Day Twenty-Four of Thirty-One: Not My Fans

I've never had a house with a ceiling fan. In this house, every single room has a ceiling fan. Each one is different and a little unique from the others. Today was warm. It actually felt a little hot! We had all the windows open and several of the fans going. The breeze throughout the house made me feel like I was outside. As I would walk from room to room I was constantly hit with moving air. It felt pretty good. Fresh. There is nothing better than opening up all the windows in the house on one of the first warm days of spring. Each breath feels a little cleansing like you are exhaling winter.

Not My Fans 

Well, three of the six anyway.

I wasn't allowed to turn this one (below) off. It's actually really warm in our bedroom! I promise that is not me complaining about the heat already. ;)

Day Twenty-Three of Thirty-One: Not My Fowl

Some of you may remember, from previous years, how much I have sliced about birds. I love birds. I have written many poems about them and I find them fascinating. I don't necessarily like "pet store" birds, they kind of freak me out, but birds in the wild. I love them!

When I was a little girl I would chase birds around my yard desperate to catch one. I wanted one so badly. When I see my first robin each year in the spring, it makes me so happy. I've been in near car crashes because of unusually early robins.

Perhaps one of my most favorite birds EVER is the Great Blue Heron. Once when we were kayaking down the river a few years back we saw one as it flew over the water. It was an amazing sight. I would occasionally see one on my drive to work. I don't think I ever got a picture of it. My kids got really good at getting my attention when a bird was near.

Tonight Elliot was taking the dog out and ran back in the house.

"Mom, get your phone. You aren't going to believe this."

There, right on the edge of the water was a heron eating a fish. I've never seen one eat right before my eyes like that. I scrambled to get my phone and video it's little dance on the side of the water. It was quite something. We watched for quite a while. Eventually, it moved on but it was a nice way to wrap up the day. It's not my fowl but it got my attention and I hope it comes back to visit again soon.

Day Twenty-Two of Thirty-One: Not My Couch

You know what's strange? Sitting in a house that is empty and doesn't belong to you while two people you don't know bring in a whole bunch of furniture that doesn't belong to you.

"Where would you like this?"

"Um...I guess...here? What do you think?"

I remember sitting in the living room, Janie on one side, Elliot on the other. We just sat there and watched. They put together tables, furniture legs, and unwrapped throw pillows. They even had artwork to put on the walls. I declined. I wasn't really sure if we were allowed to put holes in the walls. 

I felt so lucky and yet so oddly out of place. Here we were in this nice home with furniture to lay our heads on and space to move. We were out of the hotel room and we were excited but at the same time unsettled. 

I think of all the furniture that we lounged on, I miss our couches the most. They were so comfy and I loved wrapping myself up in a blanket and snuggling into the corner. The sofa we are renting right now is a bit hard and not so comfy. It's not my couch but I do enjoy looking out the window while sitting on it.

Day Twenty-One of Thirty-One: Not My Sounds

I've noticed something about the noises here. They are different. I suppose it's normal. Different places, different sounds. As I walk outside here I notice chirps and quacks. Ripply sounds and splashes. What I miss is what I heard over the weekend. We stopped at the old house for a short visit the other day. The kids were delighted to see the neighborhood kids and quickly ran over to play. Shawn and I were picking up the yard a bit and moving a few things around in the "out garage." Every so often we would stop and listen to the squeals and laughter. The screams of delight. It was a pleasant sound. One I'm looking forward to hearing again on a daily basis. Right now we live in a quiet neighborhood. We don't see many kids out playing. Maybe as the weather warms the children will come out to play. Until then I am reminded that these are not my sounds but they will be again.

Day Twenty of Thirty-One: Not My Tree

The trees here are pretty. They are scattered a bit. Not thick like a forest. Not like OUR backyard. These trees are nice though. One big downfall? They are not climbing trees. They are not my trees or my kids' trees. Just tall, look at me sway trees. Pretty but scary in a storm trees. They are, cross my fingers don't fall on the house because there is no other house, trees.

