The Feather in the Snow

 I've been sitting with this a little while now, but since today is the anniversary of Nugget coming back to me (and also the anniversary of Nugget's unfortunate encounter with a moving ceiling fan a year previous), now seems as good a time as any to write about it. 

We still have the dog. No word yet on any prospective families. Likely we are stuck with one another. 

(she is well cared for, but bored out of her mind. A large spread that would allow her to chase rabbits to her heart's content would be a good fit. Suburbia is not.)

(The Mighty Huntress deserves better.)

(That's ironic, btw)

My heart still has a Nugget-shaped hole in it. I had taken to stalking some cockatiel pages, only to find that a couple of my favorite birds have died in the last few weeks. 

But, I need to write about the feather. 

We had a ton of snow last winter. I had pretty much given up Nugget for lost immediately (even though in my head a nice old lady found him, and they made each other their bosom companions). There was finality in that war whoop and wind-borne flight over the house and out of sight. But I found myself poking around in the plowed snow that abutted the corner of the block of his last known location.  I don't know why--I just thought there might be something, a clue, proof that he was there. 

In March, just as the last of the snow melted away, I saw something in the tracks of melted snow in the street. It was a single white primary covert feather.

All of Nugget's primary coverts were white. And it was the right size. 

I pocketed the feather and kept walking. Thinking about my bird, whether this was just happenstance or the universe telling me he was ok. I didn't see any other trace, just that single feather. 

So odd that I mourn that bird greater than the people I've lost. Or perhaps not, given that he helped mend my broken heart when it needed it most. 

I hope the bird is somewhere mending someone else's heart. He will always have a place in mine. 

 Trying to remind myself there's a reason the universe tells you no.

It's really easy to get caught up in what people think of you and use that value system to assess your worth. And it's equally easy to get sucked into the spiral of identity and "I must be worthless if they say I am" and all that insanity.  Many a suicide is predicated on this falsehood.

So I got a no today. In the weirdest way. It led to a really uncomfortable conversation that ended abruptly.

Reminding myself that I can't place the wrong people in charge of assessing my worth. It nearly got away from me today. 

Need to reassess my priorities and figure out what gets my time. It's not like I have a whole lot of it to waste.

The Kids Are All Right

 It's been a pretty good weekend.

Elder collected his diploma; now we need to focus on his associates, which we hope he will collect in December. And maybe look for a four-year transfer in the spring?  I don't know. All I know is that I had one health testing form from the school district in my messaging instead of two.  He's out. He's done. 

He's really, really done. 

I spent Friday afternoon with one of my oldest friends, lunch, a long walk, and a great conversation.  It was a gorgeous day, and a good day to be out in the convertible. Did my head and heart a world of good.  Took a leisurely drive up and back on the backroads with the top down and my Mrs. Howell sunhat and shades. Lunch took forever, but that was fine; neither of us had other places to be.  And the sound of the river and scent of wisteria as we strolled and talked along the canal will be with me a long time. 

And made a heckin good dinner for me and hubby when I came home--Maryland crab cakes and vegetable spring rolls. Spring rolls are my new favorite jam. And they are tasty as heck.

Saturday I helped run a clinic--I think we only had one no show, but it was stressful and a little crazy. One of the worst things about having a sitch where you depend every one to do their part is just that--everyone needs to do their part, and you have no control over that. 

(and are there worse things than getting pelted with questions while you are trying to manage the backend stuff before a live audience? Of course. But in the moment, it sucks.)

Hubby took the kids to Costco, then we washed the dog and all the dog's stuff.  Vacuumed. The dog nearly killed me on the walk after a couple of times.  No luck yet on rehoming her. She's a sweet girl, but she needs more than we can give her. I'm hoping we have better luck soon. 

Sunday I took her for a two hour, 3 1/2 hour walk. Wore her right out. I can't do that every day, but it gives me an idea of what she needs, because she is getting stronger and fitter every day. She needs to hunt. She needs to run (and she got off the leash with hubby the other night--we know now that she is fast). And she really can't do either where we live.

That's only part of the problem, but it's a significant part of it.

Did more adulting stuff. Took the boys out for a bit. Did more when we got home. Boys changed their beds, did laundry, got ready for the week. 

And now the hard part of getting my own head on straight. 

It's a beautiful day. Might get the dog out for another couple of miles. 

Lurching Forward

 I have a list of nonpreferred activities I need to get through before the end of the day. I'm looking at the list I jotted down in my calendar, and I'm down to the last 3.  

I should have done this days ago, but...I get in my own way.

I'm not the only one. 

Just hopped off a call with elder's college advisor. As I mentioned previously, the diploma is collected this Friday.  And I find we are down to 5 classes standing between elder and his first college degree.

I say first assuming there will be others. But we don't know that.

Yet.

Now we are all getting the amped anxiety he seems to get every May--it coincides with the end of school. I'm finding we need structure. And a plan. 

I'll help him with those just as soon as my own to-do list is done. 

Lessons learned

 My overarching thought to mother's day this year: I learned to stand up to bullies because my kids depended on that while they were growing up. 

And in standing up for them, they taught me to stand up for myself. 

Learning. It never ends. 

The End of An Error

 I just signed elder's exit NOREP.

This after his most productive day in 15 months. 

One did not precede or follow the other; it was just timing. Elder legit adulted in ways I haven't seen in a bit: taking a final (passing with an 88, the class with a high B); setting up and meeting appointments; planning his day, then his week, then going to work.  Seems like such a small thing, but it weighs on me. This is the stuff he needs to do on the regular, and like all journeys, it starts with one step. 

I have mixed feelings about the NOREP; I see missed and squandered opportunities; I see the pieces and shards of all the things that went sideways, blew up or imploded.  But most of all I see the wide, blind path forward. I tell him with certainty that he may not grow up but he will get older, regardless.  All the stuff he was too busy to think about until now is crowding his field of vision. 

It's a lot, anyway. 

He collects his diploma in a week. 

I have mixed feelings about that, too. 

I remind myself that we did the best we could without a map. And I will be holding my breath as I wait for him to step into his future. 

I kind of hope I don't die waiting. 

Broken

 A weekend away lends perspective to many things.

I fully understand where elder is coming from in a way  I didn't before. The pandemic has crushed us all just a little bit differently. We are all coping the best we can, but there are things we just can't compensate for.  And it's hurting us all as a collective.

We homed a rescue recently, and we will need to rehome her. She is sweet, friendly (to a point, as friendly as a hound can be, anyway).  BUT, so many mismatches, from an energy standpoint, to what rooms she'll go into (or not), walking is a challenge, because she'd rather hunt rabbits, and overall, she's a country dog.

I'm so sad for her.  I'm a little sad for us, too. 

And I'm still crying over the bird. 

Or maybe I'm crying for all of us. Stress over time becomes trauma, and to some extent, we are all traumatized.

But each day she gets stronger, healthier, and these are good things.  She deserves to be happier, and we are trying to get her there. She does deserve to be happy. Maybe in time we could have healed her from her own trauma. But we are having a tough time healing ourselves from our own. 

Waiting for all the things to play out.