In my usual writing position, splayed on my belly with elbows propped, feet dangling off the bed, and fingers tapping away in my bedroom, I scan the room for ideas. Eleven puzzles lay against the wall—some toppled over like fallen domino soldiers. They serve as a reminder for me to bestow them upon someone new, preferably the new admin of the community puzzle group that Dave and I created last year. Despite the former coolness of puzzles, board games have taken precedence.
Earlier at Fred Meyer I purchased two large bags of birdseed, opting for the no-shell variety. As winter progresses, casting a steady march of clouds and darkness over the days, I turn to one of the many antidepressant medications I take: bird watching. Hanging one outside the kitchen window and the other in the front yard off a Shepherd’s hook, I anticipate pacing between both vantage points tomorrow. Despite no birds finding the feeders this evening after I filled them to the brim, my bird-loving self remains hopeful for a more lively display.
Engaged in a text thread with a friend, our conversation centers around expressing gratitude for each other. Amidst the warmth, we find ourselves clarifying certain things. At one point, my friend expressed her reluctance to take advantage of my role as a therapist, a statement that stung. In response, she later conveyed, “I’m glad you mentioned it hurt because I was trying to say that I value you as more than just a therapist, but in the wrong words.” My sensitivity regarding friends or family referencing my profession as a therapist may stem from a graduate school class where a professor warned against becoming one’s family’s therapist, fueling concerns of falling into a know-it-all or judgmental role.
The most recent guest’s review of our Airbnb sent us into Superhost status, baby! The four criteria are an overall rating of 4.8, we have a 4.9, a response rate of 90%, ours is 100%, ten stays, yep!, and a less than 1.0% cancellation rate, ours is 0.00%. You might say, so what do you get? A free stay in a penthouse suite in downtown New York or an all-inclusive stay on a private island in the Bahamas? Nope. Just pride, which I feel deeply.
So yeah, it’s been a successfully low-key and enjoyable weekend. But, man, have my bare feet had trouble warming up. I’m not used to 40-degree weather, so when needing to run to the garage or outside on the porch, I’m still bee-bopping around like it’s summer. For comfort’s sake and another anecdote to these long winter nights, I’ll embark on a sock journey. Something I’m not a fan of but do see the benefit in.
Night! Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 