Loose Leaf Notes

~ The following year review was done by excerpting the first line in one post of each month from last year. You can click on the name of the month for a full accounting.

January: Only in Floyd can you be out helping a friend with disabilities collect litter and run into a neighbor who jumps out of her car, pulls out her banjo and plays you a song in the middle of the road.

February: I woke up early for the drive to Roanoke to baby-sit Bryce. Standing at the sink, filling the tea kettle with water, I thought my neighbor’s barn was on fire. I’m not used to seeing the sunrise.

March: Flying above a white wonderland with a crook in my neck from dreaming too far to the left, I’m trying to discern between the snow-peaked mountainous terrain and the clouds. This fairy tale is set above Lapland. The sound of the plane engine is like an ogre snoring.

April: My house loves butter. It glows in spring with forsythia. With 1000’s of lampshades dangling yellow, bright bulbs illuminate April.

May: A mother phoebe with a nest in the porch rafters has been using our picnic table for her runway while making feeding trips to her babies, as evidenced by the bird droppings I have to clean up everyday and giving new meaning to the term “poop deck.”

June: By the end of June the Parkway rhododendrons are weeping petals and roadside lilies are looking sassy. ‘Fireworks for Sale’ signs have become evident and everyone seems to be having a yard sale.

July: I catch myself smiling a lot at Floydfest like I do in the garden at home. Every whimsical encounter and seemingly random exchange with others feels like a line up of destiny and adds to the whole of the enchantment that makes the festival weekend special.

August: A month with a trackhoe on two acres of land in rural Madison County brings a whole new meaning to the term “rock and roll.” My son Josh said he started feeling that the industrial strength excavating machine was an extension of his body and admitted to feeling god-like moving so many huge boulders around.

September: Standing under the dogwood tree, I place myself so that the brightest star in the sky is aligned with the top of the biggest fur tree, making it look like Christmas. The moon looking on is a bald-headed profile in need of a fedora.

October: She’s at home in the woods and needed to be near water before winter sets in. Although, we didn’t hike all the way to the Cascades waterfall, we were uplifted by the natural setting, made giddy by the rushing water, and humbled by the randomly placed giant boulders.

November: The worst part of being dressed up as a Blues Brother Halloween and wearing a buttoned-up shirt and tie is that my bra strap slipped off my shoulder while dancing at a party and I couldn’t find a way in to put it back.

December: In this storybook I’m the Matchbook Girl, on the outside looking in. I’m the girl who wants that pair of red shoes in the window but doesn’t have the money to buy them or the nerve to really wear them.

2008 year review is HERE.