Categories
Nature

Bugs

The Summer Bugs are here.

Their “real” name is Cicada, but I always think of them as The Summer Bugs. To me, the sound they make, the rhythmic buzzing, is the sound of summer. It’s the sound of heat and sun and sweat and thirst.

That sound sets me on edge.

As a child, I had fun collecting their shells. My friends and I would group the shells into large and small, make up stories about Momma Bug and Poppa Bug and their family of Little Bugs.

The shells were brown, crackly and fragile. For some reason, they didn’t bother me. They still don’t bother me (much). Of course, I no longer collect them; they are no longer weird toys. Now, as an adult, I simply ignore them.

On the other hand, the bugs – the living, active bugs – have always bothered me. The bugs cannot be ignored. Green and white bodies, large, transparent wings, bulbous eyes and skittery legs. Sometimes, one will fly at you, maybe even get stuck in your hair. When they do, their buzzing is no longer distant background noise. It is in your ears, immediate and loud, swift and insistent. The stuff of nightmares.

I know they are harmless to humans. I’m sure they provide some type of bug benefit in nature and aren’t truly deserving of my deeply-held disgust.

But I’ll still be glad when summer ends, and they go back into hibernation, putting and end to their droning, repetitive buzz. Until the next year, when the temperatures soar again, and we squint as we look up at cloudless skies and think, “How many days has it been since it last rained?”

Categories
Life Pets

Quiet

Not long ago, I read Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking by Susan Cain. I had many a-ha! moments while reading, but one of the most significant takeaways was this: being an introvert – being quiet – isn’t a flaw that needs to be fixed, that needs to be cured.

Thanks, in part, to Susan Cain’s book, I have learned to appreciate the fact that I’m an introvert. I’ve become comfortable with my preference for quietly observing, letting others have the floor, waiting until the right moment to speak. I’ve gained an appreciation of my talent for connecting words and actions and people, noticing little things that matter, recognizing possibilities and potential. I now recognize that choosing not to speak can sometimes be more powerful than voicing my opinion, that staying silent doesn’t automatically diminish my perspective or limit my potential.

In a world that tends to notice and reward extroverts, I’ve come to value my unique gifts as an introvert. I no longer find it necessary to apologize for being quiet.

I’ve also learned to be comfortable with the ways in which I like to manage and process my feelings – which brings me to today’s cuppa.

Sometimes, talking to my dog is a better option than talking to other people. That doesn’t mean that I don’t have good people in my life to talk to, that I don’t enjoy sharing conversations with my family and friends. It’s not representative of a flaw in my human relationships. It just means that, on occasion, I prefer the accepting, understanding, you’re the most perfect person ever in the whole world everything you say and do is perfect type of love that dogs are especially good at providing.

Mollie doesn’t require details or action items. She doesn’t care if I forget the punchline of a joke. She doesn’t need to tell her side of the story. She’ll stay engaged even if what I’m saying makes no sense or is contradictory to what I said yesterday. Most importantly, she doesn’t even care whether I actually do any talking. Sometimes, Mollie is a Quiet Girl’s best friend.

Since she doesn’t drink coffee, I can’t share today’s cuppa with her. I’ll give her a special doggie treat instead. And then we will sit on the couch, in the morning stillness, and talk – or not talk – together.




Categories
Life People

Closure

I like closure.

It might be because I grew up reading Nancy Drew books.There was always a complete ending to each of the mysteries she solved. The pieces came together; the patterns, decisions, and actions made sense. Most everybody ended up happy, but even in the case of an unhappy ending, there was resolution.

I read a lot of other books, from other genres, as well. Most often, they also ended with the final details tucked neatly into the last few pages, the questions answered and the mischief managed.

Whatever the reason, closure matters to me. I find comfort in the rituals of completing something: signing a document, boxing things up, snapping a final picture. Summarizing the final points. Saying good-bye.

Right now, closure doesn’t come easily. It must be done remotely, by video or phone call or email. Cautiously, safely. In bits and pieces, a little here, a little there. Separately.

Sometimes, it isn’t possible at all.

I don’t like this world of loose ends. It makes me feel off-kilter, not being able to do the things I typically associate with a final chapter. How do I move on, if there are unresolved storylines?

I suppose it’s selfish of me to think this way. My need for closure could be interfering with somebody else’s need for urgency. And, not everybody cares about a perfect ending. Some might even be irritated by that sort of thing.

Maybe, in this age of social media and virtual access, this potential to connect anywhere, anytime, it’s silly of me to place so much value on a last handshake or hug. Perhaps I should just accept, adapt, and move on. Create closure on the concept of closure.

