“Something wicked this way comes” is a thought I have whenever the sky darkens, the clouds move a bit too fast, and I get that thrilling shiver up my spine.
I notice that I often talk about the weather. Is it because I’m still getting used to not having my “year badge” living in the South? Or maybe it’s because I’ve reached that sweet age where I know enough that the changing weather never feels dull. Whatever it is, it captivates me, and I feel like a weather vane, pointing in the direction of, “Yes, I’m listening.”
No longer hanging on my shepherd’s hook is the tall, cylindrical bird feeder with multiple perches. Turns out, these woodland birds prefer a tray feeder, which is basically just a serving tray with wires. Not loving the $24 price tag, I went on a scavenger hunt through the house and garage for a DIY project. The honeybee container Tim brought over ended up on a shelf in the garage, and with it—and a hand saw—I took it to the front porch for the afternoon light and the leverage of the brick stairs. The inch-by-inch cuts over 45 minutes caused tiny sweat droplets to form on the sides of my nose and chest. But I did it. Then, I found some metal wire, cut two equal pieces, and created balanced hangers for both sides.
And it’s up, filled with sunflower seeds. Soon, I’ll cut up tiny pieces of apple and other high-prized treats to see if I can get myself out of my bird slump.
I’m feeling a little discombobulated after yesterday’s riots, as if I’ve been stretched thin by a multitude of feelings, thoughts, and beliefs. It’s a pretzel-like mess, and nothing about it feels good.
Don’t you feel like you want to make the most of your time? I know I do. At least, right now I do. And that pressure—the heavy brick on my chest—seems to tell me that writing no longer matters. It’s a slog when it feels like that, a ball and chain that locks up words and inspiration in the basement, inaccessible to me. I often give up when that happens, say goodnight, and walk away. But what if, like I’ve been doing in times of discomfort, I just sit for a moment?
And listen to the sudden downpour, which sounds like a breaking air conditioning unit. I hate that pressure in me that says I have to get to something—I have to hurry. Even though there’s nothing pressing, urgent, or needed of me. I’m off duty, and yet something in me kicks into gear. I could get on virtual reality, exercise, tend to my eye bump, listen to a podcast, clean the kitchen, and if I waited long enough, I’d come up with ten more things to add to the list. But none of that is what I want to do. It’s like a long line of boring credits that I thumb through on my phone when I’m waiting for the sequel trailer at the end.
I don’t want to check out when I’m writing. Especially when I’m nearing the end. That’s when the best stuff comes out, especially in counseling sessions. It’s like people know their time is running out, and the things they’ve been pushing away suddenly pop to the surface. It’s a now-or-never moment. I don’t know if I have one of those, but I certainly wasn’t done. I needed to hear this—to hear the frustration I have with the “never enough” mindset and how it controls me when I write.
Ok dang, this storm is super kicking it. I took a video for you! I hope you enjoy it.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 