Seated on the top step of our brick porch, laptop resting on my bare legs, I watch the feeder. Just minutes ago, it was still, and now it’s alive: two squirrels and a pair of cardinals — male and female — nibble at the black sunflower seeds. Merlin, the bird song identifier app, is recording beside me. I can’t look away for more than thirty seconds without three new birds making a cameo. A red-tailed hawk, a chuck-will’s-widow, and a blue-gray gnatcatcher are the latest.
I hear the thud of little feet inside. Evelyn’s energy hasn’t wavered, even though she’s been tucked in — no “taco tuck” (our code for burrito-wrapped in blankets), but still. I promised to wake her up for the firefly sighting, but kids exist outside time when they’re excited. Her anticipation is buzzing, like those weeks before Christmas — all now, no later.
All day, my mind has been stuck in a loop: replay, rewind, replay. Scenes with others, my words, their words — analyzed with a director’s scrutiny. What was I doing anyway? Mostly mundane things: raking up sticks and acorns, only to dig them out again by hand. My poor nails can’t stay clean for more than five minutes before I’m back at it.
I need to be okay with boring posts. Some writing days are just average. Par for the course. The rare ones — the eagle days — will come, but most of the time, I’m just trying to get out of the bunker.
Creativity asks for a lighter mood, and that’s not tonight.
Evelyn’s beside me now. Her pink llama blankie, made by our old neighbor Judy, is clutched in her hand like Linus. Her eye mask is stretched up to her hairline, acting like a headband. She’s pointing at a cloud, whispering, “I saw it a tab light. A tab light.” I don’t know what she means — maybe “a tad light”? She wants it darker, clearly. That’s when the fireflies start. That’s when Christmas begins.
She repeats herself — “a tab” — at least three times. She picked up the speech tick from Emma, two doors down. I wish she hadn’t. It’s not a stutter, but something close. It wears on me sometimes. I want to say, “Yes, I get it! A tab lighter!”
This moment reminds me of the drive-in movie theater. Once each summer, my parents would take my brother and me in the ‘89 Buick Century to the Valley Drive-In in Auburn. The only memory I’ve kept is watching Coneheads, squinting between the driver’s headrest, or fighting my brother for a clear view in the center.
Right about now — the current now — we’d be hooking the long winding wire to the antenna (do cars still even have those?) and making one last bathroom run before the movie trailers began. I think we got popcorn, though it’s possible my parents brought snacks from home.
Funny how early they started the trailers — about twenty minutes’ worth. Roughly the same amount of time I’ll wait before pulling Evelyn from bed to catch fireflies.
I just read that putting a penny in the birdbath helps inhibit algae on hot summer days. I’m pretty sure I’ve got one or two rattling around in the zipper pouch of my wallet.
In the meantime, I’m off to string up a couple of hammocks for optimal viewing. I’ll try to catch a firefly or two on video for you.
Take care.
Love,
Jaclynn
Going On 40 