Eulogy for the caterpillars that died on my back porch

Eulogy for the Caterpillars That Died on my Back Porch

What happened?

They were fine yesterday

Housed in a lovely box

Topped by netting,

Fresh leaves to chew

Safe from predators

When last spied alive

one was hanging from the netting

and refused to let go, 

all its tiny feet clinging to the fine strands

Another, the largest, hanging upside down from a leaf

wriggling this way and that

presumably molting for its last time

The last two perched on milkweed leaves,

resting, perhaps, after eating through more greenery

I rushed home

expecting to see the biggest one

hanging in a J, or maybe a chrysalis already formed

and the others happily munching away

Instead, the hanging caterpillar was lifeless

as were the other three,

blackened and shriveled and lying sideways 

on the white paper towels

leaves still there for the eating,

and no sign of foul play

I'm sorry, so sorry!

I thought I was protecting them

from fowl and foul weather alike

leaving them under the awning

on the glass table, on the back porch

Perhaps the sun was too strong

the heat too oppressive

their home, too inhospitable

Whatever the reason, 

they suffered an inglorious end

the largest, dumped into the yard

the others rolled into the paper towels and thrown into the trash

the box relegated to the laundry room

Reminding me of my failure

with every load of dirty clothes.

Tuesday Slice: Nothing new

It's Tuesday Slice time, and I haven't a clue about what to write.  The details of my current life seem either too mundane or rehashed so often that they feel like a poorly made Hollywood do-over.

I've counted my blessings.  I've bemoaned my struggles.  The most interesting stories seem to come from my children's lives; I hesitate to write about them, because the tales are theirs to tell, not mine.

I can't even continue the saga of the back porch caterpillars from last week, because they all died, presumably from heatstroke.

There is nothing new to see here; you can move on to the next blog!

Tuesday Slice: Babies on my back porch

It's butterfly season again.  Or to be more specific, caterpillar season.

Most of my milkweed is shoulder-high, making it easier to stoop and look under leaves for my yellow-and-black striped visitors.

Do two sets of horns mean monarch, or queen?  It had been a year since I last hosted the caterpillars, so I had to look it up.  Monarchs for the win!

Last year I used a sun tea jar to house the caterpillars until they turned into chrysalises, but it was difficult to transfer them to a bigger space.  This time I'm using a box on the back porch.  Little bud vases are just the right size to cover with plastic wrap and keep the milkweed fresh for a day or two.

With a little luck, we'll see four monarchs born in the next few weeks! 

Tuesday Slice: Grownups need reader advisors, too

Rambling through Facebook posts this past summer, one caught my eye.  The American Library Association had shared a post from the Multnomah County Library in honor of National Tattoo Day.  If you shared a picture of your tattoo and the story behind it, the county library would recommend a book for you.

So I shared a picture of my most recent tattoo, and the story behind it. An owl for wisdom, the light of the moon to guide me, and writing my own story past my 51st birthday--the age at which my mother passed from ALS.

Multnomah responded within a day. Their recommendation: Wild:From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail by Cheryl Strayed, about a woman picking up the pieces of her life after her mother's death.

I would have never picked this book for myself.  I saw the movie trailers, and remember thinking "meh" about the content.  But I've spent several hours over the last three days reading about Cheryl's chaotic young adulthood, empathizing with the raw emotions that fueled her rash decision to walk a thousand miles in the wilderness by herself.

Adults need reader's advisors, too.  My life's work is encouraging students to read and pairing them with books to suit their personal and academic wants and needs.  It's been awhile since someone's done that for me--and it feels like a gift in my hands, each time I open this book.

Tuesday Slice: The changing of the purse

It's the day after Labor Day, and you probably won't find me wearing white shoes until March.  I don't remember blatantly being told "wear white between Memorial Day and Labor Day", but I do remember wearing patent white shoes to church for Easter.  Maybe my penchant for cyclic colors started when I was young, attending Catholic Mass. Ceiling-hung banners, altar cloths, and priestly vestments declared the liturgical season--green for Ordinary Time, purple for Advent and Lent, white for Easter and Christmas.  Speaking of green, here's the purse I sported through spring and summer:

Now that I reside in the endless summer of central Texas, I like to think that my color choices are more practical than fashion.  I cannot fathom attracting even more heat by wearing dark brown and black in triple digit temperatures, so those clothes stay boxed up until September.  We're dropping down into the eighties this week--a cold front!--and my air-conditioned workplace will keep me comfortable in darker hues.  Come March, though, I'll tire of my fall and winter colors.  Spring Break will find me unpacking the light greens, yellows, and peaches of my warm-weather clothing yet again. 

Here's to the turning of the seasons, starting with a new purse.