transition, to what? crone? to powerful woman in her late forties who is embarking upon a boat trip down a river? am i finally katherine hepburn? Do i learn how to run the boat? if only i had her trousers.

i spent most of the day trying to figure out what to do with myself. i had work at two, and the gaping maw of time was not my friend. i got too sweaty in the garden, i couldn’t tell if it was excessive humidity, excessive weed-angst, or a hot flash. i had a piece of cake. i watched godawful people on tv. i cried, i wept, i wondered if it is fear that was compelling me to tears or wonder. i thought about my baby as a baby. it all had little to do with the magic of the children. they are doing all that they are supposed to, living wildly and growing and stretching towards the sun. sunflowers.

the recognition, in me, of the changes, in me, the letting go of small threads of an identity which i’ve had for almost twenty years. (and hello, there are more kids at home so i have more years still) its just the beginning of an unravelling.

(and yes, i am more than curious about what becomes of this pile of thread. there is so much to be created, and in truth, it is where my upset lies. upset=turmoil, but not necessarily bad juju, you see?)

it is another stage of adulthood, and like menopause, its a bigger deal than i’d understood.

and so, today i woke to an empty house, as they are at their dad’s. and a rainstorm and a nervous dog, and a remembrance that there is a sleeping bag out on the clothesline. so be it. things are wet now.

i’ll dry out too, to a degree, but these days of mothering and being so central to the lives of other people, on such an immediate, all-consuming basis? they are changing, and the weave is loosening.

i’m not sure what i’m falling into.

love you guys.

love love,

me.

Flflame, rumi, flflame.
Humanity

Airport Life.

There are a million and a half things to wonder about when you arrive at an airport two to three hours early(yes, thank you to my father, not the tsa, for this trait).

Do stewardesses have to take turns and work the desks?

Why is it so much easier for men to talk to each other? Or is it just me, that i can’t talk to strangers? I don’t think its me? Is it the shared subjects, sports, weather, man stuff?

There could be some good done in the world if we were all forced to hang out in airports once in a while. I mean, the humanity. Yes, too, the priviledge and the money-spent hanging in invisible numbers above each person’s head.

But the tremendous variety in people. Saw a daughter guiding her mother through the security checkpoints. mom, with no english, tiny and wrapped in a beautiful sari. The guards were kind and accomodating, while still doing their job.

Why would anyone ever do dip? Why? And why after the first time, a second time? Whats that about? You love the drool feeling?

Astonishing.

Couples of color separated by a guard, for a ’check’. The resigned, the terror right below that, of anything that could happen.

I’m watching moms chase kids, some with partners, some organized to the very tips of their toes, some just kind of winging it with the help of a partner. ALthough, honestly, I bet there is no ’winging it’ in airports anymore. Maybe not even in parenting. The times, they have changed.

Whats up with bringing dogs?

I sit here and miss my kids. Even while i am completely aware of how i’ve settled into another stage in my life, just like that. I’m walking through an airport and into a trip just for myself, just like that.

There is something big in it, in this small trip.

The work is still there, the flurry of childcare and job restructure, it is there.

Why haven’t i felt like a grownup til now? I’m freaking 48, you know. I wonder what the real name for this feeling is. I miss my kids, yes, but they’re fine. its all fine. and i am here for a long weekend, in this surreal travel spot.

Airport life. It would be amazing to stay. So glad I am not.
Humanity

I have a day off.

Except for one lacrosse game, which will be the only one of his I have seen all year. So I’m in it, fully. I actually enjoy lacrosse, its so much like hockey, so violent. (i don’t know anything about hockety, honestly, but i know sticks are used as bats and they are allowed to slam into each other. lacrosse is like that.) If my kid were small, I’d be terrified. As it is, he gets battered. Something about males, I know. but god, its so peculiar how much they love it.

And maybe its a female thing, that I sit and am okay with the brutality, from afar. I can deal with the aftermath just fine, and the distance allows me to feel safe that I am not involved. Weird, right?

So, on this day off, which is sort of sprung on me by my own inability to keep going, I have woken groggy from a night with a ceaselessly barking dog. As I am mostly deaf, you can imagine what a racket he was making. A herd of gazelle? A pack of coyotes? Coven of squirrels? I have no idea. It was forever. Anyhow, I am not feeling the joy of an opportunity day before me. I’m just tired and i suppose, a little grumpy.

