Like the bony fingers of a piano-playing skeleton, a spider skillfully orchestrated its web with precise pulls and tie-offs. The intricate sequence, as masterful as a Bach concerto, held me captivated during my all-too-brief respite on our back patio.
A ladybug, with its twitchy black legs, raced to the top of my finger before unfurling her umbrella-like wings. Those red-dotted buggers were out in full force, along with the stink bugs lining the eaves of my parents’ house yesterday. However, today, as my dad wielded an electric blower to send them on a rocketing journey, most were flung into another orbit or had vanished, their existence reduced to silky pods in the predator spider’s web.
A sudden craving for oysters prompted a stop at Lytle’s Seafoods on the final leg of the journey to the cabin earlier. A dozen Pacific oysters sat nestled on crunchy ice, though I knew I’d have to find a flathead screwdriver to shuck them, even still, my mouth watered in anticipation.
Sitting on a railway tie near the fire pit, I clutched the coarse, knife-edged shell of one of the twelve oysters and began my shucking adventure. Past experiences of jabbing myself and drawing blood had taught me to be cautious not to exert too much force, which meant taking my time to find that sweet spot that would pop the shell open. If you’ve ever shucked an oyster, you know that feeling—like when a perfectly stubborn blackhead finally surrenders with a satisfying “Oh, hello!” wave.
It is our first wood fire since winter, and while it wasn’t necessary, it added a certain charm, akin to the birdsongs piped through speakers at the zoo.
I found myself using my couples counseling skills on my parents earlier today—a rare, if ever, occurrence. After the umpteenth time hearing them engage in a tug-of-war over a minor detail in their memory of an event, “It was two days!” “No, it was three,” led me to spontaneously step in as a referee. “Hey guys, what’s with the need to be right?”
Having attended Esther Perel’s conference on relationships (if you’re unfamiliar, she’s a Belgian relationship therapist with a New York Times bestselling book called “Mating in Captivity,” based on extensive research spanning multiple countries), I shared an instance she’d shared from her own relationship where she and her husband argued about their version of reality. “No, it was on Wednesday.” “No, Thursday.” Since then, when working with couples, I’ve pointed out this futile “right” game. Today, I added a touch of humor, saying, “If one is right, everyone is wrong.” You know, like everyone in the relationship loses?
I shouldn’t have to explain things, right?
An Airbnb guest left an unopened and unfamiliar Dr. Bombay Tropical Sherbet Swizzle in the freezer. For some reason, stabbing little bites and savoring them feels like sitting on a theme park bench between rides on a too-hot day.
As I type, Evelyn is engrossed in “Little Einsteins,” chomping on some and learning about bald eagles. Witnessing her eager curiosity fills me with joy. Yesterday, I pointed out the green, orange, red, and yellow leaves, explaining the differences between them and needle, evergreen trees. Today, we delved into the realm of nocturnal animals, discussing bats and owls.
Well, I’m approaching the bottom of this pint carton and have a hard copy of “Daisy Jones and the Six” I’d like to read. I hope I get far enough in it that in future moments when I ponder what to do in idle moments, instead of reaching for TikTok videos, I reach for the book. That’s a good goal!
I’ll bid you farewell for now. Have a delightful evening.
With love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 