For years, I thought of squirrel’s nest as a euphemism for a messy, disorganized room, sloppy thinking or an untidy hair-do. But no, some squirrels built their homes high up and stuff them with twigs, leaves, pine needles, or grass, and line them with shredded grasses, fresh leaves, moss, and lichens are used to line the inside of the nest. I never saw one until recently – when I looked up from my desk, and saw the oak tree across the street silhouetted against a winters’ sunny sky.
The tree across the street now is completely bare – and I can clearly see a squirrel’s nest or two. They look precarious – too large for the supporting branches – and it seems as if they could crash to the ground with the slightest provocation. We’ve had several days of extra breezy weather – enough so as I wonder how that drey stays put, and I wonder if there are little critters inside it, how they are managing. For now, I can see plainly, what will be hidden in the coming weeks as green haze deepens into an enormous verdant canopy.
Some days I feel like those squirrels’ nests look – precariously resting on limbs that may not support me – and completely exposed.
Perhaps this is a gentle reminder to keep editing how much I hang out in cyberspace. My sister-in-law’s gentle observation of the various flowerpots dotting our garden’s perimeter has become a mantra: you need to edit the pots. Too much of even a good thing is still too much.
Or, these precarious feelings may bubble forth from all the joys of maturity continuing as they present themselves: stumbling, bumping into things and sometimes falling can really wreck a girl’s confidence; losing words; forgetting names. Too many examples are still too much.
· In a [woman's] middle years there is scarcely a part of the body [she] would hesitate to turn over to the proper authorities. ~E.B. White
These feelings when intertwined with memories, resentments, fears, disappointments and guilt can be like those squirrels’ nest I see; they need editing – and deleting – as surely as the embarrassment of mangy looking flower pots dominating our garden.
· You are as young as your faith, as old as your doubt; as young as your self-confidence, as old as your fear; as young as your hope, as old as your despair. ~Douglas MacArthur
To that end, I heard some good old advice recently at a meeting: Don’t believe everything you think. Or, just because I think something is so doesn’t make it so. A timely reminder not to lean on my own understanding to prop myself up. What I think may be as wobbly a support as those bare branches appear to be! (Proverbs 3:5-12)
Fear can be the stiffest breeze blowing through my branches – Hope is the red marker I am using to edit my thoughts – as well as gratitude. Looking up, the squirrels’ nests are holding in the current winds blowing through Dallas. Looking around the garden, I have edited the number of pots – just in time for spring planting.
· There is always a lot to be thankful for, if you take the time to look. For example, I'm sitting here thinking how nice it is that wrinkles don't hurt. ~Author Unknown