Wednesday, December 9, 2015

I Am Alive

A few days ago, I was on my way home from a meeting and just as we were getting on the highway, a giant bald eagle flew right over us. Low, glorious, potentially symbolic of my death.

Holy. Shit.

It took me a minute to register the moment. It was so perfect and needed at that specific time. I have a thing for eagles, hawks, owls. They are the wild that is etched in the palm of my hand. My heart.

That evening, I came home and I was alone with my cats and my dog. Laura had taken the kids to their Girl Scout meeting. I was home alone, which seldom happens. Let the reveling begin.

I've been reading "Wonder", by Raquel J. Palacio, mainly because Fiona loved it and I wanted to have something to talk to her about that didn't involve apps or Minecraft or can you please clear the table and I love you.

I poured myself a large glass of Chardonnay and sat down to finish this sweet, heartbreaking book.

Scout was sitting on my shoulders, as she likes to do when she's being freaking adorable. I scratched her under her neck and she made eye contact and rested her head on my arm. She's still a puppy and her first priority is to run fast and be high energy, but when she relaxes near the end of the day, she sinks into a sweet puddle of beautiful beast.

I sat in my silence and fretted that everything was just too perfect. The eagle. Scout being so attentive and loving. This silence. Obviously, I will breathe my last breath tonight.

How do I deserve this?

A couple of days later (I was still alive), Matilda or Olive laid their very first egg and I was so thankful for its beauty.

The universe is either fucking with me, or loves me. Either/or.

This weekend, we went to pick out our Christmas tree. We were going to chop it down like the pioneer family we are. But the Fraser Fir trees that were available for chopping were sold out. Still, we found a beautiful pre-cut Fraser tree and we loaded it up on top of the Subaru. The kids were downing hot chocolate. (I think Cyd had four or ten servings). They were feeling the spirit. Or, at least, the sugar.

As Laura and the girls were securing the tree on top of the car, I looked up and high in the sky was a bald eagle, circling over us.

Two in one week.

I will surely die tonight.

It's not that I associate eagles with death.

I get anxious when what I want deep to the core of me actually happens. What if it's a sign that I got my way so I can be done with this life? Game: over. It's weird. It's not a fully fledged thought, but it crosses my mind like a fleeting shadow of perhaps.

As I wring my hands with this crazy superstition, I want to ignore what it is within me that hinders the acceptance of beauty and wishes coming true.

I want to continue.

Peace out.