Cattails

I've always loved cattails. I just got such a kick out of them when I was a kid. Now, I still love them - perhaps more for reasons of nostalgia than anything else. But they make me smile. They're quirky. Rustic but elegant. Their striking verticality juxtaposed against the soothing, flat water's edge.

One of my favorite things about the new home we've moved into is that it is situated across the street from a small pond, which is surrounded by wonderful cattails. In fact, this is one of the major reasons we even bought the home - for the pond, the bullfrogs, the ducks (and yes, I know bullfrogs can eat baby ducks, but I'm going to pretend I don't know that), the heron, the cattails and the red-winged blackbirds that cling to them. And a second floor office with a balcony I can step out on to enjoy all of it.

As I'm writing this, however, and staring at the picture inserted of these wonderful cattails, the more I'm realizing .. they look like corn dogs. How have I never noticed this before? Is this really why I love cattails? Because they remind me of corn dogs, which are wrongly delicious? Man. If I subconsciously love cattails because of my obsession with food rather than some poetic appreciation of nature, I'm very disappointed in myself.

Which brings me to the reason for this post: I am. Very. Disappointed. It has never before occurred to me - until I looked out my window a little while ago - that you can blow cattail fluff the same way you do dandelion fluff. WHY HAVE I NEVER BLOWN CATTAIL FLUFF??? I just saw a family of 3 (plus a happy, jumping dog) having a cattail fluff fight, and it seemed like the perfect, quintessential fall thing to do. As perfect as kicking leaves as you walk through them, drinking spiced apple cider, and wearing turtlenecks. All of which I've already done this fall, so I need to go outside and add to my repertoire.

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(virtual cattail fluff, my gift to those of you without the real thing)

Time Capsule

I thought I had given up on blogging. (Facebook, I shake my fist at you, you ruiner of more than two thoughts strung together!) But I've wandered back here, briefly reading a few of my entries from years past .. and I'm amazed at how little I remember from the events I previously blogged about. (Seriously? I ran past a flattened salamander on my first race? I totally don't remember that.)

I'm enjoying having my memory jogged. And I'm starting to realize that creating this time capsule of sorts might be something I will thank myself for later in life. Because even if I don't exactly remember all those details, it is enjoyable knowing I experienced them so completely at the time.

I lost a co-worker a couple of weeks ago. Donna Patrick, Springdale's Center Director, passed away from cancer. She was 48. She lived life fully, and she died far too young. In addition to the multitude of friends, family and co-workers who adored her, she has left behind a legacy at Job Corps that is remarkable.

I dream sometimes about what my legacy could be. To be perfectly honest, I make myself sick about it - lamenting time wasted, fretting about time running out. I don't have children, so wholeheartedly investing myself in them as my legacy isn't an option, as I suspect it is for most people. And yet .. nothing has called to me. Am I merely supposed to choose, somehow, from all the worthwhile causes and people in the world? Make a list, close my eyes, point my finger at the paper and commit to where it lands?

While the options seem too limitless at times, NOT leaving a legacy doesn't seem to be one. What's the point of living if you don't do it in such a way that it leaves pleasant ripples after you're gone?

I'm under no false impression that my writing is anything that will be passed on for generations. In fact, I'm finding this current post to be more "mud bog" than "reflective lake" or "cool, refreshing stream". But it might help me reflect on my life when my time comes. It might be the mirror that shows me how much more I need to do to consider that life one well lived. It might just be a silly blog, but it might lead me to my destiny.