In Memoriam: Jean

My Aunt's mother passed away yesterday. It was only in recent years that she lived in Georgia, so I didn't know her very well. The last time I could say that my life intersected with hers was last fall. I drove to north Georgia to see the fall colors, and Jean had just fallen in the home her daughter set up for her. So when I went up there for the weekend, I stayed in Jean's home. The next morning, I woke up to find 3 pumpkins sitting on the porch swing, waiting for me like a little pumpkin family. I still have some of the pumpkin meat in my freezer, using Jean's kitchen to butcher them. Later that day, my aunt and uncle arrived, carrying some of Jean's belongings from the nursing home where Jean was placed until she fell getting out of bed. They were bringing her belongings home because she'd been transferred to a hospital bed.
In that time, there hadn't been much improvement. It was clear in the subject line of the email "Praise" that the family was relieved that her suffering had ended. Poorly healed broken bones because she wouldn't do therapy, infections, strokes. Her last days had been confused and painful.
Normally I would write about what I know about a person or what I know of their life. I can't do that in this case. But I can express my own thanks that her suffering has ended, and those who loved her no longer have to watch her suffering, unable to help her.
Endings make room for new beginnings. If you choose, you make them with people you've known and loved all along. So I hope my aunt and uncle and their families, with a sense of refreshment, rediscover each other now that their time with Jean has ended. They took good care of her while they could. I hope they now spend some time taking care of each other just as faithfully.
Rest well, Jean. Rest well, my family.

-Laura

what cameras do not capture

A few days ago my hummingbird feeder was empty. I filled it, took it back outside, and as I reached up to return it to its hook, a female ruby throated hummingbird arrived for a drink.

I stood, frozen, perched on tiptoes. The hummingbird hovered in the air, frozen as well.

We exchanged an awkward glance. I could see her debating in her little hummingbird brain: Drink? Dive bomb? Drink? Dive bomb?

Finally, she took the third option. Dart away. What I would have given for a camera.

I had to share that. It made my day.

Still, what I would have given for a camera. And a bird blind.

--Laura

welcome back, me!

People who read this blog may have noticed that I took a month off, and so I did. I'll be honest -- I really needed to. I needed to take July off and avoid sharing every random thought in my head with the world.
I'm done with my break though. I'm back.
I had fun in July. I've spent too much at the farmer's market. I've decided on what to do with the largish burned spot in my yard. I've met some great people. I've retired over $800 in credit card debt. I've learned that I'm still considered a bird watcher, instead of the more auspicious title of birder. But I'm okay with that. I've learned that I really don't need to pay for pedicures, and even though I can't do a french pedicure myself, tropical temptation #914 isn't so shabby.
By the way, I'm not that far away of being a birder. I can identify 21 different birds. To be a birder, I have to be able to identify 40.
How about that? I'm over halfway there.
That's all for now. Welcome back, me!

-Laura

david wilcox

Venues and bands have come up in conversation recently. My thoughts turned to a concert I thought (at the time) was my most Boulder-riffic experience ever, unless of course you count the pagan New Moon ritual, down at the Unitarian church in Denver.

The first time I saw David was at Chautauqua. I thought it was worth mentioning. This is David performing "How Did You Find me Here?"