Goodbyes

I'm not good at goodbyes. I might even be the worst goodbyer ever.  A goodbye is too much. Too final. I can't bear to think that I'll never see you again. So, I'll give you a high five. Tell you I'll see you in a little bit even though i'm not sure what tomorrow might bring. And then I'll take off and cry like a baby at the thought of not seeing your face again. I'll rush to find a pen to document every detail about our time together so I never forget. Please don't ever forget me either. I already miss you and I'm still right here, watching the whole thing from the top of this tree.

Fifty

Today I am fifty years old. 50!!!!! Half of 100. I'm amused by how it sounds. It doesn't seem to fit me yet.
When I started the 100 day project I had no idea that it would be ending on my birthday. I never looked ahead. I just started with day 1 and showed up. Everyday. I never had a stock pile of birds and essays ready to go. Most days I would think of something while I was walking the dog or driving in the car. I noticed that I needed to be outdoors to be inspired. I liked that I called no re-dos or edits. I wouldn't have kept going if I tried to make this anything more than a quick sketch and a couple of words. It was definitely, without a doubt, the most vulnerable thing I have ever done. Who do I think I am to call myself and artist or a writer?
Hitting the publish button got easier as I got nice comments from people. I went from having a couple of people reading my blog to 200 a day. I got faster at sketching and started doodling birds with bikinis. I never once felt like the project was a chore. I love that I did this.
It's ending tomorrow and I am fifty years old. My daughter is leaving for college next month. These two things are right on the edge of freaking me out but i'm going to continue to show up everyday and figure out what this next part of my life is all about. It's exciting. And scary. But mostly exciting. For both of us. This kid is going to do great things. She's my most beautiful birdy.

The Chase

The thing I like most about your dog? If given the choice between a bird and a red squirrel, your dog always chooses to chase the red squirrel.

Damn fool. (the squirrel, not the dog)

Eggs

There is only a baby bird in an egg that has been fertilized. Sat on. Made warm. Loved a little. Incubated. So, why is it that you hold your breath when you crack an egg in anticipation of a baby chick falling out into your missing bowl?
In all your years of cracking eggs, has this ever happened? No? I didn't think so.

The Right Amount of Sparkle

These are my two post-party favorites: a leftover good morning stale hamburger bun to peck at and the ribbons hanging from the trees. Definitely leave them up. Seeing a flowing little pop of color in the morning from the nest thrills me. And, they're fun to dance with. Having ribbons flowing from your trees is not at all over the top. It's just the right amount of sparkle.

Helping Hand

That wind! Blew us right out of the nest. Toppled the whole thing over!

Seems like that was a fail on building a storm proof nest. My Mom should have borrowed some duct tape. I think my brother landed in the compost pile. Can you give him a hand back up too? I'm close to flying out of here by myself soon. I just need another day to be home and regroup. You're a lifesaver. Literally. 

Garden Parties

The best friends are the ones that let you invite yourself

over when you're feeling the most vulnerable

and hanging on by your fingernails.

They don't mind if you stay until the sun sets.

These are the til death parts us friends. 

These are the friends you learn a thing or two from.

Art's Garage

Flash
One one thousand, two one thousand
Boom
A storm is getting close

It's one of my first memories from Parrish Lane
Counting how far out a storm was with Pop-pop
We sat on nylon lawn chairs near the garage door

He called me his Little Swede
He called my Dad "Mo"
I don't know why
His name is Dave
"Hey Mo", grab me a beer

There was a peanut can full of change on the shelf above the vice grip
He would let me take a whole handful
I mostly got pennies

I dream about the garage a lot
I can sense that he is there somewhere in the dream
but I've never see him

Flash
One one thousand, two one thousand
Boom
I always think of him when a storm is coming
Flash
Boom
The storm is here

Happy Birthday Pop-pop

I See London

Perched up here with my birds eye view, i've watched you do a lot of things. This morning you realized your skirt was inside out when you got in the car. You just got out and changed things around in the driveway. This was something new. I saw your underpants.

Natural Flow

Once I am up high enough, even on the steamiest days when the air feels thick and unmovable, I can always catch a breeze to glide on. I find that natural flow and then it's cool, smooth sailing.
Or I could do what you do and turn the fan on full blast and sit directly in front of it with a cold cloth on my head.
Ones personal pleasure is such a finicky pursuit.

A Mother's Purse

You would not believe the things I can pull out of this purse.
What do you need? You chilly? I have a balled up cardigan and a scarf.
Headache? Got your covered with 3 medicinal options.
Bleeding? 4 different bandage sizes.
Need some extra light? I have 10 lightening bugs in a mason jar.
Hungry? Guess what I have? A banana.
I am Mary Poppins with wings.

Sleepless Hot Summer Nights

The brightness of the moon and the 1,000 lightening bugs lighting up this pine tree last night like a Pink Floyd laser show woke up the chorus of Cicadas. Who woke up my 4 baby birds. Who wanted a snack. Then another nighttime story. Then they were too hot. Then a fight broke out because someone was touching someone else's wing on purpose even though an invisible line was drawn down the nest which made that space the sacred no touch zone.
The crying. The flashing lights. The all night cicada singing. Me plus four baby birds in this tiny little nest. For the first time in my life, I was jealous of the Penguin whose only job for a bit is to stand there in the chilly Arctic breeze, balancing that one baby between their legs while waiting there for their mate to bring food.
This bird stuff is for the birds. Oh wait. I'm a bird. Shit.