Pressed Daisies

The fan is making a humming sound in the open window this morning.  Outside is a sixty-four-degree-Brooklyn, New York.  Inside a still, dark apartment I sit on the bed (wide awake).  My daughter is sound asleep in the next room.

I quietly get up to close her bedroom door so I can mill around without waking her. I grab a banana, my laptop from the tall, wooden, kitchen table and set down on the bed to write.  I don’t always know what I will write, I do know I need to step back and process the last couple of weeks.

I flew into Nashville to surprise my sister on her birthday, two weeks ago.  After a week with her, in Tennessee, I flew here. 

One of Jeannie's beautiful birthday flowers!

Airport travel------

Adjustments are continuous. Different living spaces, food, conversation and activities.

Each adjustment forces my mind and body to leave its safe, comfort zone.  When it does I feel myself become more alert.  Like a baby bird leaving it’s secure nest.  Initially, there is a period of awkwardness and floundering and then the muscles in my wings engage and WHAM!  It becomes natural. 

______________________

Almost there!! (It took me 6 hours-construction and early Labor Day Traffic)

I wrote about adapting to different spaces while traveling, more than a week ago.  Now I’m in the Upper Peninsula (in Michigan) visiting my mom.

She’s asleep.  It’s black-dark outside except for the full moon.  It looks at me not as a beacon of light but as a power of authority, giving me those all-knowing-eyes.  “Now where are you?”

I feel defensive.  I know it’s time to be back home.  But, who needs a moon telling me what to do?  

I’ve been away from my small apartment long enough.  I crave hearing voices of passers-by coming up from the street below.  The neighbors I greet when I walk through the neighborhood.  The YMCA where I swim.  The unpredictable banter at the Washtenaw Dairy in the morning when I go there for coffee. The safe, comfort zone I left weeks ago.

I want to reconnect with my own perch.  The nest I chose as mine.  I long to settle in and reacquaint myself with its comforts and its ease of familiarity.  Another adjustment, but one I’m ready for.  

I’ll have to get some fresh food for my refrigerator.  I’ll need to unpack all my crap that’s accumulated over the past few weeks.  I know I left my fairy dwellings unfinished, sprawled over half my living room floor.  I have to restock on coffee beans from Mighty Good Coffee so I can make my own French press-style coffee. My stack of mail is waiting to be sorted through.

I most look forward to reconnecting with friends and neighbors.  My morning routine of sitting at the Washtenaw Dairy.  Having a deep discussion with Phil.  A ribbing from Jim.  A political dialog with Mark.  A chat with Kenny and Cliff.  An update from Chuck on the state of our educational system in America.  The smell of donuts and fresh coffee.  Mr. Green cheerfully waltzing through, greeting all of us while he’s getting his Lotto ticket. 

I’m not kidding myself about my urge to travel.  Even as I write about returning home I’m plotting a trip abroad and mapping it in my mind.

For now I'll go for an early morning bike ride along the shore of Lake Huron.  Mom and I just had a cup of coffee together.  She’ll head for yoga and I’ll go for a ride before the cold winds pick up.  

I like to press these memories I have while I travel.  Like I would press a fresh daisy between two boards.  It maintains its color and shape and almost looks fresh. 

Grand Central Station

Small Cafe Elizabeth and I went to in Williamstown, NY
(We were so happy to see the pink announcement)

When I talk to Mom on the phone during the week I’ll be able to recall what she sees out her windows.  I’ll smell the coffee she smells in the early morning.  I'll have a mental picture of her doing her crossword on the couch, checking her Facebook on her phone or walking the beaches with me looking for rocks and sea glass. 

Same with my sister and daughter.  Being with them, in person, gives me the memory-making advantage.  And hopefully they will have a small cupboard door they can open (when they want) to find memories of me.

Ellie-My daughter's little pooch, resting on her legs.

    

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