we did a triple-feature of romance movies last night. friday-night-date-night. it was cold and rainy, too foggy and dismal to go anywhere. we ordered fried rice and eggrolls and poured a little wine, settling in for a cozy under-the-blanket viewing.
there are sometimes these moments – moments when you just realize that you didn’t realize. last night was one of them.
after the guy told the girl that the other guy had done “a take” – and after we figured out what the term actually meant – i looked over at d and asked him if he ever did that, ever does that – a take – of me. his answer brought tears to my eyes.
it’s days later and the turkeypoop is frozen to the top of littlebabyscion. it’s negative-something outside, so this is not likely to change soon. turkeypoop is of significant size. we are looking at it as a blessing of some sort.
we have three turkeys wandering the ‘hood these days. forest park neighborhood had carl but now allendale has these three – maybe huey, dewey and louie?
they are big – really big – turkeys and they draw attention wherever they go. and…they go anywhere they want…
…including on top of littlebabyscion.
our westneighbor texted us, “umm, are you guys having turkey tonight?”. i was perplexed until i saw a photo he sent. two of them, comfortably perched on top of our car, the third turkey in the driveway next to it. what?!!
we ran to the window in the studio to look out and, sure enough, there they were, up on the roof. once the snow melts, it is likely there will be beak-pecks in the roof as well – they were busy pecking each time i looked out. the turkey in the driveway was literally below the window, looking up as if to ask to be let in – much the same expression dogga gets on his face as he gazes in the back window from the back deck, willing us to let him in please and let him in nowww.
it was already going to be an odd moment. i was selling an item on marketplace and a perfect stranger was coming to our house to purchase it. now, here we are, three turkeys on the way to the front door. she was arriving any minute. i asked d to go out when she arrived so that he might escort her in since we don’t know what exactly turkeys will do if they feel encroached upon.
it turns out she was from the forest park neighborhood so she wasn’t alarmed; carl had been a presence there for quite some time. everybody loved him and she did too. our turkeys were still there when she left and they stayed for quite some time. with the negative temperatures, there was a tiny bit of a windblock between our house and our neighbor’s house so maybe they were trying to warm up just a smidge.
eventually, they apparently flew off littlebabyscion to head down the road. we missed them for the last couple days until yesterday when they were out on our street again. they must be making the rounds, looking for whatever it is turkeys eat. i’m thinking we should put out some sunflower seeds – to help them along. with these negative temps, we are all worried, but i’ve read the thousands of feathers they have will truly keep them warm.
when our daughter was in the high rockies, she would tell us of stories of bears getting into people’s vehicles. somehow they are able to simply open the door and get in. it’s the getting out that’s the problem – if the door swings shut they are apt to utterly destroy the interior of the vehicle they have chosen. she and i went horsebackriding with a cowboy who’d been in aspen forever and told great stories. in one of his odd jobs, he was a caretaker for a mansion tucked into the mountains there. when the owners were away a bear got inside and foraged in the kitchen cabinets. it then went upstairs and turned on the water faucet in the bathroom. in true naughty bear behavior (who can really blame them – we are taking over all their wild land!), it never turned it off. so, a week later – during a house check – the caretaker discovered water everywhere, on every floor of the house, the depth ever-rising from the basement up. it was a gut-job for sure.
and so, the turkeypoop and turkeypecks on the roof of littlebabyscion don’t seem so bad. if we are going to co-exist with these stunning creatures, then we must allow for all of it. their beauty and their beast.
my niece sent me a text. it was a video of her turning her heat down to 60° and saying, “i…am becoming you.” yup. we are not – well, i am not – a toasty-warm-house person. now, don’t get me wrong. i do love to be cozy. but not toooo toasty. and radiators – as in our old house – retain their heat for a long time so you have to be a teeny bit cautious about how high you put the thermostat…the temperature in the house won’t go down for a while with those radiators radiating – their job in life.
regardless, we just layer up here. with energy costs as they are, we are more likely to have on baselayers (even inside) with thermals and vests. and at night – that window is always a wee bit cracked. there is nothing like sleeping with a little cold fresh air.
