June 21, 2010 - Feather Moratorium Cancelled

June 18th marked the 12th Anniversary of Roberta's passing.  On that day this year, I did not find a feather.  As a matter of fact, I usually don't get feathers this time of year.

In 1998, June 18th was a Thursday, so I usually will experience some physical symptoms of grief on the third Thursday of June regardless of the actual date.  This year was no different and in fact that there seems to have been a moratorium on feathers right now.  Was, being the key word here.

Last Thursday was dry.  I had a pretty good anxiety attack in the 12 o'clock hour which is that physical symptoms of grief thing I mentioned earlier, but no feather.  Friday through Sunday, same deal.

I refer back to a previous blog which says never look for a feather.  I started looking on Thursday.  I told my dad on Sunday that I've been looking.  We talked about how they need to show up on their own.  In these moratoriums I often wonder if I've done something wrong or like a little boy, I wonder if I'm in trouble.  It took me a few weeks before I found my first feather back in '98 and when I think back to that first feather it was, once again, when I stopped looking.  You just can't force this stuff.  The art of allowing is a continuing lesson that I will be constantly relearning.

Sometime in the 4 o'clock hour I have a daily ritual.  I get up from my desk at work, walk across the street to the Barnes and Noble Cafe for a Grande Drip with a little extra room.  On the way back, my head cleared, thinking about doing a book or article or something about my line of work when I look down and BAM!  Feather.  I cheer out loud in the middle of the mall parking lot and immediately pick that sucker up.  With a new found stride in my step, I head towards the crosswalk and BAM!  Feather # 2.  A few more steps, # 3 and then as I near my car, which I park in this lot, WHAM!  Feather # 4. 

Clearly the moratorium is over, but what's the lesson in this moment?  Keep writing, keep creating, keep allowing.

My drive home consisted of Marie McGillis singing and swinging to After You've Gone.   This music is not only better than anything created today, it is a staunch reminder of a simpler time and also stirred a very old memory of mom playing her dad's ukileli and singing "Has Anybody Seen My Girl."  This association could very well explain why I love ragtime and hot jazz from the 20's and late Victorian era.  This stuff literally is my bag.

So after pulling in the drive, I'm snappin and swingin, park the car, fade down the music, and head towards the stairs to climb up and kiss my wife when low and behold I'm stopped dead in my tracks as feather number 5 pops up...

My Nana before she passed told me to write this stuff down.  It took me a while to get going but here I am and now fully inspired to bring this mystery to the masses.

My day/evening continued with other blessings as a few things I had been waiting on came through.

I have an incredible sense of the possible right now.  My morning started off in frustration and by 7 o'clock I'm having a full blown Timbuk3 moment.

So it's off to Trader Joe's to pick up groceries.  Gonna toss my coffee from earlier in the recycle bin behind the building and this happens...



I just hope the bird's OK.