I read an article with a heartbeat. Its author made me feel the morning’s chill, cutting from image to image, pulling me into her world. She detailed hooking a finger into an overflowing trash bin, exiting her apartment, and meeting a neighbor for a moment of shared laughter at the bottom of the stairs.
I was mesmerized and transported into her world, its simplicity and intimacy. I romanticized the grounded, everyday moments she captured so effortlessly.
I love organizing. I love it so much that when Evelyn dumped her toy bin of gears, wheels, and tools onto the carpet, my playtime turned into color-coding and grouping-like shapes. Why do I crave orderliness? Maybe it’s the restful feeling I get when I see the equidistant plants, the pile of books on the shelf, or the Coke cans all facing the same direction in the mini-fridge.
I won’t protect myself from your sideways glances. For better or worse, my clock ticks when the house is fresh from opened windows and the household items are in their spaces, where they belong.
I’m a wizard with a fly swatter. It reminds me of the quick reflexes I had with a baseball mitt, taking ground balls at second base. My coach—shorts-wearing and red-headed—used to toss balls to himself and bat them at me, one after the other, directly at me. I still can’t believe how fast those balls came, to the point where I could barely see them, but on one particular day, I didn’t miss a single one.
That day felt as exhilarating as when my friends put me on their usually sedated horse and sent me flying through their pasture. The horse, part Mustang, was too fast to control, hence the medication. But that day, I felt what NASA astronauts must feel as they fight gravity, racing through the speed of a thousand tomorrows.
Each time I stand up, I wince. The area just above my tailbone pulls like a drawstring, sending a sharp pain directly to my brainstem. But getting up is necessary. When my nemeses—those pesky flies—are moving freely about the kitchen without asking permission, I spring into action. With two down, I chase one into the laundry room, close the door, and it’s just me and him. After two bangs into the wall, the fly’s trajectory shifts unexpectedly, and I swoop in with a mid-air slapdown. I still have that Mr. Miyagi-like reaction and precision.
Time for the three things I’m grateful for: 1. Homeschooling Evelyn, specifically watching the shift from crying frustration to her beaming smile as she learns to read. 2. My new face lotion. I put it on for the first time and my face feels smooth as a baby’s bottom. 3. The biscuit recipe I got from the painted nails man on TikTok.
Alrighty, that does it for me. Take care. Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 