I’m good behind a computer. It’s safe here. Comfortable. The written word is a fortress that feels impenetrable.
Not so on TikTok.
Earlier today, I filmed a one-minute video of my front porch and what will soon be a pollinator garden. I’ve talked about it a bit here, but what I haven’t mentioned is that the plants in the front bed will grow three, four, maybe even five feet tall—perfect for viewing from my porch rocker. That’s the very spot where my inspiration brews, where I watch the action and take in the world.
I’ve been on a mission to attract a hundred hummingbirds. For weeks, I was stuck at four. They’d show up now and then, sometimes all together. When they did, it felt like a no-holds-barred square dance bar fight. Chaos in the air.
But today, something shifted. Just as I counted the usual four, a pair zipped in from the back. Two shadowy figures, chirping and swirling into the mix. Six. Six hummingbirds! Can you believe it?
Suddenly, my three freshly filled feeders felt inadequate. So off to Amazon I went, ordering a two-pack that was 46% off (thank you weird discounts). But now: where to put them? Anywhere away from the porch means more work. And I don’t want them blocking the fans or cluttering the view.
Well, I’ll cross that bridge when the box shows up this weekend.
Speaking of bridges—Evelyn and I have been playing Animal Crossing. In the game, we’ve both built houses. We fish together, catch butterflies, and donate fossils to the museum owl, Blathers. We even vault over rivers with long poles. That image popped into my head mid-thought—and, uh oh—I lost my train of thought.
Then Archie needed in, panting and nosy as ever. And now I can’t remember what I was going to say. That happens once or twice a day. I’m not worried, but I do get irritated with myself. And also… I don’t. What if it is memory-related and I can’t do anything about it? What good is it to beat myself up? I see other people do that with their memory lapses, and I wish they’d be gentler with themselves.
Tomorrow, I’m heading to one of the girls’ houses for book club. We’re watching Capote—the one with Philip Seymour Hoffman. I’m excited. The book wrecked me, and I need to lick my wounds with others who’ve been in those same woods. I’m sure it’ll feel cathartic to process it together, to share what we learned, what we Googled, what stuck.
Maybe thoughts go missing not because the mind is slipping, but because it’s full of birds and dogs and daughters and video games and friends and family. Maybe some thoughts get replaced by more colorful ones. Maybe that’s okay.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 