I’ll work on it. In the meantime, I’ll continue to believe in the value of those final touchstone experiences; those rituals that mark the stories of the people and memories that fill our hearts.

Categories
Nature

Thunder

Woke up this morning to the sound of thunder rolling in the distance and raindrops bouncing on the roof.

“I am not afraid of storms for I am learning how to sail my ship.” – Louisa May Alcott

Categories
Life

Early

I used to be one of those people who liked to stay up past midnight and sleep until 10:00 a.m. the next morning.

Being somewhat socially awkward, my late nights typically involved a good book or a movie on TV; something other than nightclubs or parties. But, I was definitely a night owl. I used to think most clearly when it was dark outside, after everybody else had gone to bed, and preferred those quiet, shadowy hours after midnight to the dusty, dim light of morning.

I once asked my father, who was an early riser, why he liked to wake up at the crack of dawn. He said, “It’s something that happened as I got older. I can’t stay up late anymore. I don’t always want to wake up early, but it happens automatically, and I can’t just stay in bed. So, I get up and get things done.”

At the time, I assumed the evolution in his internal alarm clock was driven, in part, by his Type A personality. I also assumed it wouldn’t happen to me. After all, my grandmother was a night owl, and I take after her in many ways. Plus, I dreaded the sound of the alarm as it woke me up each morning.

But here I am, an early riser. Just like my dad, it’s happened gradually, as I’ve gotten older. I still set my alarm clock when it’s important to be on time for something, but I frequently find myself waking up before it goes off.

What’s surprising to me is that, during these recent months of social distancing, Schedules Are Optional living, I haven’t gone back to my night owl ways. Even if I stay up later, the latest I’ve slept is 8:30 a.m., and that has been only rarely. Most often, my eyes pop open around 5:30 a.m.

As soon as my cat senses that I’m awake, he begins pawing at my back, reminding me that he hasn’t eaten since the kibble I served him a short while ago (get up lady come on can’t you see that I’m hungry I’m skin and bones hungry so hungry get up get up get up). I may push him away while I’m quietly lying there, thinking thoughts, planning plans, but he returns, paw paw paw, until he’s made it clear that he’s on the verge of collapse.

And so I get out of bed, and I feed him and make the coffee and unload the dishwasher and take out the trash and do all the other early morning things, just like my father. The house is quiet, the light outside is distant and misty.

I suppose that, if I intentionally tried to reset my internal clock by staying up late for many nights in a row, I might find myself going back to my late sleeping habits. But I don’t know that I want to. I’ve learned to enjoy the early morning hours and the feeling that comes when the tasks are done and the rest of the day stretches out ahead of me.

Today’s cuppa is for the early risers. We may not have chosen to wake up before dawn, but we can learn to enjoy the circumstances.

Categories
Family Holidays Life

Lessons

Today, I think of the lessons I’ve learned from my father and my husband.

First, my father.

We didn’t always agree with each other. As a child, I thought he knew everything. As I grew older, I realized he did not. At times, this realization led to frustration and angry words from both of us, careful avoidance and emotional distance between us.

The love was always there, however.

He wasn’t a “warm and fuzzy” kind of dad; he showed his love by taking care of things. Before Google, before Siri, I had Dad. He’d find phone numbers, make appointments, and gather all the details. Nothing made him happier than feeling like he’d fixed a problem or found the answer. My conversations with him typically ended with him saying, “What can I do for you, sweet love?”

At the end of his life, when we both knew that his time was short, the love is what filled our hours together. We shared memories, pictures, letters, tokens. His favorite childhood toys, packed in a box. His college yearbooks. A uniform, a quilt, some newspaper clippings. He entrusted me with these things and experiences that illustrated his time on this earth, told his life story; what he did and the people he knew.

My father taught me many things. Top of mind today is what I learned from those days together not so long ago – that love matters most. It doesn’t erase the mistakes or the failures, doesn’t absolve us from being accountable for our choices. But it does provide shelter and warmth and connection, perspective and forgiveness.

Love is what will be remembered. Love matters most.

And now, my husband.

My husband views fatherhood through a lens of joy and delight.

“Parenting” isn’t always fun. “Parenting” involves rules and routines, schedules and plans. It requires words like no and careful and wait and stop. It brings sleepless nights, temper tantrums, anxious worry. Raising young humans tests your patience and your coping skills.

Being a parent, on the other hand, can be a lot of fun. Being a parent means that you get to play again, like you did as a child. Build forts and sand castles, go on treasure hunts, dig in the dirt, search for bugs. Read stories, solve puzzles, laugh and sing together. Talk in funny voices at the dinner table. Make up adventures and create imaginary worlds to explore. And the best part is that your playmates are people you love in a way you never thought possible before now.

