Cooper's Hawk drying his wings and hunting at the birdfeederWednesday was a beautiful, rainy summer day. Warm enough for Roger to continue the shingling project, which was made especially comfortable for outdoor work by the overhanging roof in the areas he was removing the existing siding. This is a part of the project I don't contribute to, so I was left to my own domestic chores. Ah the zen of domesticity. I spent the day running errands, doing loads of laundry, and baking bread. In between risings, I photographed the birds in the yard.
Today, July 13, 2006 is Roger's oldest daughter's 36th birthday. This daughter has not talked to us for nearly a decade, but she has reached the age I was when I met her father so many years ago. Somehow that feels like a significant milestone to me. I know how old I felt at 36, how much life I had lived, how many miles I had traveled, the love, laughter, tears, and pain I had experienced. Now she has lived her 36 years. I think she must be as much of adult as I was then. And even if she is not, she could be, and that is enough for me to really let her go. She is a woman on her own terms. It is enough to know this.
So, I look out the window while the bread rises and watch the swallow mother bring food every few minutes to the hungry mouths that gape from the nest box opening. I often wish humans were more animal and less complicated mind-language beasts. I think, maybe it wouldn't be so bad if food and sex were all that we needed to sustain and fulfill us, and the libraries of our nervous systems were filled with the means and memory to find them.
Cooper's Hawk drying his wings and hunting at the birdfeeder
Today, July 13, 2006 is Roger's oldest daughter's 36th birthday. This daughter has not talked to us for nearly a decade, but she has reached the age I was when I met her father so many years ago. Somehow that feels like a significant milestone to me. I know how old I felt at 36, how much life I had lived, how many miles I had traveled, the love, laughter, tears, and pain I had experienced. Now she has lived her 36 years. I think she must be as much of adult as I was then. And even if she is not, she could be, and that is enough for me to really let her go. She is a woman on her own terms. It is enough to know this.
So, I look out the window while the bread rises and watch the swallow mother bring food every few minutes to the hungry mouths that gape from the nest box opening. I often wish humans were more animal and less complicated mind-language beasts. I think, maybe it wouldn't be so bad if food and sex were all that we needed to sustain and fulfill us, and the libraries of our nervous systems were filled with the means and memory to find them.
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