One day you open the fridge and look inside. You’re searching for a good nosh, a little something to nibble on. You move around this jar and that one, trying to find that yummy something…
When suddenly you realize with shock and awe that there are a half a kazillion mustards in there! And as though not to be outdone by their stalwart compadres, there is a full kazillion of pickles!
How did this happen, you think to yourself??
And, we’re not done yet…oh no, not hardly. Each and every jar and plastic bottle you come across has just one scant tablespoon of interesting mustard inside of it. In the mysterious case of pickles there are exactly and only two of them floating around in there.
I ask myself again – how did I end up with a fridge full of mickles and pustard??
So, I set out to fix it soon if not sooner! I will not purchase or open another jar until these are gone! Gone! Eaten up and devoured with relish! Luckily I don’t find myself with too much of that… relish, I mean.
My eyes are wide open for anything that goes well with pickles and mustard. Pronto! Turkey or ham or cheese for certain, bread or tortillas or crackers, yes, indeed. Those should all be just fine and dandy. Hopefully you have them handy. I do love peanut butter and cookies… but neither of them go well with mustard or pickles…so, they are definitely out.
My New Year’s resolution is a simple one. Eat up and finish off all those tiny bits and bots of pustard and mickles. I think there’s a good chance I’ll be successful with it. Dobby is behind me all the way! I think though, that it’s because he knows that it will make more space in the fridge for things that he likes. He’s not a big fan of m&p…😉
On a far prettier note, I walked outside this morning just in time to see the sky pink up. It lasts for so short a time and never ceases to be a treat when you catch it at the right moment…
The Happiest of New Year’s to you and to yours! May you always have enough to eat and more. And, may you always have something nearby to remind you of the beauty of life…
I overheard a woman calling out to a little girl, over and over again…. Lydia! Lydia!
Lydia is a pretty name, one that I don’t hear very often. But, there was a certain tone to it this time, a sharpness with a note of command backing it up. I couldn’t help but hear from where I was standing. The sound of it interrupted my thoughts. My thoughts were simple ones of tea towels and autumn inspired linens… and leaves turning and drifting in a beautiful whirlwind of gemstone colors….
Lydia’s mother and grandmother were getting louder and more emphatic all the time, trying to corral her… while Lydia herself, seemed lost in thought like me and cheerfully free spirited.
To be honest, I giggled to myself as a song sprang to mind –
“Lydia, Oh Lydia
Say, have you met Lydia
Lydia, the tattooed lady….”
It goes on from there… This child was certainly no Lydia of that variety! Another young girl named Virginia Weidler sang the rollicking song in the black and white film, The Philadelphia Story, starring Katharine Hepburn and Cary Grant. She was absolutely marvelous, playing the piano with vigor and belting out every word with flair! So there I found myself, giggling in a swirl of lost thoughts of my own.
I caught sight of dancing feet to the left of me and so, I looked up. There was Lydia! Her hair was a bit messy, long enough to brush the tops of her shoulders and with a few squirrelly knots thrown in for good measure. Her pint sized glasses were slightly askew. And, she wore a pale pink dress, the kind that little girls love to twirl about in and feel them spiral outwards and let the wind catch beneath them. If one spins fast enough one might just be able to gather enough air to set one flying….
Who knows what adventure one might have then!? I write from experience…
She was clearly smitten with the Christmas decorations, all the colorful displays full of the promise of a crisp winter morning and a stocking full of sweets.
The moment was chocked full of irony though.
Lydia, her name and herself, sailing away upon the air, so genuine and carefree.
While the calling out on the other hand was an earth bound and controlling thing, limited and tethered…like trying to put a leash on a butterfly.
It always strikes me when I see a child so young in glasses. However did they know she needed them. I began wearing glasses in school when it became clear I couldn’t see the blackboard very well. I wore contacts for a while but gave them up and went back to glasses for ease and comfort. The continuous losing of them is another story altogether.
I wonder how long she had had her glasses. Were they brand new. Did the whole world look different, crisper, clearer and brighter than she had ever seen it before!
I shall never forget the day I got my first pair of glasses. I sat still and upright in the straight backed chair with its industrial gray cushion. My feet dangled as I was too small for them to touch the floor. The lady on the other side of the table slipped the glasses with the tiny pink panther emblem onto my face. She ensured that they fit properly in all the right places and ways.
Then the lady sat back and smiled as though she was setting me free. They were all mine now. And, I turned my head to the right towards the plate glass window… and I could see… every last leaf on the wise old trees across the way. Not a mass of green all blurred together. But, every tree and every branch stood out with singular clarity. I could see! It seems fitting now that it was trees that I saw in that moment. Trees have been constants in my life, and I can remember each of them in turn and the vast importance of them to my heart and to my seeing.
I never heard a word at all out of Lydia, herself. She was as silent as a tiny mouse on Christmas eve.
I only heard her mother and her grandmother calling to her. They were far enough away and around a corner so that she was displaced from their view. That is a scary thing for a parent, to be sure. No doubt, they simply wanted her to be safe.
I don’t know what their names were. I don’t know whether they one day twirled in a pale pink dress silently but in high spirits. I don’t know if they were caught up by some small novelty. I don’t know if someone called out to them too, trying to keep them safe… but still, breaking the magic spell of being a child full of wonder… seeing life for the very first time…
Why, I ask myself, would anyone put a leash on a butterfly….
Oh, to be free to dance in the bluest autumn sky…
****
ellie894 October 2, 2022 A very happy October to everyone! Suzanne ❤️
In the spring I plant morning glories. Heavenly blue is the name on the seed packet, and they certainly are all of that! I hope they will begin to flower in the summer. But, it is autumn when they reach their most beautiful.
