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Health & Fitness

Feathering My Nest

When doubt and fear set in, inspiration can come from the unlikeliest sources.

 

I hate to say it … sometimes I hate to even think it, but I'm looking forward to my three boys going back to school. I love them … you know I do, but I honestly think there can be such a thing as too much family time. And, while I'm at it, I also think the summer is about two weeks too long.

There. I said it.

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Because boys can be a lively and sometimes difficult dynamic, when we bought our house, I wanted an upstairs playroom; something contained and out of the way that could be a perpetual mess you just could close the door on if company ever popped over. A sound-proof room would have been good too, but one out of two isn't bad.

As our boys grew (in the blink of an eye!), the need for a playroom vanished along with the Legos, Tonka trucks and wooden building blocks. For a while it was just an empty room … an extra room holding a lot of possibility, but no real purpose. Then I was hit with the idea of Fabulous Shoe Night, and it eventually evolved into a full-time job. Now that room finally had another purpose. It would become my office.

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I needed an office. Desperately. I am not kidding that I'd be sitting at the kitchen table, furiously typing away on my laptop, only to be startled by the blur of a tennis ball whizzing past my head, perilously close. Did I mention my youngest son is a pitcher? With good aim, thank goodness.

Tucked away in a upstairs corner, my new office is easily the loveliest room in the house. Vaulted ceilings, with a large Palladian window overlooking our backyard, it was always too nice to ever be a playroom. In the transformation from playroom to office, I took great care to make it truly mine. Living in a house with all boys, this could be my one feminine room, yet not girly and pink.

I ordered the prettiest chandelier I could find, and had the walls painted an elegant shade of green that can only be described as … Army. Wait, what happened to feminine, you ask? Army green, really? Trust me, with hardwood floors, the perfect carpet that took months to find, a bronze chandelier entwined with crystals and faux vines, gorgeous inlaid mahogany desk that was a relative steal (courtesy of Craig's List), and cherry bookcases, it's the perfect backdrop.

My office is now, only recently, complete, and the timing couldn't be better, as my boys are going back to school after a long summer. I could finally get to work, in peace, sans flying objects.

Then, the fear set in.

It happens from time to time. Out of no where, I'll get afraid, and crippling doubt sets in. What if Fabulous Shoe Night flops? What if I can't take this where I can see, so clearly, in my mind's eye? What if I had all these dreams of starting chapters all over, and helping charities in all those different communities, and it just … never comes to pass? What if I fail?

What if I fail?

What if I fail?

Fears aside, I'm still a mommy, and it was time to do some back-to-school shopping. On the rainy Labor Day before school started, I took my oldest son to get some shirts. Walking past the housewares department, I was transfixed, mid-stride, by a simple framed canvas with assorted birds on a telephone wire, and the word "Hope" in the background. For some reason it spoke to me … loudly.

Hope. Isn't hope the unrealized dream that has yet to come true? Your heart's most fervent wish? The finish line … that gauzy, not so clearly defined picture in your mind's eye that motivates you to get up in the morning and try again? Even after a bad day, after a string of days where nothing seems to be happening? Hope is, and can be, the great motivator.

It could be that I bought the print because the colors perfectly complimented my Army green walls, but a little introspection brought some startling insights.

It hit me like a ton of bricks. How could I not have noticed this before? I literally have birds all over my house. From the large, framed prints in my dining room, to the whimsical salt and pepper shakers I recently bought, it seems I'd been an unconscious collector for years.

I looked around with a new awareness … the bronze sparrows on my kitchen windowsill; the rustic server on the kitchen table graced with two perching birds on it's wide rim, holding faux pears and decorative ceramic balls painted with, you guessed it, birds. Continuing my search, I was shocked to find yet more birds …  perched on framed prints in my kitchen, embroidered on napkins, peering down from bookcases and atop kitchen cabinets.

The biggest shock was the realization that the daily visitor on our deck is … a bird. Last summer, I noticed a nest of gray mourning doves in a tall evergreen just on the other side of the deck railing. They seem happy and comfortable in our yard, as they're almost always around. But this summer one of them has been spending a tremendous amount of time perched on our deck railing, literally several hours at a time, even when I am sitting 10 feet away.

The first time he (she?) came to the railing as I was seated at the table, I was shocked it stayed as long as it did. We watched one another benignly, and I was even able to get up and go in and out of the house without it flying away. The bird perched, several times a week, in the same place, and seemed to watch the house until I came outside. And I would. There we would sit … me and the bird, chillin' together in that comfortable, companionable silence of old friends.

Oddly enough, my friend the dove has a calming effect on me as I sit on my deck, or up in my office, worrying about whether or not I can pull off this crazy idea of mine. I just have to look over at it's calm, steady presence, and somehow feel a bit better about things.

A little research has shown the mourning dove, also known as the angel dove, is the harbinger, of all things, hope. Coincidence? Perhaps, but I am comforted nonetheless that my worries, concerns, wishes and dreams may very well drift skyward … on a wing and a prayer.

 

"Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches on the soul, and sings the tune without words, and never stops at all."   ~~ Emily Dickinson

 

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