Looking out my Backdoor: You can please some of the people …

This morning, a friend whom I’ve not yet met sent a photo of foliage turned colors in Maine. Everywhere the season is turning a corner. Maine. Montana. Mexico. Everywhere.

Rains are tucked back into their rain locker until next rainy season. We’ve a week with nary a drop of moisture, nary a cloud in the sky-blue sky. Immediately the daytime temperatures ramped up fifteen degrees.

I put away the rain towels, draped across my windowsills since June. Just like that, I’m out dragging hose, watering plants, potted and otherwise.

Familiar birds flew to greener—or possibly browner—pastures. New birds arrive. However, the AAA Bird Map has scrambled the flight plans. There are at least two stranger-type birds. One has a shrill call like an old-fashioned telephone ring tone. Makes me whip about my head to alert every time I hear it. The other has a sound that imitates the name of an expensive beverage, one with an umbrella on the rim.

The huge white bed-sheet butterflies are back. But what is that strange black one? This whole year has brought more butterflies than I’ve ever previously seen. See scrambled flight plans above.

And, ah, yes, the snowbirds return. My neighbors. Some of whom I’ve not seen in two years. Like animals to the Ark, two by two, they will arrive.

Ordinarily, this would be cause for rejoicing, excitement, anticipation of celebratory meals and adventurous treks to explore the countryside ‘round and about. Most years.

What is wrong with me? Have two years of reclusive living turned me upside downside?

At times like this, I sit myself down and have a heart-to-heart. Have I gotten this selfish? Have I, who have always been flexible, ready to change paths on a whim, cemented myself into my routine? I hear my friend Peggy from years past ask me, “What’s your motive?” Ah, yes, that.

It’s such a small thing. Petty, really. I’ve always been a people pleaser. If I do what I think you want, maybe you will like me. Some of my more recent friends would roll on the floor snorting to hear me say those words. But they are true.

Sure, a few years counseling and some heavy personal work pretty much eradicated the problem. But it never goes away. A shadow of my old people-pleaser will always live within me.

And my solution is so simple. Two by two, I tell my friends, “We will visit after you’ve done a trip quarantine.” I will follow up with “Masked, outside on a patio, no hugs.”

Nancie and Pat, my cousins, will arrive first. Nancie is our group social coordinator. She loves to gather all the neighbors for a pot-luck dinner. “Nancie, I think that is a great idea. You all have fun. I’m not ready to join large group activities.”

Then another couple will invite me out to dinner in one of the few restaurants still open. “That’s lovely. You all go and have a good meal. Maybe I can join you in a later month. I’m not ready yet.”

I intend to host small meals on my patio, one couple at a time. I’m not a total stick-in-the-muddle-puddle.

Most of all, I dread hearing. “But you are vaccinated. We are vaccinated. We all are safe. You’ll be okay.”

I’ve been practicing my lines: “You might be right.” “You are probably right.” “You are undoubtedly right.”

Finally common sense returned. “Sondra, you are not that important. Who cares what you decide? These are your friend and neighbors. They like you. They will respect your decisions.”

Maybe. Probably. Undoubtedly.

——

Sondra Ashton grew up in Harlem but spent most of her adult life out of state. She returned to see the Hi-Line with a perspective of delight. After several years back in Harlem, Ashton is seeking new experiences in Etzatlan, Mexico. Once a Montanan, always. Read Ashton’s essays and other work at http://montanatumbleweed.blogspot.com/. Email [email protected].