but, that’s not really what i was going to talk about. “warmth looks good on you” from stio – a very cool company based in jackson, wyoming – is on page 58 of the “deep winter 2024” catalog. and, despite all the exceptional gear this company sells, the inordinately courageous influencers, the gorgeous photography, it made me stop and consider it from – yes – another point of view.
warmth looks good on you.
approachable, open, inclusive, inquisitive, embracing, warmth does look good. it looks like a conversation waiting to happen. it looks like a friendship on the cusp. it looks like generosity of spirit and compassion. it looks like community. like support. like loving one another.
it has been in the most likely and the least likely of situations i have made new and dear friends over the years. in classes. at a job. in the ‘hood. in a studio. at kids’ soccer games, baseball games, cross-country meets, tennis matches, colleges. after a concert. on the wood floor in the hallway of a ballet class. in an airport car rental line. in the fitting rooms of a white house black market store. on a trail. online. i can’t imagine life without these people. and yet, had i or they not been open – had there not been a bit of warmth exchanged between us – we would have missed. and the possibility of friendship, the chance of a relationship would have glanced off. and, for me, that would have taken away from my being better for knowing or having known them.
it’s kind of a cold world out there. it’s not that hard to layer up.
warmth looks good on you.
it’s as simple as a decision.
*****
*stocking face created by my sister waaaay back in the day
i have opened so many boxes, so many bins. i have done so many loads of laundry – tiny garments – all freshened and stacked on the dining room table. there is still much to be done.
every single thing i touch is a memory. tiny onesies and fuzzy sleepers, footie pajamas and oshkosh overalls, polly flinders dresses and itty-bitty jeans, socks and booties way smaller than my hand.
i was almost at the bottom of one of the dark blue plastic bins. right underneath the storage-safe-plastic-encased christening gown was the last layer. rattles and small hand toys, the smallest keds you’ve ever seen, stride-rite firsties and this teething ring.
it wasn’t just the teething ring, but it certainly contributed to it. i was overwhelmed with a wave of nostalgia – wistfulness at its most tear-inducing. i stood staring at it, wondering what to do with it. naturally, this is not something you pass on. this is not something that you necessarily put in your keepsake box, either. but the power of it…
so i laid it on the worn basement floor – in the middle of the laundry room – the same laundry room that washed all these clothes from the time my children were born to this very day – when they are all grown up – that i am going through their infant and toddler clothes – and i took a picture.
and when i gather together all of these clothes – seeming mountains of clothing – to donate to a mission in chicago that gives people items they need for their families – for free – my heart will be full, thinking of other babies and children wearing these outfits that elicit so many memories and so much love.
and i know that someday the moms (or dads) who receive this clothing will also be paring down and passing down to others. and something will stop them in their tracks. maybe tiny booties, maybe a bib or the teeniest sleeper, maybe little leggings and a floral tunic, maybe a smocked dress or a little baseball slugger hat. whatever it is, they will stare at it, surprised at its potency, grateful for its memories. like me, they may take a picture. like me, they may utter words of thanks. and then, like me, they will place it in a stack and pass it on.
i would be remiss if i said this sign wouldn’t come in handy sometimes. we all need this reminder from time to time. being a turd covers a lot of ground – it’s an umbrella-heading for a lot of bad behavior. and it would make a really good personal commandment, if we all were to have those (and actually pay attention to this one in particular).
googling this phrase, i can see that there are plenty of “don’t-be-a”s for sale. i just hadn’t run into this one before.
it’s not like we don’t run into sayings – bits o’ wisdom – inspirational messages – funny quips – like, everywhere. you can’t avoid them. they are on people’s facebook pages, on instagram, on social media platforms across the board. they are on office walls, bathroom mirrors, over-the-highway signs, in gift boutiques, on daily calendars. everywhere. and sometimes they are exactly what you needed to see, precisely what you needed to read – some sort of uplifting gift of a few words.
other times, they make you roll your eyes. it all depends on where they are posted, who has posted them, when they are posted. it’s the irony of it, after all. we can all point to a message posted by an entity that just screams hypocrisy (or a cauldron of other nouns with colorful descriptor adjectives). in those moments, it would seem no words would be better than words, nothing would be better than something. that posting some spouting antithesis of how something/somebody actually is would be a ruthless attempt at obfuscating their real essence, their real agenda.
