Looking for an Out House

Some days feel like Friday, when meteors and asteroids were passing within blinking distance of one another.  The thing not to forget, though, is that we can be blindsided by goodness, too. 

Not all surprises are asteroids and meteors.

I have felt the slow transformation of my 50s settling deep within, and, more and more, I find myself open to change.  Actually, what I really feel open to is living and being out in the open.  Especially after listening to and reading Kate Braestrup, a chaplain for the Maine State Parks Department, I can't seem to shake the idea of a work life lived in the elements.

Certainly, there are complications.  Consider the new bed Mark and I bought recently.  It is a glorious, firm, unyielding bed, filled with a happy mishmash of springs and cooling gels and topped with an irresistible 25-year warranty.  At 51, there aren't many things left that come with a 25-year guarantee.  I cannot imagine saying goodbye to that glorious nudger of dreams. 

Then again, until last Friday, I could not imagine the windows on 3,000 buildings shattering amidst a sonic boom caused by sky garbage.

I can't imagine living far away from family and friends, nestled in a wilderness, blanketed by nothing but stars and solitude.  Well, actually, it's not hard at all to imagine the second part of that sentence.  But life is complicated, in part, by its goodness.  Ah, if only my family were toxic, my friends unfaithful.  Then, my move would be an easy one.

First things first, though. 

You may not have read about it, but a tiny, shattering, joyful meteor popped through my atmosphere last week during a walk with my friend, Mary Anne.  While we wandered the neighborhood, she told me about the Nebraska Naturalists program, in which people take courses to become master naturalists.  She'd signed up to take the class this summer.  Within ten minutes of our walk's end, I, too, had signed up. 

If I pass the naturalists' sniff test and make the cut, I'll spend a week next summer splitting my time between Pioneers Park and Spring Creek Prairie, getting dirty with discoveries.

Several years ago, while digging around in our garden, we discovered a leathery, patterned ball the size of a big acorn.   It looked like an archeological treasure, a sarcophagus of a long-dead Egyptian king.  Turned out, it was the pupa of a luna moth. We nurtured and watched over that pupa all week, looking for signs of life and hope. 

It never did emerge, wet-winged, into our lives.  But it had ignited something inside all of us.  Even though we didn't witness the metamorphosis, we now knew that such things were possible.

Who knows if my wings will emerge?  Who can say if this is a whim or a transformation?  Whatever it is that I find myself in, I will bask in it and enjoy my time here, where the air is crisp and filled with possibility.