I’m supposed to finish up a writing project today. I’d be satisfied with four thousand words. I need to move the story along substantially. But. So far I have made coffee. I have broken the lawnmower in a fairly substantially way, but only after finishing the front. So from the street, I look like I’m handling things just fine. It works for passers by, and it works for me. Its satisfying to drive in and see a little neatness. I’m going to try and fix it soon. wish me someone else’s luck.

I haven’t got final numbers from the plant sale yet, but I’ll be happy to have cash in hand. Maybe I’ll buy some chickens. ? I need to figure out the fencing situation though, I can’t let them free-range anymore, they are getting eat and hit and its just too much. (more brutality). I wish I could let them wander, as they really decimate the tick population. And I hate worrying about going out into grass. My god, this world.

(yeah, no, ticks are not the bigger problems i think we need to worry about. just to be clear.)

also. my washing machine doesn’t feel like spinning. so the clothing is sopping wet. and i need one of those wringers my grandmother used to have. where does one get a wringer these days, aye?

also. i know we all like johnny depp but why do we feel so glib about assuming he is not an abuser? seems like a popularity thing going on right now. its so weird and is making me feel very funny about the whole thing. haven’t we learned anything at all?

sigh. (does this count as writing if i bore several people right to death’s door?)

grayscale photography of front load washers
Photo by Adrienne Andersen on Pexels.com

Humanity

Momadriver

Dromedary?

Yes, same thing.

Yesterday all three needed to be picked up at the same time in three different places. One, in another town. At the last minute, literally, their dad calls and asks if I need help. (it is his night that night so he’s in town-ish) I send him to pick up the farthest away who just called saying he’s hiding in a shed to keep out of the wind. Go get that one, fella.

All was well. Next week, things will have adjusted, and others will be involved. Certainly.

Surely.

Because i’m in the middle of a cycle of ‘toomuch’. I have perfect mom hours and I get home and I drive for the next three hours and then make dinner and then I fall down dead. I’m full of busy and the downtime I have is filled with lethargy, television and scrolling.

Even when the kids are gone, and the house is quiet, I am struggling to find my way to my space. I’ve added meditation minutes to each day, and plants, lots and lots of plants. I need to go put a chair in there. Maybe i should meditate in the plants. kill two birds and whatnot.

See? Even the meditation and beauty-hunting get multitasked to death.

Multitasking is the devil.

One of my jobs is bossed by a woman who has one million things running through her brain, as most farmers do. But the threads between the items, tying them into a web of ‘done’ have pulled loose. (my description, not hers) So things get left undone all the time. And, not in a way that is hurting her or her business, its just how she’s developed her system, running it solo as she does. And she knows what to prioritize, and ‘finished’ can be an unnecessary goal. Sometimes I dream of sneaking in and finishing all the things I’ve left behind, not even for her, just for me, so I can rest easier.

The great luxury of time and a slow-moving brain is that you can focus on one thing, beat it to death, revive it and send it on its way.

(hollah to the easter story, unintentional, and no blasphemy intended.)

But the release, the ‘send it on its way’ is part of the story. And, in oblique reference to the above hollah, its probably the most important part. Right? For living on…?

my brain is not slow, this i know. but man, I am missing the time to let it leap. Ask me to pick forty-five perfect nasturtium blossoms in under five minutes and I’m on it. But getting into writing, or letting my mind wander over a keyboard is so much more difficult to fit into a five minute block. And there’s kids here quite often, and I’m responsive mostly. And I haven’t figured out how to give myself a way to write each day yet. Its been since January that I’ve been working all week. . . And Now its the end of MARCH, and is this my IDES, I ask you, is this my torment?!

I know i’m whining, and I’m more irritated than you are, i swear.

I’m here. There’s my big plant sale in May, a thing that will finish… and I think my brain will be more interwoven after that. My house will be less full of plants, and maybe my fingers will run for more clicketyclack. I’m hoping so. Deeply.

I’m leaving you with a photo of what goes on the compost heap. Truly amazing. So, I want you to think about this, (she says also to herself),

when you are focused on a perfect blossom, maybe you should be focused on the perfect dirtpile. when you are focused on finishing, maybe a focus could be on starting.

what the hell man?

Purple pansies in a compost heap.