We went up to my mom's house this past weekend; Krissy was turning thirty and we celebrated it in the traditional manner, with the shaking of the groove things. You can bet your bippy I'll be mining this trip for more than one blog post, but for now:
"Just to warn you," Jill told me when we were on the front porch. "We have a bird there." I looked over and there she was, a fat, gray dove sitting in her eggs. When she blinked, you could see that her eyes were rimmed in what looked like blue eye shadow. We named her Trixie. "Mike and Erin talk to her."
Generally I'm not a big nature fan. Camping sounds like punishment (hey, let's walk around with baggies of used toilet paper!), and the last time I went hiking, I was most awestruck by the man-made dam. But I inexplicably liked having Trixie there. I talked to her, mostly when I was with her alone. You're a sweet mama, I said. Look at you, soft girl.
I've been feeling a little burdened lately. Not anything in particular, just the cumulative effects of adulthood. The dishes will have to be washed again, the laundry done, the work started, kept up with, finished. The elderly Mac will keep having problems. Someone will have to dream up another week's worth of dinners.
It occurred to me that part of the charm of Trixie's residence is that it's temporary. Long-term, I'd worry about what she was doing to the post she built her next on, the bird poop, the endless extra burden of maintenance. But this weekend, I just enjoyed looking at her.
Part of my quest brought me to this idea that we should all live in the moment, that it's all temporary, and we should get our kicks while the getting's good. There's only so far I can embrace that, to be honest. But maybe this is why people get all fired up about nature, to get that glimpse of the temporary, even forgoing hot showers to do it.