“but it’s just a positive message,” you argue, thinking i am – perhaps – being a turd about this.
well, perhaps so.
but – as i wander about my days and you wander about yours – as we encounter wonderful optimistic messages wherever our journeys take us – online or in real life – i would suspect that in an overarching way – gearing down – in a message to laud it over many, many other messages – you might agree: that the best message that could be put out there – in every place, on every wall, in everyone’s heart – the one overall message that could maybe change lives (?!!!) would be:
we’ve spent days now – so far – going through, organizing, cleaning out. it is – in every way – an adventure. the items of life – in retrospect. stuff that tells stories, emotions wrapped around a piece of jewelry, a note, an old flannel shirt.
it’s a slow go. this time – of looking back – is not to be rushed. some things require lingering a bit. i have sat with many a ‘thing’ in my hand, telling d a tale of its arrival in my life, its meaning, where it came from, where it took me, prompts of life lived. some of it is astonishing – things i’d forgotten. some of it is astonishing – things i still remember. some things elicit the “if i only knew then what i know now” response. some things move into the keep category, while others are making their way to join the do-not-keeps. some things i just stare at, wondering what on earth to do with them.
and in some parallel plane – as i pick up each piece o’ life – touching it, feeling it – and then lay it back down – it is as if somewhere i am also picking up each piece of life – touching it, feeling it, laying it back down. this sorting is powerful, not merely tidying up.
and it is gaining momentum.
as we look at the difference it makes, it invites us to keep going and going. deep into the bins and boxes. into the storage room and the attic, the kitchen cabinets, the back of the closet, the file drawers, the desks, the studio. it seems this is the time. this time the cleaning-out will take; the purge won’t simply be a great idea that dissipates into thin air. even with all the hard work – physically and emotionally – this time i can see it.
it’s that way → → →
and while we have no clue what might be out that way – the amorphous – waiting – we move in that direction. we are giving our home, our lives – all of it – the cleanse it all needs – to breathe and to invite in the new.
the spaceship hasn’t arrived and i am still – the tiniest little smidgiest iota of a bit – procrastinating. not entirely, but yes…enough. i’m wondering if there is such a thing as an estate sale while you are still alive and well and living in the house.
we waited for it. and the bit o’ sun showed up on christmas morning – after several days of fog. it was a moment of hope – to see that shining orb trying to burn its way through. it didn’t last long – it ended up raining – but it counts that it was there.
i woke early the other morning. snugged under the comforter and the quilt, open window by my side, i could hear birds. it’s unusual to hear them quite so zealous in the winter, but for a few minutes – on this not-as-cold winter dawn – they were there and it was exquisite.
we walked through the antique shoppe and stumbled across the frame of a lampshade tied with bits of muslin, satin and gauze. i was immediately back in the old farmhouse in iowa where several fabric-ed repurposed lampshades hung in a corner. we walked on, but that time-spent surrounded me for a few minutes and i texted the owner of the airbnb – just to let her know about this visceral fondness – the memories. they were there, swirling around me.
some things are indelible. they etch into us as touchstones of comfort. the sun, early-morning birds, memories. they feed us in times of extreme hunger, times when we really need something to hold onto that is somehow tangible even in its fleeting.
and some things are meant to be laid down. they are shadows. they starve us, they compel us into deeper waters where it’s harder to differentiate good from not-good and we feel a bit lost, out to sea. it’s too noisy, too raucous, too frenetic – when we are merely seeking serenity. we work to lay it all down – that which impedes us, which makes us stumble, which blocks us.
in this very first week of the new year i am hoping that this is the year i personally may be able to put a few things to rest. we all have them – those open manila file folders in our heads or hearts. i – like you – yearn to take a sharpie, label them “done”, slap the folders closed and staple them shut.
but even in this rapidly-approaching-medicare age of mine, i know there is work to get there. nothing worth doing is easy…isn’t that the saying? though i don’t have the flip-the-page-a-day-over-the-metal-u-rings-at-a-glance calendar that my sweet momma had, i want to flip the pages over to get there.
