The Feels: Swoon 56
I have been called a witch many times…witch as in someone who knows what might happen next…not as in b*tch. I have probably been called that many times too, just not to my face.
I will be sitting at a show, grab on to a friend’s hand, and whisper “Are you feeling ok?” and they will respond “Oh my god, how did you know, I just got a headache.” Or listening to the radio and hear an obscure song, then mention it to a friend, who will tell me it’s their favorite musician of the moment. I will wake up in the middle of the night, feeling something is up, and the next day find out that someone important to me died at the exact time I woke up. I will text a friend out of the blue, to check in on them, and as we are discussing their family, one of their parents will pass away, mid-text… that kind of witch.
Last year I was gardening with my brother and mom at Fire Island. Mom has been doing this for around 58 years; it takes a seasoned gardener to grow things on purpose out there. The island is a sandbar, the water table is like 18 inches deep… meaning you dig down and hit wet sand, very quickly. Oh, yeah, key point, it is sand, not soil, growing stuff is a hurdle. Mom’s tricks: use seaweed from the bay as fertilizer (extra perk, it’s free—well actually 50 cents a wagon full, my brother and I earned money this way as kids); dig way down and put broken up old plates way below roots, it keeps the water in; you name it, she has a solution for it. Over the winter there is a ton of growth, and everything needs major cutting back. Ticks love piles of yard waste, we hate ticks. A tick almost killed my dad in 1984, that is a different story. Stories overwhelm my brain.
Last year, witchy feel moment… moving on.
So, last spring mom, my brother, and I were cutting back the garden. Mom was bundling up branches, tying them with strips of old sheets (you do not throw away anything at FI, there is always another use for it). We do this to make the yard waste compact, which is easier to get off the island. She looked completely adorable in her huge pink hat, big sunglasses, black leggings tucked into white knee socks, sneakers, and a t-shirt three sizes too big with Greg’s artwork from some festival on the front. Her uniform. Her bundles of sticks looked like little gifts with bows of all colors. Groups of branches, zip ties, and paint stirrers, all get wrapped like little presents, waiting for the next person who will use them. This little bit of quirk usually irked me for some reason (hmmm, maybe I am a b*tch)…but during this one witchy moment, it was the most touching thing in the world. Watching her “gift wrap” the branches was precious. I had a moment of man oh man, I am so going to miss this. I pointed it out to my brother, I was a bit weepy. He laughed at me (making it clear he thought I was insane) and said, Kat, she isn’t going anywhere, relax. She will be doing the same thing next year. She is in better shape than ALL of us.
Except, she probably will not be doing that this year. The likelihood of being able to go to FI safely is slim… not over and done with… but slim. My witchy feels last year were a huge blessing, I got to notice some major goodness…and enjoy it. A mental snapshot that I will have forever. I love my feels. Swoon.