Two days before the fire, my son wrote a poem about his pine tree. He said I could post it here.


Pine Tree

Born in 1937...I think.
It is there I am there,
I climb it...it sits there.
Pine tree

Pine tree, my safe haven, my
pine tree. cold hard sap
globs. Still climbing, pine tree.

100 years, it waits until
I come. My safe haven.
My...pine tree.

~Elliot Hubbard
November 2, 2017


Every time I read his poem, it gets to me. We all love that tree. It's been there for as long or longer than the house. I wonder where he got the year? A guess I suppose. He would always climb that tree. He would climb so high, higher than he should. He could see everything from up there. He'd sit and sometimes startle me when I'd come looking for him. It was always one of those things I questioned.  Should I let him climb it? Is it too high? It was one of those "parenting" calls that I decided to let him figure out. You decide what your limit is, but be careful for goodness sake (he wasn't going to the top mind you)!
I'm not sure what the fate of our good ol' pine tree will be. We've left it in the builder's hands and asked him and his crew to say a few words should they need to cut it down. It did go up with the house a bit. I remember seeing the flames as they climbed up the side and being sadder because of it. There's a chance it could bounce back. I guess time and necessity will tell. Whatever the outcome, I'll remember the times I had to wash sap out of Elliot's hair and clothes and yell for him to come in for dinner from the branches.

Day Nineteen of Thirty-One: Not My Comb

When your house fills with flame, smoke, and heat beyond measure strange things happen. Things melt that you wouldn't expect. Other items become unrecognizable. Some items, however, even when they are no longer there, leave their mark.

Our bathroom, the day of the fire, had several items on the counter. It was messy. A hairspray bottle, the hair dryer, my comb, a few other odds and ends had not been put away. It was a Friday and I just left them sitting there that morning. Turns out, they sat there even after I went to bed that night.

The next morning, as Shawn and I walked through the house I had a compulsive moment. I grabbed a garbage bag from my neighbor's house and cleared off the counter in the bathroom. I think I was still in disbelief and at the same time thinking, I don't want all these people to see my messy counter.

Afterward, I just stared at the outlines. Each item telling me where it once was. Each item reminding me this was real. I was most amazed at the outline of the comb. It almost looked like it was still there. Like nothing happened. However, trying to grab it I was hit with the harsh reality that the comb was a ghost and not my comb.

We went to the house today. It is full of ghosts of what once was. So quiet. So cold. So sad. 

Day Eighteen of Thirty-One: Not My Rocks

When I was little, we had a driveway of rock. Almost every morning, for several years, I would pick up a new rock for my collection. I had a box (I believe it was the box from an "Annie" mug) in the top drawer of my night stand. Each rock was kept in this box which soon became more and more full with time.

Most weekends I would get a piece or two of the newspaper lay them on the counter. I would gather two bowls, a towel, and my clear nail polish. I would wash, rinse, dry, and paint the rocks with the polish. Sometimes I would have my little book of rock information next to me so I could try and figure out what the rocks were made of. It was fascinating to me and I loved my collection.

As I got older, I outgrew the routine of cleaning and painting the rocks. I stopped picking them up from the driveway and I think most of them made it back there eventually. The interest in rocks never completely died. I still look and wonder. Often when we go on a vacation or trip we will come home with a rock or two and my children have also been known to collect a rock here and there.

The house we are renting has a paved driveway. However, some of the landscaping is rock. Rock very similar to my driveway as a child. All different muted colors that when wet reveal lines of green and speckles of blue or pink. Tonight I examined some of the rocks a little more carefully and decided I should pick one. One to keep. I don't think our landlord will mind. I washed it, rinsed it, and dried it off. I don't have any nail polish yet, but this one might get a coating eventually. It can be my healing house rock. A little reminder.


These are not my rocks...

but this one can be.