This is the way my husband views fatherhood. It is the father that he strives to be and the father that he is. It is one of his most meaningful lessons – to revel in the joy and delight of parenthood. Celebrate the experience, enjoy the ride, even if there are toys on the floor or crumbs on the counter.

Responsibility and safety come first, of course. He is wise, and he is protective. But he never forgets that being a parent can be magical.

I see that magic when I watch him with our sons. I hear the laughter that they share in silly moments. I listen as they describe their adventures together and engage in deep conversations about everything from the stars and geology to dragons and castles. I notice how my sons trust their father with their ideas, knowing that he sees their potential and will do everything he can to find a way. It makes my heart sing.

Encourage the magic, believe in it and make it possible. Focus on and share the delight and the happiness it brings. That is where the joy of parenthood lives.

Happy Father’s Day.


Categories
Life

News


It’s hard to imagine, in today’s world of immediate news, that a significant event, affecting the lives of countless people, could happen yet not be known for days, weeks, or even years.

Perhaps then, as we contemplate the question of which invention or development has had the most important impact on the world, we should recognize the value of 24/7 access to information.

In whatever way we prefer, using whatever means work best, people everywhere now have the ability to find the news…instead of waiting for the news to find them.

Add to that the fact that “news” is no longer only a reactive function involving a messenger and a recipient. It has become a living, breathing experience, influenced by those partaking in the moment, sharing as it happens, evaluating as it occurs.

No doubt, there is still value in the traditional information-sharing process. Immediacy can sometimes create confusion and inaccuracy, which may be minimized through a more measured, careful approach to knowledge.

But now, the noun – “news” – traditionally considered a report of what has happened – can also be a verb, a communal action that encourages involvement and recognizes the value of the participants.

It’s hard to remember the days when things were different; in fact, there’s an entire generation of people who’ve never known a world without this type of access. It’s become an expectation and an assumption. But it really wasn’t that long ago when news traveled slowly, and words of hope and change remained unknown for too long.

Despite the challenges that come with a never-ending supply of information, I’m grateful to live in a time when it is possible. Because words, experiences, and news can transform the world.


Categories
Life

Coins

Yesterday, I saw an article about how the closures of in-person retail operations during the pandemic has led to a coin shortage here in the U.S. Apparently, the reduction of physical currency through the purchasing system means that pennies, nickels, dimes, and quarters aren’t being passed around in the typical volume.

The shortage isn’t cause for alarm. It will eventually correct itself as business reopens. But it is one of those things that makes me think, “Hmmmm. That’s interesting.”

It’s one of those things that reminds me that the world contains countless connections, seen and unseen, obvious and surprising. Pull on one thread, and the pattern on the far side of the picture becomes distorted. Flapping wings of a butterfly lead to a hurricane on the other side of the planet, etc.

I will say that, if I pulled out all the spare change rattling around at the bottom of my purse, I could probably help solve a lot of the coin shortage. The purse/coin situation is a bit like the hanger/closet situation – put 2 or 3 of them into a space together, return later to discover they’ve magically multiplied to 20 or 30.

In any event, it was an intriguing news story. Something to think about as I enjoy my Thursday cuppa.

Categories
Family Food Nature

Jalapeños

The jalapeños in our backyard garden are growing well.

As the Garden Cheerleader, I am excited for their progress and proud to show them off. I don’t generally enjoy jalapeños, however, so a bumper crop of them will not be of much benefit to me.

My husband, on the other hand, can never have enough jalapeños. Fresh, pickled, roasted, baked – he loves them in any form, cooked in any way. To him, spicy food is delicious; the spicier, the better.

I am perplexed by this, because my experience with spicy food is that the flavor is outweighed by the burning. When I eat anything beyond the most basic level of salsa, all I experience is pain. Even worse, if cheese is involved in the dish, the cheesy goodness is overwhelmed by the spice, which is a sad state affairs. Cheese is awesome; cheese should never be overwhelmed.

I suppose it’s possible that his tastebuds have adapted to pick up the nuance of flavor within the heat. Or maybe there’s just something about his palate that makes certain flavors appealing to him but not to me. For example, some people prefer dark chocolate to milk chocolate, and some people don’t like chocolate at all. Whatever the reason, he loves those little green spice bombs. For his sake, I’m glad we’re having a good jalapeño year.

Here’s to the peppers that grow in our garden. I’m not a fan, but my husband is, and that is reason enough to cheer them on.

Categories
People

True

“Long after you remember the actual work or the targets you met along the way, what’s sustained in your memory is the effect you had on people’s lives.

By this measure above all others, you’ll know the true impact you had as a leader.” — Mark C. Crowley