Hello, I'm back and maybe

Starting anew seems logical, but I will try something different. This is still me, however changed (time, language and much more), so why not pick up where I stopped six years ago. SIX. Feels like eternity. We moved to another state, had another baby and "built" the place I can (still cautiously though) call HOME.

I accumulated tons of books and millions of craft supplies. Piled my plate with what occasionally feels like an excessive amount of commitments. Learned a lot while still have even more to research. I completely forgot who am I, so we have to make these small steps to get re-acquainted. I dreamed, hoped, dared, gave up and tried again. There has been a lot of everything.

Wilmington has indeed become home. Not because of the house (thought it is funny to acknowledge that it is the longest that we lived anywhere so far), but because of the people. Friends, relationships, community, connections. This means so much, this gets under your skin. I heard hundreds of stories of people who moved here (seems like many more relocated rather than were born and raised locally), but only a few that moved away. Some fortunately within a reasonable travel distance, others painfully far. The trip to Alaska to see a person who inspires me so much isn't an easy thing to do. (Returning to this blog and writing is a tribute to Anne, who's soul lounged so much to return back to the Alaskan cold).

It is September and the beginning of the Girl Scouts year. Was thinking how different it feels this time - something I do, I plan, I love and look forward to. Last year all seemed quite scary, I promised myself to give it a try and see how it goes. now looking back it must have been pretty good. Actually so good for me that I [not so] secretly crave co-leading another troop of cute little daisies. It surprises me as I was always absolutely sure that I am not a teacher and just hate teaching anything especially to kids. Now look at me - loving preschool subbing, obsessed with the girl scouts, craving more. Would absolutely love teaching art/crafts to kids (thank you, Sir Gombrich).

This summer, in a weird move I insisted on our spontaneous trip to Canada - a week long road trip. We escaped Wilmington's heat (over 100F!) and enjoyed the lovely 70s while travelling Montreal-Ottawa-Toronto. Bittersweet to me was nature - all the trees and the grasses, and the intoxicating smell of roses and peonies. It felt so much like back home in Ukraine - so familiar, so recognizable. Guess I am severely homesick. The war has taken this as well from me. Deprived of yearly trips, the mind seems to start producing it's own experiences - so many memories came back, so much from my childhood. The most painfully beautiful being the trips to the deepest nowhere of vast Ukrainian territories - summer trips to my great aunt's house at the edge of an abandoned soviet era apple orchard. The smell, the taste, the touch of tall grass, the voices, the climbing up the trees to get the best apples, the summer warmth - dry warmth and cold lake water, the safety of the world, where the biggest trouble could be a tick that would surely be safely removed by adults right away.

I recently finished the book by my favorite Elizabeth Strout and the way she wrote it - how the memories suddenly flooded the main character's reality was so understandable. Is this what being old means? :-) Not nostalgic, just painfully aware of all the baggage you are actually carrying with you.  

Just before this weekend's camping, I went outside to water the plants and noticed my milkweed being almost destroyed by caterpillars. Monarchs!! I have been planting milkweed for at least three years in a row and got nothing. Never even seen a monarch nearby. I did in fact lose hope and stopped saving the plant from annoying aphids (especially now that it is almost the end of the season). And here all of a sudden we are - seven fat caterpillars. Long story short - they did eat the entire plant and as I found out, the monarchs have been abundant this summer, so there is a huge shortage of milkweed plants. The caterpillars were big when I discovered them, so I hoped they would be ready to pupate once the plant is eaten. Six actually were! Unfortunately, two of them got caught in spiderweb and were killed by spiders. One just disappeared and the other three made it into nice green pupa inside the screened porch. The last one didn't manage to feed itself enough, so I was following recommendations and apparently when monarch caterpillars are almost ready to pupate, they can survive on cucumbers or better squash for a short period of time. Well, so far mine survived two days on a cucumber diet, but fortunately I managed to buy a new plant and I can absolutely attest the caterpillar screamed with delight. Now we'll see how she does.

UPD: Well, the caterpillar sadly didn't make it. And weirdly it seems to get unwell after eating the milkweed. Almost seemed like poisoning - could the plant have been sprayed? 

Less than two weeks later the monarchs emerged! I could only locate three chrysalises, but the fourth one was there the whole time, as they all emerged at the same time - four beautiful butterflies on our screened porch. The kids were excited and lured the monarchs onto their fingers before we released them all. Come back one day, monarchs, we will stock some clean milkweed for you!

True motivation works best when it combines a "to-driven" approach with a "from-driven" approach. Balancing both provides initial survival fuel (from) and long-term purpose (to). I was looking for this balance for years, as social media platforms kept deteriorating , but the desire to keep writing was sprouting through tiredness and everyday business. For me the list of reasons to abandon all social media outlets just keeps getting longer. So toxic. And the ever present AI? A couple days ago I opened a group chat in Viber with 8 text messages - every message just a couple words each and an automatic pop-up bubble asking if I want AI to summarize those text messages. What sort of joke is it [not]? And whatsapp keeps offering to edit with the help of AI all the pictures I sent or receive. I don't get it.

Besides, every time I begin typing something from the heart, I cannot escape the thought how whatever everything I write will be (not could anymore) turned against me. The human being would be diminished to a set of her/his triggers for the purpose of manipulation. And this is not something I want to participate in. That's why writing blog posts feels like exposure, self-jeopardizing, unsafe to say the least. Unfortunately Ahimsa is not something humanity seems interested in actively practicing.

This reminded me of a quote I pulled out of "food for thought" jar at the gym I go to.

Kindness begins with the understanding that we all struggle.

This phrase also perfectly summarizes Elizabeth Strouts's approach to her characters. She just had a new book published, that I rushed to read. Now I only have two of her books (the earliest ones) yet to read.

⭕ Amy and Isabelle (1998)

⭕ Abide with Me (2006)

✅ Olive Kitteridge (2008)

✅ The Burgess Boys (2013)

✅ My Name Is Lucy Barton (2016)

✅ Anything Is Possible (2017)

✅ Olive, Again (2019)

✅ Oh William! (2021)

✅ Lucy by the Sea (2022)

✅ Tell Me Everything (2024) 

✅ The Things We Never Say (2026)

She used to have this healing sadness vibe, but the last one really hurts. The events of the past two years - the damage that has already been done as well as being done day after day is incomprehensible. Are we really past the point of no return? Is there indeed no hope? This book cuts you open, but this time around it doesn't offer any anesthesia. And this is why I so happily binge read everything by Rachel Reid. Sort of quoting Jacob Tierney: we f-g need this happy ending. Which brings me back to my anger.

Right now I am raging about the new standards for diagnosing iron deficiency. Like why would the Dr keep telling me I am fine when I am not. And, unfortunately, there have been so many things like this - lactose intolerance that I had to figure out all by myself, capturing squirrels on camera in the attic while the pest control kept telling us we have rats, buying a drone to find their point of entrance because apparently it is beyond pest control abilities (wtf?!) and overall trying to advocate for myself while having no clue where the [censored] to get energy to do that.

This year's fall is something I really crave. I am so ready for internal slow down, for warm and cozy, for harvesting what has been sown (figuratively, of course. I have been a terrible gardener this season). I purchased a huge pumpkin when it was still in the 90s, as rainmaking. It is still hot and humid and disgustingly sweaty, so maybe I am not a god shaman. Or am I just a pretty tired (exhausted?) and sleep deprived shaman? 

The place where it smells of true fall thought - next to the library. A big birch losing its yellow leaves and the scent of autumn so distinctive.