Some years I get the seeds tucked away in the dirt nice and early. They have taken over whole fences at times! When I am not careful enough in my placement, they have taken over other plants with their exuberant tendrils. Not so good.
Some years, I am late and so are the flowers. This year was somewhere in between early and late. I planted the seeds and I waited. The vines curled upward. The delicate heart shaped leaves multiplied. I had hope.
I waited for the first sign of a flower in June. Nothing and nothing and nothing….
The days sort of melted and meandered. I lost track of their comings and goings.
Until I found myself in a gentle clear morning in October. However did it come to be October?! And Now December?! 31st no less?! I think Dobby and Jack must have done something to the calendar. Yes, that must be it.
Lately, a young buck in velvet is spending his dawn hours at the western edge of an eastern wood. Our silent paths cross often.
A doe and her fawn step gingerly to the lake as the cranes search for their breakfast.
Crossing and more crossing of paths.
And, the feathers! I have lost count of them. There has never been a feather season with so many gifts, of all shapes and sizes. A feather is a lot like a leaf. The one is as unique to the bird as the other is to the tree… as a wing is to a butterfly..
This year some of the wings have come as grounded things.
Once upon a time in early June…
…the caterpillars arrived by mail.
For a week they ate their weight in food and then some. They ate and ate….and ate. They grew and grew….and grew. They were very much like Eric Carle’s The Very Hungry Caterpillar. Clearly, he did his research!
One day the caterpillars climbed to the tippy top of their tiny home and each one made their very plump form into a jolly letter J. Within hours, the J that they were, had disappeared. Now, they were each closed up tight in a chrysalis of their own creation.
It didn’t look like much, this simple chrysalis. For a week there was nothing much to see or to do. Waiting. Lots of waiting. For me and for them, although I suspect they were doing far more important things with their solitary time than I was.
Then, one by one the chrysalides turned darker. It is when they have reached their most colorless moment that they unfold into the light….
…behold a butterfly…
Oh, what a miracle to see a butterfly unfold! Their wings are soft and crumpled at first, like a blanket fresh from the wash. Right away they instinctively climb upwards to a safe place. Then they wait some more. Their wings slowly straighten, dry out and become strong. It takes from a few minutes to a few hours as they ready themselves to be what they already are within.
They begin to play in a gentle flapping way that is not quite a flutter. That will come in due time.
Over the next three to four days the painted ladies were taken outdoors to be set free among the flowers. Hot days sent a few of them soaring into the sunshine. Some settled in the shade. Most of them flew away…
One remained….
The first time I tried to let her go, she fell from the flower and struggled to right herself. I reached gently all the way down to the pine straw. She grabbed hold of my finger and let me lift her up. She spread her wings and crawled up my arm to see what she could see from my shoulder. But, she did not fly away. She was definitely not ready to go yet.
After a few more tries on the days that followed, I realized that for whatever reason, she was unable to fly. She could flutter like crazy. And, she loved to curl her proboscis to eat and explore. But, there would be no flying for her.
So, I set out to make her as comfortable as I could. I gathered fresh flowers and leaves for her each morning and spritzed them lightly with water. I made her home at the heart of where I spend a great deal of time, the kitchen. How quickly we learned each other’s ways. I knew all of her favorites as she became a sweet part of June floating into July and on into August…
Gilda means messenger. That was her name. I also called her Miss Butterfly or even Miss B. She liked to be held, especially in the afternoons. She adored fresh watermelon to eat, and would “nod” her antennas at me in a cheerful hello of sorts. Seriously. She did.
She could flutter like the dickens although her wings couldn’t take her skyward. I would often reach in and place my finger nearby. Sometimes she would flutter with excitement. Sometimes she would pay me a never you mind and simply drift back to sleep.
Mostly, she would climb onto my waiting hand as though she simply wanted to be held for a while. So, I would. There we would sit, Miss B and me, quiet and still, with her at rest in my hand. She slowed me down in the most lovely of ways.
I offered her as many fruits as I could think of! Her absolute favorite was watermelon. And, so that’s what she and I settled on. Oh, how she loved watermelon! There was a brief stint with bananas. But, after she scared me something awful and got stuck in them….no more bananas.
Did you know that butterflies taste with their feet. I think that’s how she came to know me. She knew the taste of my skin. Perhaps she learned that she could trust me. Maybe.
At 9 weeks old, she moved more slowly each day. I wished that she could have flown but her gentle life was so full of light. She graced my days for three full months! That is a long life for a Painted Lady and I’m grateful for every moment of it that she shared with me.
I still miss her. Cutting her watermelon. Letting it come to room temperature. It startled her if it was too cold. Picking her up and placing her gently on the edges so she could taste that it was there. The simple joy of seeing her eat. The way her antenna would bob. And holding her for a time, just because…
Occasionally she tickled me with her tiny feet. Mostly my skin couldn’t feel her in my hand. My heart always felt her though. Love is like that I think.
So the hot dry summer days kept on.
With them I watched for the morning glories to form and blossom. Nothing. I had all but given up hope for them this season. I had resigned myself to the notion that the green heart shaped leaves would have to be enough this year. There would be other seasons, I told myself.
I thought forward to next spring, planning ahead and determined to get the seeds in the ground nice and early…
Then, in early October as I set out on a morning walk under misty skies, there she was…Heavenly Blue…her light shining from within as soulfully as Miss Butterfly.
I have written on this over and again. Now, here we are on the very last day of the year. It’s time…
This story took months to live and much wandering beneath trees to write. I don’t know why the morning glories didn’t bloom more this year. I don’t know why Miss Butterfly couldn’t fly and spent her life with me instead. I don’t know a lot of things about this year that is nearly over. I only know this – One can make all the difference…
A flower full of light….a butterfly full of hope….Love is like that I think…
May you be safe and well and may you have light and hope.
ellie894 