peevish mama

My kitchen window sill is like a mis en scène depicting the stuff of life, our lives.  It’s dynamic: a collection of random objects that is ever changing, tracking the seasonal, noteworthy, pedestrian and utilitarian ins and outs of our days, mirroring the sometimes subtle, sometimes chaotic shifts in interests, health, the weather. It’s also static in that the same collection of crap can sit there for months.   

Some of the objects are beautiful.  Some of the objects are a sigh and a flick of the wrist away from the trash.  

Over the last year my sill has been graced with a pygmy seahorse, a cup of paintbrushes, two tiny starfish who side-by-side look like they’re holding hands, a sand dollar, a set of paints, a chubby Eve salt shaker, a nail clipper, a sunflower seed in a cup of dirt, a pine cone coated in red glitter, a bottle of grape-flavored infant Tylenol, a harmonica, a couple of googly eyes, some shells, some rocks, a blue bottle of bubbles, the tail of a horseshoe crab, a tiny plastic turtle, a pencil sharpener, a bottle of Advil, a red plastic paperclip.  This narrow strip of wood has held so much life. 

And now, our house is for sale so I had to clear it all off.  No one else wants to look at our lovely detritus.  I only thought to take pictures a few times and now I want to weep. 

It’s gone forever.