Empty nest syndrome.

Cinematic Moment:  Missing a piece.

I noticed their daddy building a nest right outside our front door.  From there a momma bird appeared and beneath her, 4 bright blue eggs.  Taking a peek in that tiny nest became a daily habit.  I'd bring the dogs outside and make sure they were OK around five times a day.  My man would chide me for peeking at the nest through the window, scaring away the mother occasionally on accident.

One morning, the eggs were gone.  In their place, 4 tiny pink bodies pulsed.  I yelled out--"We're grandparents!"  It was so exciting to see them there, breathing itsy bitsy breaths and squirming around while their parents went out to get them food.  Every day I watched them grow a bit more--new feathers popping up each morning.  I tossed out breadcrumbs and seed.  I took photos and gabbed to my own mom about their birth and progress, taping up signs to warn the landscapers of their presence: "***Please do not disturb the baby birds or run them over with lawn equipment***!!" 

Finally, they opened their eyes, nearly spilling out of the nest with their quickly growing wings and mass.  I spoke to them gently.  "Welcome to the world little babies."  They opened their mouths wide for a snack.  I was in love.

A few days ago, as I took the puppies out for the evening, I checked in on them to say goodnight.  My heart stopped when I realized there was one lone baby in there, huddling into himself to stay warm.  His mother chirped to me from a nearby tree, getting nervous at my presence.  My first instinct was sheer panic.  Then I started to cry.  Had something gotten them?  If they had indeed become groundlings, why was there one left behind?  I stayed in the rocking chair for almost an hour in the dark waiting to see if a cat or hawk came back to get the last one.  I was ready to attack and defend that baby.  But nothing came except the momma, who nestled in on top of the remaining bird. 

I couldn't sleep all night wondering if they were going to be alright.  When I woke up, I ran out to check on him.  The nest was completely empty. 

 It's funny how something so ordinary can have such a profound effect.  I sat on the front porch, pulled down the landscapers sign and crumpled it into a ball.  I felt alone in every sense of the word.  I can't imagine being a parent who has to let their children go.  It must be the most difficult thing in the world.

I'll never know what happened to my little bird babies.  I prefer to think they are learning to fly.

Trek to the stars.

Cinematic Moment:  A real cinematic moment.

Do you remember being a kid and going to the movies?  For me, it was magic.  The theater wasn't so far from my house that we couldn't walk there and when our parents were feeling desperate to get the kids out of the house, walk there we did.  Pulling open those glass doors at the entrance was the pitchers breath before throwing a 90 mph ball towards the mound.  In real life, I was a slow bloomer and still bordered on the possibility of Santa Claus and unicorns while all my friends assured me otherwise. Each time I handed over a ticket to the attendant, I could simultaneously hand over disbelief for 2 hours without feeling immature.   Everyone in that theater was on the same page--it didn't matter if Batman wasn't real or lions couldn't sing in real life.  At the movies, you could age as quickly or slowly as you wanted to.  And I wanted the world to stay surreal forever.

Today the frianceband and I went to see the newest Star Trek movie.  Though I am by no means a "trekkie", my father certainly was and dragged my brother and I into the world whether we liked it or not.  At first I loved it, but eventually turned against the series when I was a teenager and growing increasingly concerned with others opinions of what was cool.   "Star Trek" was just above "going to the movies with your dad" on that list.   In those teen years, something else happens.  Your willingness to suspend disbelief becomes more selective.  Sure, I'd accept that the Prince of some made up country could easily meet and fall in love with a hot dog vendor in some romantic comedy, but throw in an alien or a sword and you lost me.  

At the ripe age of 26, having attended more comic book conventions than I can count, learned the difference between "fantasy" and "sci-fi" and begun co-writing a series myself,  I could give a shit what anyone else thinks and decided to give Star Trek another shot.

We went to the 10:30 am showing--one that was nearly full to capacity.  The enthusiasm of Trekkies is contagious and walking up to the concession stand, I felt like a kid all over again.  The anticipation, the banter over how it will be...holy shit the concession stand sells chicken fingers and Bon bons??  My childhood movie snacking was confined to popcorn and stale butterfingers!  I'll take one of everything.

I won't go into detail, but the movie (along with the chicken fingers) was phenomenal.  Great casting, great script,  just the right amount of nostalgia and a secondary love story.  I think what makes a lot of people turned off by science fiction based movies is the intimidation factor of spacecrafts and foreign things blowing up and I don't know, nebulas--but not once in this film did I feel intimidated or out of my element.  Rather than leaving me on Earth, Star Trek took me along to the final frontier.  And the movies were magic once more.

It's madness I tell you.

Cinematic Moment:  Cue cake tastings.

When a normal person is overwhelmed with stress, there are a variety of things they can do to help relieve it.  Close your eyes and breathe slowly through the mouth.  Count to 10.  Take a long, peaceful walk.  Indulge in a pint of Ben & Jerry's.  

But not me.  Actually ridding myself of stress would be uncharacteristic.  Instead, it seems I really love compounding it with more unnecessary tasks.  Take for example, the fact that I am heavily wedding planning and seeing as how my bridesmaids and mother are in Florida, doing it almost singlehandedly.  I can't wait to be married, but wedding planning can kill you with details and is especially hard to do when you're hopping from shore to shore (as I will be in a few weeks.)  Yet, I can't seem to just sit in one place, pick up the phone and make decisions.  I'd rather give myself other, more instantly gratifying tasks to complete to avert the stress, desperately clutching for anything I can immediately control.  

Here is an account of what I should have done this week, versus what I actually did:

1.  Compile list of wedding songs for band.

1.  Clean and organize garage down to color coordinating cans of spray paint.

2.  Send reception contract confirmation.

2. Purchase chaise lounge chairs--then decide to spend afternoon planting complementary flowers on the deck.

3.  Arrange transportation from hotel to venue.

3.  Buy bright yellow 1971 VW SuperBeetle on whim after frianceband sees it on the way home. (Houston, we have transportation--hooray!)

4.  Scour the webs for bridal shoes to bring to Monday's fitting.

4.  Decide to have the driveway paved.  

5.  Finish addressing save-the-dates.

5.  Creepily spy on the newly hatched baby birds in the dwarf fir tree out front.  Pretend I'm not so their mom won't leave them.  This is still happening.

6.  Chicken...or fish?

6.  Maybe there's an answer to this question in "Pride, Prejudice and Zombies."

7.  Check in on bridesmaids' fittings.

7.  Spy a paint called "spa" in Home Depot and cannot wait a day longer to paint the bathroom that color so I too can have the tranquility of a spa in my very own home.  Start painting at 9pm.  Give up at 2am when my eyes glaze over.  Waste the next day fixing mistakes and giving more coats.  The color is less spa and more like a newborn baby boy onesie.

I need to get it together this week people.  I feel like I'm trapped in a romantic comedy wedding movie montage.