What to Let Go

It's a cliche to say so, but family events are always a combination of joy and stress. My immediate family had a particularly wonderful weekend this one past; we were all together, and we enjoyed each others company every second we could wring from the two days we spent.

But there were other relatives who could not say the same. "I just have to cut her off," both women said separately about the other, her mother, her daughter. 

"There comes a time after so many years when you just can't take another disappointment," said one.

The other echoed her words but substituted "insult" for "disappointment."

And it has been many years, over 25. After all that time, or perhaps because of it, they are both so locked in their anger and pain that anyone near them can see that it would be a blessing if they actually could let them go. Unfortunately, it's equally clear that they haven't, for while they have cut each other out of their lives, refusing to interact despite being a few feet apart, the anger and pain remain.

As Buddha said, Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned.

So Far Yet So Close

I was surprised when I heard that one of the bride's closest cousins would not be at the wedding because she was doing a semester abroad in Spain. Her parents, sisters, and brother seemed a little disappointed to not have her there at the rehearsal dinner last night, even as they explained to all who asked what a great opportunity it was and what as fabulous time she was having. Today at the ceremony I was two rows back from the family. As her brother held up his smart phone throughout the proceedings, I assumed he was making a video recording. That is until he swung his arm forward to catch the action at the front of the chapel. As the couple exchanged their vows, I saw the face of a young woman watching intently from his screen. It was, of course, his sister joining the festivities via Skype. 

Suite Life

My whole family is in Charlottesville for a wedding  this weekend. At the last minute, we decided to upgrade our room to a suite so that my cousin could stay with us and my mom. What a great idea! We've all been hanging out in the living room, and then we bought a couple bottles of wine and some fancy snacks. There's even a two-burner stove, and believe me, friends, if we were just staying one extra day, I'd be throwing a dinner party!

TAW

It's teacher appreciation week and this year my students have been very thoughtful. On Monday I got flowers and candy; yesterday one nice girl baked cookies, and today someone added to my flower arrangement, another presented me with a gift card, and then I got what will probably be a once-in-a-career gift. A cheese souffle.

Seriously.

Now that's appreciation.

Pizza Culpa

"Where's our pizza?" I growled over my stomach. "I'm starving!"

So hungry in fact was I that I picked up the phone without hesitation and dialed. (Those who know me will immediately recognize the significance of this gesture.) When a polite voice answered, I did my best to curb my crankiness. "I placed an online delivery order an hour and a half ago and I was just wondering where it was," I whined [slightly, very slightly].

She took my name. "We have that as an online pick-up order," she informed me sympathetically, and I realized with horror that the mistake was all mine. But before I could even let out the gigantic sigh that filled my lungs all the way down to my diaphragm she added, "Would you like us to remake it and deliver it as soon as possible?"

"That would be great," I whimpered [slightly, very slightly].

Please hurry up pizza.

Springcasm

With itchy eyes and scratchy throat, and amidst the prediction of billions of cicadas about to emerge and outnumber us humans 60 to 1, I swept another eight ounces of woven weeds and muck from the eaves of the porch this evening.

Ahhh, spring! What other joys might the season bring?

Darwin's Agent

There's a robin who has been trying to build a nest in the eaves of our porch for several weeks. We have a rule that once there are eggs in a nest, the bird family gets to stay until the babies fledge, but a bird's nest in that small space is a mess and a nuisance to everyone; I don't believe the birds really like having two humans, a dog, and a cat so near by. They just don't know it yet because the weather's been so yucky.

As such, we practice a form of avian contraception around here, knocking the sticks and grass down every day before anything gets established. Even so, this particular robin has shown considerable perseverance, returning day after day with blade after blade of dry grass. Until yesterday, I watched the mess she was making from the comfort of the living room, but early May is a good time to clean up the deck and start hardening off my seedlings, so I grabbed a pair of gloves, a broom, a roll of paper towels, and some 409 spray.

It was kind of gross out there; clumps of mud and strands of grass littered the area. The Adirondack chair in the corner looked as if had been shat upon by a billion birds, not just the one, and the cushion was a total loss-- first item into the garbage bag. Still I cleaned on, and it wasn't too long before the porch was a welcoming area of agriculture and relaxation.

This morning? That damn robin was back. I let the cat out there and chased her away personally several times, but I knew we would be knocking a nest down this evening.

When I got home tonight, though, I was unprepared however for the sheer amount of debris that was on that chair. It was covered in an entire range of miniature mountains of muck. Of one thing I was sure: no bird could possibly excrete so much in so little time. Had she have brought her whole freakin' flock for robin's revenge? Calling Alfred Hitchcock...

Turns out that when the soil is wet, as ours has been, female robins begin their nests. In addition to the obvious grass and twigs, beakful by beakful, they also carry approximately half a pound (half a pound!) of mud from the ground to the construction site. It takes your average robin hundreds of visits to build her nest, and we just happened to have one sloppy mud-bearer who dropped more on the chair than she placed in the eaves.

Of course all her hard work is gone now, swept away with the flick of a broom. I do feel a little bit guilty, but I comfort myself with the knowledge that, surely, natural selection is on my side.