Part of my work as a counselor, but also in life is knowing the line between being swept up in my own emotions or pulled into others’. In the end, they’re all mine. Still, the sheer force of other people’s fear, animosity, or despair can knock me over—dizzying me like a KO’d boxer. But I’m quick to regain consciousness. The Tao Te Ching, writing, repotting a plant, or even wood-staining a board are like smelling salts that jolt me back into the present.
It’s Saturday. My leg is slowly going numb from being crossed for too long. A stack of old letters sits nearby, waiting for the recycling bin, much like the 95% of college, high school, and childhood photos I’ve already tossed. It’s not that I’m unsentimental—it’s that the things I squirrel away in the attic or under the window seat feel like lead on my heart.
My leg continues to tingle as I tune in to two sharp bird calls, high-pitched and insistent. Cardinals? Mockingbirds? I grab my phone, open Merlin: Red-shouldered Hawks. Of course. Just now, one swooped past like a plane with a burned-out engine.
Out on the porch, Dave settles into a chair with white ankle socks and dark teal khaki shorts. Archie sprawls on the grass at the bottom of the steps, his spot staked.
Eventually, I peel myself away from my laptop (with its loose return key) to watch Georgia Tech beat Wake Forest, catch UW versus Ohio State, and whip up coleslaw—cabbage, apple, mayo, apple cider vinegar, celery seed, Old Bay, smoked paprika—to go with leftover shredded pork.
The idea of eating out—La Patrona or Holy Pie Pizzeria—floated past like the low gray clouds overhead. But we’ve already hit our one-outing quota for the month, so leftovers it is.
Later, nostalgia hit full force when Lamb Chop showed up on my TikTok. Shari Lewis, her puppet, and that tape my brother used to pause, rewind, and replay—101 Things for Kids. We watched the first 13 with Evelyn before bed. With a whole Sunday ahead, we might just tackle the other 87. Yee-haw.
The quiet has been richer lately. It feels fully oxygenated, like walking into a kitchen filled with grandma’s baked goods. Dave’s reading his book, and I glance up from writing to watch the ceiling fan on its lowest setting. I almost said “mild,” like a salsa option. Which reminds me—I need to make salsa. Our fridge is usually stocked with a homemade blend of tomatoes, garlic, cilantro, lime, and salt, but right now it’s bare. Luckily, before our Sam’s Club membership ran out, I stocked up on six jumbo bags of tortilla chips, so I’m set.
Ok, book time for me too. Catch you here tomorrow.
Love,
Jaclynn
Going On 40 