This morning i swept up the fallen bird seed and refilled the feeders. The lesser goldfinches, oak tits, chickadees and house finches have been swooping in and out of the deck doing risk assessments: just how dangerous are those humans and cats? An Anna's hummingbird visits the scented geraniums with businesslike precision. Overhead, four crows harry a hawk. Seagulls circle and cry in the far distance. I hear a robin's call in the distance.
Last night i skimmed through "Repacking Your Bags" on the recommendation of the career coach. There are lots of things i am carrying along but in general, i do feel i have stripped my life to the authentic parts that are me. I'm not focussed -- and i know some of my friends find focus to be ill-advised -- yet i am so defocussed that i think that i loose some of the pleasure because of juggling.
One of the back and forths i have with myself is about house and garden, owning, renting. Where we live now is such a sweet spot in so many ways, and i acknowledge i don't have the time, it seems, for much more in the way of gardening and managing. Yet there's something about hows ownership that i return to: a message of responsibility and "being an adult" tangled in with childhood drawings of home design and dreams of off the grid living.
The ranchettes i grew up with -- horses, dogs, cats, chickens, orchards and gardens -- don't really support full Saturdays sitting and watching the birds at the feeder while reflecting on life and writing to friends.