A Smattering of Ramblings
Mothering, Dying, Earthing, and a little bit of Waking
My braincells are slowly frying and with Eclipse season kicking off, I am a very anxious Aquarius, sooo instead of a long form piece, you’re getting a glimpse into the ones I’m currently working. Thanks for being here, good luck and god bless 🫠.
ON MOTHER
“Where’s Bluey?”
The phrase is guaranteed to escape my mouth almost every time we leave the house with the little plastic blue dog in tow, caring and worrying about it like it’s an appendage attached to my daughter’s arm.
First thing she does in the morning is say hi to her ‘squad’ which consist of more tiny plastic animal toys, an array of stuffed ones, and then grabs her bright yellow ‘croc crocs’ from the shelf to place on her tiny feet.
How did I get here? I often think to myself.
A mom with with a kid who loves Bluey and Crocs. A mom with a kid who face dives headfirst into her stuffed animals. A mom with a kid who doesn’t stop moving from 7am-7pm.
A mom with a kid.
ON DEATH
I saw a dead Coyote last week and for some reason, I can’t stop thinking about it, I can’t stop thinking about his sacred body laying along side a busy highway, one where people speed to get to their jobs, their homes, their families, in a daze, on auto pilot, without a second thought or maybe even noticing the dead animal that lays at its final resting place, possibly, and most likely, at the hands of humans.
Is death an action or an inaction? Should we fear it or embrace it?
In the American culture, we fear death and all that comes along with it. We do not know any better unless we learn for ourselves, unless we see it with our own eyes.
Does death dictate the rest of our lives and how we live throughout our breathing days? Does it decipher when we hit the milestones in our adult life? Or even, our whole life?
I started writing about ‘legacy’ the other day in my morning pages. What, even is, a legacy and how does one even leave one in the sea of so many humans on this Earth? Is it so ostentatious to think that your legacy will be remembered for years and years and years and years by the people who MAYBE knew you in your current lifetime? Or perhaps a legacy is something we do not make, it just happens.
ON EARTH
Elbows deep in dirt and dust, bugs crawling away as your hands caress the the space they were settled into. The smell of Earth fills your nostrils, musty and sweet, at times even the slight scent of death fills my nose, decomposition as a reminder that everything that was once lived will someday die.
There’s a childlike feeling that takes over when I’m pulling weeds and digging through the dirt, rolly pollys and worms and grubs slipping through my fingers as I make my way, make room for the new growth that’ll happen after I plant the seeds to the new harvest.
Before I start to dig, I invite my ancestors to join, specifically my paternal Grandma and Grandfather whole always had a garden, one that I remember from growing up. Someone was always in there, wedding or picking or tending to make sure it was thriving at its best capacity. I didn’t realize it then, but I realize this tradition was passed down, this tradition is something I hope my daughter will take in as she sits at the edge, held by her grandma, taking in the labor or her mom and aunt.
ON WAKING
There’s a bird in my room.
The chirping subtle, but just enough to let me know its presence is invading my space. As I peel the pillow off my face, drool smearing my chin I realize the bird isn’t real, the bird is casually a background player in the noise machine that is my phone which is face down on my nightstand.
Frank snores.
His big breaths excavate through his nose making his body expand and extract in a synonymous rhythm as he continues to stay deep in his slumber, his old, fragile body lamenting in the soft bed he so deserves to sleep on every night.
A cat howls outside my window.
A slow, guttural sound that escalates within seconds, only it’s not a cat, it’s my child on the monitor, groaning in her sleep as she does throughout the night, her dense body expelling a sound that replicates an animalistic sound.
The thoughts race.
I pull the pillow back over my face hoping it will aid my brain in dissolving back into sleep but I know my day has officially begun, my mind on overdrive before it has even fully turned on, running through the internal to dos already my mind.
The decision has been made.
My feet swing to the side of the bed hoping the monster who resides underneath it doesn’t decide it wants a snack this early in the morning, or maybe that would be the calmest way to go, snatched away by the imaginary creature who lives under the bed.
