WordSisters

Category: Uncategorized

  • Are You My Mother?

    A visit to the Everglades. Alligator mother.

    “Where is my mother?” the baby bird asked.

    I will go and look for her,” he said.

    So away he went.

    He did not know what his mother looked like.

    Where he would find her.

    This popular children’s story speaks of the importance of belonging, finding your tribe, your people. The kitten, hen, dog, cow, were not his mother so the little bird went on. The boat, plane, and snorting steam shovel were not his mother.

    Jody and I started our RV adventure on September 30, 2024. Along the way, we asked ourselves the question, “Are you, my mother?”

    Our search for belonging, for community.

    Perhaps it’s because 2024/2025 are political years. Perhaps it’s because we are a married couple. Perhaps it’s the insular nature of an RV park.

    The answer continually echoed: we don’t belong here.

    We didn’t find one couple or one person in the 210-site park we could share ourselves with.

    Instead, we escaped the park in our RV to take in long breaths at the ocean. In November, I flew to Texas to buy a car, and drove it back to Florida to increase our ability to leave the RV park.

    Once our search started, we decided that even though the park was beautiful and the folks friendly that it was more important to have a feeling of acceptance and inclusion.

    Inching ever closer, Jody and I have given notice at our RV park and are moving to a community in Fort Myers on Saturday.

    It’s important to not settle. Not try to fit in. To trust ourselves. Be proud of who we are.

     

  • Navigating Life’s Turbulence: Lessons from a Country Walk

    Candidate signs and Halloween decorations needed clearing November 7th along the country road where I walked. My feet moved slower than my thoughts of how to accept election results. 

    Five hundred feet ahead, at least a dozen large, wild, turkeys covered the road as well as both shoulders. They can be mean in a standoff. Future concerns fell to immediate safety. Should I turn around, my clap hands, swing a fallen branch to clear a path? Yelling and singing haven’t worked in the past. My walk was over.

    Two deer bounded out from woods on one side of the road, gracefully crossed the asphalt, and entered deeper tree growth in beautiful synchrony. The turkeys scurried behind the white tails. Here, then gone. The walk cleared.

     “Awesome” I said out loud at the display of natural beauty. Unattractive turkeys had been swept into a brief glimpse of something amazingly natural on another day of unpleasant election rhetoric and deep discord.

    Decades ago, St. Mary’s in Luxemburg, WI began my Christian orientation. Small towns, filled with relatives, made it easier to accept a set of beliefs and traditions. What I still carry is a careful relationship with God. Call it spirituality or faith, old-fashioned or unnecessary, I value the foundation. At the turkey and deer moment, I followed the spoken word with a silent “Thank you, God” for a reminder of good possibilities.

    In November, regardless of voting on the winning or losing side, many people remain thankful for family, friends, freedom to have a public opinion. I dread how politics and powerful men with money will affect the quality of life. 

    Fear feels like too powerful a word at a time when caution is critical. Fear was two years ago when I had major surgery to save my life. I knew what I feared that day. I could balance fear and hope. Today I can’t name what to fear beyond unpleasant changes. Fear and dread appear in definitions of each word, but fear has a more expansive description. 

    I’d love to be one of those deer easily running through the woods. I can accept moving closer to the speed of the wild turkeys shuffling through fallen leaves or awkwardly flying up to their nightly roost. During the day I will keep looking for ways to move the threatening turkeys out of the way of my walk and yours.

    Two years of thankfulness. More to come.

  • Spiders, Jeans and Apples

    Daylight now plays secondary to darkness. Not the awesome state of Dec. 21, but the gradual nibbling away of four minutes a day of sunlight. That doesn’t sound like a big bite of time until added up and you’re twenty-eight minutes behind the game in taking a walk, taking pictures of the last of summer’s flowers or merely reading without a lamp. 

    Temperatures are also supposed to be heading to lower numbers. The boys will wear shorts until their friends pull out sweats or long jeans. It’s all relative. In March sixty degrees suggests that a sweater can stay in the car or at home. In October someone will pull out a jacket and hat, maybe even gloves, when leaving for work. Spiders find their way into the house, spinning webs where no one wants to see a creepy critter hanging. The hummingbirds are gone, but the geese increase in number, pooping everywhere and honking at ungodly hours.

    Since the pandemic, things have changed. Or maybe it’s my age. Instead of planning a fall and winter wardrobe, I found new black pants, a pair of jeans, a new sweater, and comfortable shoes. A writer’s life is simple without office mates remembering that you’ve worn the same long black turtleneck for a few years. 

    Open the windows for cool sleeping. Bake apple crisp or apple pie or apple cake. Celebrate the passing of mosquitos when walking the old dog. If it wasn’t for November 5, this could be the best time of the year.