....familiar

Yogis,
I have several birdhouses scattered around the yard, but one location has always been the fan favorite. At first it was a simple yellow one built by my neighbor that was attached to one of the pillars that holds up the deck. A busy spot close to my garden and right above the hose spigot.

For years it was the wrens that set up house there. Waking me on spring mornings with full throated songs through my open window overlooking the deck. Then four years ago it was discovered by bluebirds. Home ownership changed.

Eventually the yellow house became rickety, so I replaced it with a natural wood one designed for bluebirds. Many families have called it home.

Fast forward to this spring…… I can tell there is activity but I never see the bird. I peek in and find a charming nest. Perfectly shaped and adorned with moss and feathers. A chickadee nest! A first for my yard.

Eggs and babies ensued, and the parents finally learned to trust me as I worked close by. A different look with different sounds and relationships. This week they fledged, leaving an empty house.

Well, the bluebirds didn’t waste any time! Within hours they were busy. Cleaning and sprucing and they moved in that night. I laughed. It seemed like they had missed their opportunity the first go round and were determined not to make that mistake again!

They are now settled back in and egg laying has begun. Dad being so vigilant as he stands guard at nearby spots and reminding me when the bird feeder is running low. Fluttering his wings when I talk to him and occasionally sticking his head in the house to check on the mom. The familiar has returned.

A flash of blue streaks past my window whenever I look out.

I loved experiencing the chickadees. Something new. I am grateful they chose our house. Yet there is something very comfortable in having familiar yearly experiences that sweep me into the rhythm of nature and show me my place within it all.

Welcome back,
SARAH 

....nuclear family

Yogis,
I am acutely aware of how lucky I am to have spent Mother’s Day with my mom. First, to be sixty-three and still have my mom. Then, to have it work out that my sister and I (with our respective husbands) could spend the whole weekend with our mom and dad at the beach. All of us in one house….alone. We can’t remember the last time that happened.

Our nuclear family, as my mom kept reminding us.

As one would expect, the weekend was filled with stories, memories and lots of laughter. Recounting different places we lived and trying to remember names of funny distant relatives with whom we have lost touch. Working on the NYT crossword puzzle, several great meals and enjoying great people watching from a bench on the boardwalk. A bucket of Thrasher’s fries in between us of course.

My mom mentioned a mug we got her about twenty years ago which has a picture of her sitting in my living room chair, my sister and I awkwardly on the floor in front of her. All of us looking just a bit ‘off’.

It was an annual tradition. A picture taken of the three of us right before we headed out to lunch the day after Christmas. Always an odd looking picture. We have had many laughs over them across the years, but somehow we fell out of the tradition. My mom asked that we recreate it for a new mug.

After breakfast we set it up. Picked the right chair, assumed our positions and asked the men to take pictures. Twenty pictures later we were finally forced to settle on one. My mom does not believe it is mug worthy. We all look a little ‘off’. So perhaps it is perfect.

Fifteen minutes later, my dad decided he needed one with his son-in-laws. So back to the chair we went. Lots of cracking joints while getting ready.  A new tradition?

Without a mother, none of us would be here.

Happy Mother’s Day everyone,
SARAH

....soul

Yogis,
What is the definition of ‘soul’?  Oxford defines it as the spiritual or immaterial part of a human being or animal.  Merriam adds in all rational and spiritual beings and that it is the animating principle of an individual life.

So, can a house have a soul? Does a house have an individual life?

I have always loved old houses. Their sturdy bones, natural materials and everlasting character. The houses we have bought have all been old, with the oldest being our beach house. She was built in 1927, at least according to the city records when we ordered a historical plaque.

She has old pine floors, a brick fireplace and of course, tiny closets. And she has a lot of history. If only the walls could talk……

Starting life as a cape cod with a wood front screened porch, in the 1970s the second level was dormered out for bedrooms and she was wrapped with white metal siding. She became ours in 2002.

In 2016 we decided she would look much better in sage green Hardie plank (to blend with the ever present mildew and moss on her walls). In the process an old medicine chest was uncovered containing a women’s powder compact with large brush, a glass bottle and metal tin for snuff. The walls were talking.

Then just last week the foreman sent me a text with a picture. In removing part of a wall he uncovered handwriting. It said ‘Mr Robert Phillips of Rehoboth Beach DE done this in the year of 1927’.  I have research to do. The walls were talking louder.

We are now chest deep in the remodeling project. Every time we visit I find time to be inside alone To wander. Feel. Listen. She is my best guide for decisions when I feel overwhelmed.

Is it her soul that speaks to me? Or perhaps a small piece of each of the soul’s who were lucky enough to spend part of life within her walls?

Whatever it is, we have a relationship, and each time I leave I tell her how beautiful she is and that I will be back soon. Out loud.

Getting her ready for her 100th,
SARAH