Weather: August and sticky — normal for this time of year.
Work: busy and noisy — also normal for this time of year.
Personal: quiet with showers of socialization.
Life: exceptionally good — for reasons I still can’t figure out.
Sorry it’s such spotty posts. I do know there are some of you out there still. I want to inspire and create and enrage — but all I can do is be what I’m right now and that is comfortable, happy, sort of empty and thoroughly overwhelmed with work, play, Braves, August, friends and family.
My dad wrote a poem though. I keep re-reading it. Not sure what to say about it. It’s different for him. On a personal level it brought up a ton of memories from childhood–mainly good ones. You know the type I mean. The ones that sort live in a golden bubble — yet they still have the honest red clay and ants on brick walls. Something like that. Anyway, what can I say — at least someone is writing in my family and it’s good.
I’ll get there though. The competitive streak in me will not let dad win.
Smoke from the grill, lemonade, gathering of friends on the lawn, the last dip in the pool and eating key lime pie in the moonlight. Nah. This was not my labor day weekend.
When I was about 20, I was bit by a brown recluse. Which is entirely irrelevant to what I’m saying, except the recluse part. This labor day, I insisted (at times in very loud tones) to be alone. I wanted to nest. I was screaming for solitude. Humanity, family, friends, even the furry beasts, had to be put on hold. I spent my labor day weekend (for the most part) in solitude. Saturday night I finally felt like I could handle some company and had a dinner and drinks with the ladies. Yesterday my brother came by and took away the curtains and rugs — all those trappings of dust — and that was it. Mission accomplished. My soul feels calmer. I’ve avoided eyes and minds. It’s good.
Of course, now I’m back. Lots of students around me. I still feel calm, and unlike the poor spider in the bed of my 20-year-old self, I’ll try not to bite anyone if they come into contact.
Hope everyone had a safe Labor Day and got to spend it the way they wanted!
Recently, on a walk with my god daughter, we both became enthralled with the occasional flicker of lightening bugs. I keep meaning to go on a firefly expedition with her. We all have memories of capturing them in jars (and hopefully letting them out before too long). I have cousins that would try to make glowing rings out of them — cruelty seems so innocent in the guise of discovery.
So, this morning, I was happy to see an article in New York Times about the complicated life of a firefly. It claims they live for 2 years underground and then average only 2 weeks above ground mating. That fact alone amazes me. And their larvae glow. There are more males than females. The desired males, get this, give protein gifts upon mating! I love that. “Here you are, have some food to help your stamina.” Such grace and practicality in their passion.
Maybe my soul mate escaped from the bottom of a jar one summer day? His promise of sustenance fading away, seeking his own kind. Ah the glow — if only I’d understood in time.
Enjoy your summer spectacles.