Tuesday Slice: Birdwatching

 

They arrive around 7a

I scare them off if I am running late

Wings all aflutter as I step outside

It used to take them a good half hour to return

Now, maybe five or ten minutes

Bluejay is usually first to the feeder

Followed by a dole of doves

(Though I prefer to call them a congregation

The way they line up on either side of the monkeybars

All facing the same way, as if in pews)

They could be a circus too

The trapeze bar hasn't seen this much activity in decades

Many haven't figured out the feeder roof is slippery

Almost doing the splits as they slide down

Once the doves have had their fill

They make room for the tiny black-crested titmouse

Carolina chickadees and Bewick's wrens

Red-headed house finches and house sparrows

Ladderback and red-bellied woodpeckers

And--just this week--a cardinal pair

The oak tree above the playscape 

Serves as a waiting room for the birds

Who are too timid to wait in the pews

Some are brave enough to perch 

On the edge of the nearby bird bath until

A red shouldered hawk flies above

Or a dogwalker crunches the gravel

On the hike n bike next to our yard

I fill the feeder each morning

It is almost empty by midday

But still they come, pecking at the last of the seeds

Until the waning sun beckons them to roost elsewhere.

Tuesday Slice: Residual effects

 

I went into a book coma yesterday.  It happens so rarely these days, as adulting requires so much of my time that I can't slip into that altered state during the school year.  But I'm on summer break, and the right book found me, and I went under.

Firekeeper's Daughter, by Angeline Boulley, was just the story I needed this week to remind me that yes, indeed, I am a reader.

Anxiety surrounding the pandemic's effects on my daily life, my work, my children, my plans bubbled just under the surface of my skin for much of the past year.  I rarely acknowledged it, but could see the results plainly:  inability to focus, increase in screen time and retail therapy, weight gain...and difficulty reading more than a few pages at a time.  Last summer was spent helping the district prepare for more remote learning, taking long solo circular road trips to nowhere in particular, and wandering the square footage of our small house like a ghost without anyone to haunt.

This summer is different.  Most of the people in my family, work, and social circles are vaccinated and still taking polite precautions.  Our children are making major life transitions that prompt action on my part (i.e. digging out of the retail therapy clutter) with deadlines to meet.  I'm maintaining fairly clear boundaries between work and personal time.  And I can read again, chapters at a time now, the minutes flying by before I look up and notice the change in light through the windows of my living room.

And so I got sucked into that book yesterday, made space for it.  I tried to take breaks to attend to my to-do list, but I felt unsettled...I needed to know what would happen next.  I was in awe of the main character, of her connections with her culture, her strength.  I wanted justice to be served, and a nice, neat, happy ending.  The author gave me all but the tidy wrap-up, leading me to think...hope...there will be more in store for her protagonist.

I walked around in a daze the rest of the evening, still feeling the effects of the story.  It is good to be a reader again.

Tuesday Slice: Monkey mind

 

I bought the quick-dry hiking pants to keep the sun and mosquitoes at bay.  I packed the lightweight, long-sleeved, vented shirt to do the same.  Boots, books, journal went into the bags along with provisions for five meals away from home.  The day after my final official workday of the 20-21 school year, I headed out for my second solo Getaway, this time in the Hill Country just an hour's drive or so to the west.

My plan was to spend some time in Wimberley eating lunch at a restaurant recommended by a friend, before checking into my cabin.  Since it was a Tuesday, I figured the town wouldn't be too packed.  I figured wrong.  There were unmasked crowds waiting in line for cafes, and the restaurant I wanted was closed to diners, even though the scent of their pizza wafted from the kitchen, frustrating me even more.  I had to settle for an unsatisfying citrus smoothie and kill some time texting colleagues and friends, not in the mood to brave the crowded boutique-y stores on the square.

Restless, I got back in the car and explored the backroads around town a bit, marveling at the ranch lots and livestock.  Three pm finally arrived and I pulled into the gravel drive outside my cabin--ahhhhh.

I had the solitude I craved.  I had a wonderful view of sky and trees and birds outside the big picture window.  I had a nature trail to hike, wildflowers to photograph, interesting rock cairns to ponder.

But I couldn't quiet my mind.  Thoughts of work and what still needs to be done in my library, the decluttering of my house, my frustration with stalled weight loss, my children's uncertain futures kept intruding.  The heat and humidity were oppressive, the flies relentless in disturbing any attempts to be still as I sat outside my cabin.  Even as I walked the trails, breathed the fresh air, paused to notice my surroundings...the mental chatter continued.  When I slept, I had odd work-related dreams.

Maybe the timing wasn't right.  Maybe I needed to distance myself more from work before I left town.  Maybe summer getaways are meant to be pool- or ocean-side for me, where I can escape the heat and let the water wash away the stress of the school year and the expectations of summer.  