we all take out the manila folders and peek inside. it’s a hunger. to get to “done” on those folders and to get to “start” or “start again” on others.
and sustenance helps. the generous. the most basic. even crumbs. even the most transitory, the most evanescent. if it was there – if it fed us – it counts.
and it is time. to put it all away. the christmas trees are piling up in those grind-them-into-mulch places. the new year has arrived and with it the giant plastic bins come back upstairs. i’ll soon – with some reluctance – gently put away all the tiny trees, my mom and dad’s shiny brite ornaments, my children’s framed note to santa, the silver and snow-white of winter, all the gestures and mementos of the holiday season. the living room will look bland for the first few days, until i get used to it again.
it’s always a time to look around and imagine. imagine change of some sort – changing a look, rearranging, culling out, even minimizing. i run around – in my head – with ideas, things i’ve seen in catalogs or magazines, on hgtv or online – pondering, maybe doing a wee bit of rearranging here and there – thinking i’m too used to it to see it all as it is.
and then i stop and look. as if i just walked into our home for the first time. what do i see? what stands out? what gets lost? and, mostly, how does it feel?
we have both many hand-me-downs and many vintage pieces (read: old/re-purposed). they are in every room in our house. i wonder what our home would look like if we had started fresh and chose everything in it for specific purposes. how would it look with a narrow wood and pipe dinner table instead of my treasured sisu music productions’ office oversized teak table? how would it look minus the old desk and chifforobe in my studio? how would it be to change out the old cabinets in the kitchen – like most home-buyers these days? or to replace the cedar chest and old china closet in the dining room with cabinetry more suited for the space? to exchange the dresser i got from lois or the chest i got from miss peggy, the chimney cabinet from hayesville, nc or the ones i got at a wholesale show for my office space? the re-painted wicker set from the lanai in florida or the butterfly chair from one of the kid’s dormrooms? the gingham print reclining wingchair with fabric on the back that our angel babycat – in brattier moments – redesigned? and what about all those branches and rocks, driftwood and aspen and hagstones and miniature boulders, flat top red rock, tiny cairns?
it is a time to clean out – both figuratively and metaphorically. the beginning of the new year pulls at most of us that way. i’m already starting to rise to the culling part of that equation. though it’s never easy. give away, sell, find people who need the excess things we have.
the rest?
the replacing? the new purchases? the changing out? the shuffling around, the rearranging? not so much.
it’s home. it feels like home. and we’re used to it.
i spent much of last year looking back. way back. way past up-close. way way back – way way past the smallest of trees on the horizon. it was necessary and painful and shocking and mighty tedious.
“… the mind clings to the road it knows / rushing through crossroads / sticking like lint to the familiar…” (mary oliver)
and then you peel back the lint that is dryer-vent-covering it all. you wipe off the fuzzy pieces. you take a good hard look at what’s really there, at what you have softened with the padding of trying to forget, of stuffing you have piled on top of your frame, of what you have buried, of the traintracks you have sprinted ahead on, leaving the veritable picture of perspective – the v of traintracks running far behind – away away – with trees so small you can barely discern they are trees. and there it all is. raw.
and you can see it. and your brain tries to stop you from seeing it. both. so you sit with it – laden – burdened – in the retrospect of it all – connecting the dots, sometimes nodding your head in sudden understanding, sometimes eyes wide, horrified at it all.
it is surreal. you are back there. you can feel it. but you know – that in merely a blink – you can be where you are right now…where you are really.
and suddenly, you are at a crossroads. you must choose between replacing the lint – tamping it back down and turning your face away from it – or recognizing it as a shield, pulling it all out – this ancient insulation – discarding it and then staring at what’s left – what is now feeling air and space and attention.
“trauma creates change you don’t choose. healing is about creating change you do choose.” (michelle rosenthal)
and then, after some time – some processing, some sorting, some meaning-making, some swearing, much courage, sheer survival – you glance at all the baggage laying next to you – rolliebags and backpacks, crossbody bags and trunks, paper bags and reusable grocery sacks – and you pick up only that which you wish to carry.
and you make your way back up the tracks to the place you really are. the place by the big trees.
reverse threading 