Fly Away Home

Chapter 8

A comforting cushion of air ushers me up the front sidewalk and through my front door. Stanley Turner was as helpful as Hank said he'd be. Not only did he explain the exact steps to resolve my plumbing problem. I also learned a few new things from him about the tools and parts involved in the process. My thoughts wander all over the emotional map, but there's a small part of me that believes I can actually pull this off.

I set my bag of fruit on the counter and place the project supplies next to it. Without thinking, I separate the peaches and lemons into different piles. Each mound before me is like the shell in a hidden game, begging for my attention. I'm asked to follow their movement with care and choose the one containing a treasure beneath it.

There's the plumbing materials. What I need. On the other end are the lemons. What I want. Then, in the middle, there are those peaches. They don't fall into either category. I neither want nor need them. Is there something else that defines the apparent void between those two words, need and want?

I choose the pile of want in this moment and head toward the front porch. The lavender is overflowing and branching out to fill all available space in the planter. After moving it from the spot where it was struggling in the side yard, it has flourished with new vigor. As I snip a few sprigs, I wonder whether there are parallels between flowers and life. Does transporting and trimming certain parts make a difference? Does it allow what's left to return stronger and more vibrant than ever?

My fingers massage the velvety texture as I meander into the kitchen. Instinctively, I pull back the curtains, grab my trusty wooden spoon, and prop open the window. Lemon concentrate drips into the pitcher as I juice the fruit. An occasional seed, falling into the mix, needs retrieval every few twists.

The process is calming. Becoming immersed in something routine distracts my analytic mind. In these moments, I find it easier to contemplate life on a different level. Things get tossed into our path without permission. Fragmented pieces of cork in a glass of wine. Fruit seeds in lemonade. A mother who broke me, in every conceivable definition of the word. Some experiences are simpler to push aside and ignore than others. It doesn't mean they can't all be stowed away in the past where they belong.

But there are some things we desperately wish to bring back into the present. Life is cruel that way, choosing what we're allowed to keep and forced to let go.

I crush the violet herb, rub it between my fingertips, and sprinkle it in the pitcher. Remnants of the essential oils drift through the air with a soothing influence. The sugar and water go in next. I inhale with deliberate intentions and embrace the emotional cleansing process. The citrusy lemon, calming lavender, and intoxicating jasmine permeate my pores. It's akin to a luxurious spa treatment for my delicate heart.

The wriggling stream along the faucet interrupts my blissful moment. It mixes with thoughts of the white flower, so close I can reach out and touch it. An unpleasant thought stirs inside. I open this window each time I enter the room to greet the fragrant trellis outside like an old friend. Now that trusty floral companion hinders me in completing the plumbing repair. It looks as though I'll be able to test my theory, again. Will transplanting and trimming back something have the effect I hope for?

Placing the pitcher in the refrigerator to chill, I ease through the front door. I pull my rocking chair to the far end of the porch. It's a small section that wraps around the side. I don't sit here often since it overlooks that field of overgrown weeds. I study the landscape with intensity. Different sizes and shapes mix. It creates something disorganized and...

The early afternoon sunlight dances alongside a tiny chickadee. Mother Nature crafts a small shadowy refuge for him. He alights on the long stem of a weed swaying in the breeze. It's chaotic... and beautiful.