Ding ding ding. Lessons learned, despite the chattering monkey mind.

Rock cairns were all over the property

Beautiful wildflowers

The pond at the entrance--"No swimming allowed"

The views were spectacular

Walking trail

Not a lot of this happening

My view for the duration

Tuesday Slice: Eights

 

Eight years behind the circulation desk.

Twenty-eight years in education.

Eight years to go (maybe).

Yesterday was the last official day on the 20-21 work calendar for librarians in my district.  I finished up my annual report (a very wonky one--thank you, COVID), took care of financial matters, and handed books over to families who purchased them from an author visit back in May.  Last year's calendar was taken down, the next year's was hung (my favorite organizing tool in the library--the whole year at a glance), the dates jotted down from the school calendar and known events.  I noticed for the first time that full moons were charted, and chuckled.

After the ten-hour day was over and goodbyes to my administrators were said, I drove to pick up a pair of quick-dry hiking pants from the other side of town, and headed home.  A glass of wine was lifted in honor of the most convoluted school year yet, hopefully not to be repeated.  That's when I started counting, and the pattern of eights emerged.

I was twenty-one when I had my first classroom, a resource room with four students that grew to ten by the end of the year.  One of those students turned forty last month.  Six years of teaching, eleven years of ARD facilitating, three more years of teaching, and now eight at the circulation desk.  Twenty-eight years in all, with a six-year break tucked in there.  Makes me feel a bit old when I add up all those numbers!

I say I have eight more years in the library ahead of me, but I know that number is written in the sand.  Who's to say where life will take us in that time? What opportunities lie just around the bend?

For now, I've left a lot of tasks undone in the library, which will draw me back to work off-the-clock next week.  Til then, I've got those hiking pants to try out on a trail tomorrow. I'll let the dust settle a bit on the last twenty-eight years before beginning the next eight.

Reflecting on "results": Spiritual Journey Thursday

 

Our writing prompt for Spirit this month is a return to our One Little Word (OLW) chosen at the beginning of the year.  Ruth asks us to reflect:

"Was it a good choice? Has it been helping shape our thoughts this year so far? Would we like to recalibrate, refocus, or even choose a new word?"

I chose "Results" as my OLW for 2021.  In the linked Slice, I talked about repeating the same goals each year and never really reaching them.  I thought I had been planning, but I had really just been wishing; I needed to map out discrete steps to take towards those goals, doable action plans.  So I did just that--thought out the steps to take, gave myself a timeline for them, even visualized what each step would look like.  The three areas I focused on were health (mainly weight loss), financial fitness, and decluttering.  Here are the results so far:

Health--twenty pounds down, but stalled since April.  Still using food as an emotional crutch/ reward.

Finances--overall, more in savings and a little less debt.  Credit card balances haven't budged.  Still haven't done the steps I said I would do to move forward.

Decluttering--let's just say there's been a few feeble attempts.  Very feeble.  Like, not even noticeable.

What I've learned (once again) in the last five months is that writing stuff down, even in SMART goal form, isn't the same as doing it.  Yes, I revisit those goals each month.  Yes, I block out time to work on them, and then ignore my own plans.  Yes, I look at those deadlines as they zoom right on by.

When choosing my OLW for the year, I forgot to consider that "results" are not always positive.

"I have a hard time being accountable to myself."  That's what I wrote back in January.  

So the question is:  do I hold on to that OLW, double down and try to work harder on acting out those steps I so carefully planned?  Can I hold myself accountable in order to accomplish my goals?  After some thought, and with summer just around the corner, I say yes--an answer accompanied by prayers for determination, focus...and maybe a kick in the seat of my pants from a guardian angel or two.   

Tuesday Slice: Planning to fail

My summer doesn't officially begin for another week, but I am already planning all the things I want to get done, all the things I need to get done, in the very few short weeks I have "off".  (I use quotations because teachers know we are never really "off"--uncompensated work stuff still happens throughout the summer).  Cleaning and reading, learning and crafting, traveling and exercise and more cleaning are written down in colorful ink in my planner.

I already know that if I'm lucky, half of those plans will come to fruition.

I will sleep later, stay up later, and have less focus than I am planning on.  There will be days when absolutely nothing gets accomplished, except maybe a nap on the couch and coffee made.  There are sections of the house that may look exactly the same as they did on June 8th, my first day of "summer break".

After twenty-eight years in this biz with summer playing out the same way every year, I am okay with that kind of failure. This year, I planned every minute of every workday for over 183 days with a lot of pandemic pivoting and mindshifting, and accomplished an awkward, fairly successful version of a library program.

If my summer plans fall through, it means that my body, mind, and spirit needed something else to restore operating capacity for the coming school year.  The tank needs to be filled before the car can go...so I am planning to fail spectacularly this summer.  And that feels good.