A Job to be Envied

           Although I am not "gainfully employed" at the present moment, I do have a job. Well, actually, I have several: I am a full-time wife, mom/Grandmum, home maker, business mentor, driving instructor, unlicensed plumber (with 4 fixed toilets & a sink faucet replacement to my credit), rookie sailor, autism expert, public speaker, lifelong learner, scanner, home-school supervisor on break,  mediocre cook (but decent yogurt-maker), writer, mixed media/ upcycling artist, kayak queen, sporadic runner, cyclist, Irish dancer, athlete, standardized patient & clinical skills instructor, actress, props mistress, chauffeur, bicycle repairman, photographer, carpenter, and poet; the list implies I don't do any of the above well.  This is not intended to be an apology.

          I don't do a good job keeping the house neat or clean.  I try. Really. But I live with seven people, and an eighth who spends a great deal of time here--except for sleeping. And I've never been neat. Ask any of my siblings or former roommates. I am organizationally challenged. But that's not the topic of this entry.

          My employment status is rather uncategorizable. (Sorry, Spellcheck.)  I recognize this period of my life as valuable, although the IRS may rank 2013 as one of my lowest income years. I have survived 19 years of diapering babies and toddlers, and 7 years as caregiver to an elderly parent. Perhaps this is my only chance to catch my breath and take stock of where I've been and where I am meant to be.
      
       The following poem describes my kayak trip this week--when I finally got to see a bald eagle while on the water after years of searching them out. It is justification for my role as unpaid poet & lover of nature.
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Cicadas roar
Drowning out the din
Of vehicles rushing
Over the highway bridges
Mourning the demise 
Of the weekend gone by.

Birds on tiny islands chant
Prayers to dawn they've yet to see
From their western vantage point
Where shadows of night linger
Oblivious to the fact
That Monday is here.

Egrets, white as the sparse clouds
Swallow sunlight and emit it 
From their pure feathers
Their graceful movement celebrates
The epitome of their beauty.

Slow river carries us
Above its shallow basin
Green weeds dance like hula dancer skirts
Tickling our boats as we glide over them
Warm water drips off our paddles
Onto our arms
Splashing its way back in.

Our trio of paddlers
Immensely grateful
That we travel here beneath the Rat Race
Appearing subdued and serene
Masking our exuberance
For our meanderings
On this utterly perfect summer day.

We feel in our bones
How vital it is
For us to connect to nature's beauty
Instead of losing our souls
In pursuit of passing material gain
In some God-forsaken cubicle.

We take our coffee break
Drinking from a steaming thermos
Blue kayaks nestled in a muddy bank
Of an island rookery
We savor the sweetness of blueberry scones
Watching the everyday lives
Of egrets, herons, and cormorants
And discussing politics
Out of earshot of supervisors
Not envying those of our species
Showering for work at home.

 As we paddle along 
The shady groves between the islands
Soothed by the breeze 
On our suntanned skin
We caught sight
Of a lone bald eagle
Wingspan as wide as our boats
Soaring to a perch above us
Studying our fleet from his vantage point.

We paused in awe to admire him
In his regal majesty 
Marveling at our fortune
For finally finding him
The illusive symbol
Of our nation
After years of hoping
To catch just a glimpse of one of his breed
On our river sojourns.

I brush aside my twinge of guilt
For indulging in
What some might regard
As truancy from my domestic duties
And thank God for my youthful sense of adventure
And my current state of mid-life physical fitness
While many of my age-peers
Show signs of decline
Trapped inside their vehicles
 On their way to Friday's paycheck.