Tonight, writing feels intrusive.
I’d rather be hiding behind the couch—writing feels like someone knocking at the door when I’m in no mood for visitors. It reminds me of when the Mormon missionary boys came by. Living in the country, we rarely got solicitors. But one afternoon, spying white button-downs and slack-wearing teens through the keyhole, my mom sharply whispered to my brother and me, “Hide!”
We did.
Trips down memory lane—especially the quirky or sweet ones—help thaw this part of me that doesn’t want to share. So did the sudden and unexpected pop-in from Dave’s brother’s family to wish him a happy birthday. The warmth stayed with me.
And speaking of surprises, I couldn’t believe it when my Merlin Bird ID app identified a bald eagle.
I often forget I’ve left the app running while it records bird songs during my morning routine. Later, I’ll rediscover it and play the sound back—and this time, there it was: that high-pitched, quintessential eagle call.
I used to hear it from the second-story deck in Washington, overlooking the edge of a 20-acre lake we shared with a pair of eagles. Now, for the first time since moving south, it seems one has made its way to middle Georgia. I hope it stays.
As for the chipmunk—small as a mini cucumber—he’s still on the back porch. I left the screen door open two nights ago, readying myself for the bittersweet joy of his departure… but he didn’t go.
Maybe it was the cashews, peanuts, chopped fruit, and big bowl of water that changed his mind. Whatever the reason, I’m glad he’s still here.
I’m feeling resistant to what’s coming: the deep heat of a Georgia summer.
The season of short sips of air, and only doing outdoor work early in the morning or after dusk.
It reminds me of those week-long summer stays at my grandparents’ place on Palmer Lake in Washington’s Okanogan Valley. Back then, the weather dictated the day. We’d retreat inside for lunch, movies, or naptime until 4pm, when the sun would finally soften and release us to the lake again.
Just now, a tickle on my ankle—what I thought was my foot falling asleep—turned out to be a thumb-nail-sized black beetle. It had crawled beneath my dress and nearly found a home in a place no beetle should be. I still have the eebie-jeebies.
The bunny’s inside the house tonight, perched in his litter box like it’s a spa retreat. He preens himself delicately, then suddenly bolts—kicking shavings and pea-sized poops everywhere before tearing into a full-speed circle around the L-shaped couch. Archie is not impressed.
Last night, the bunny leapt onto Archie’s back while he was lying down. Everyone laughed—except Archie. Poor guy. But even he knows: this is just what Bun Bun does.
Now I’m onto my before-bedtime headphones time.
I’m listening to Se Regalan Dudas, a Spanish podcast hosted by two women I’m starting to feel like I know. Like I told Dave, I have three kinds of listening experiences with them:
One—I have no clue what they’re talking about.
Two—I understand every single word.
Three—there are these dreamy moments when the clouds part, and even if I couldn’t translate it, I get it. It’s like my brain is floating just above the conversation, absorbing the meaning whole.
I love that feeling.
And now, I’ll let that carry me into the night.
Love always,
Jaclynn
Going On 40 