Monday, May 23, 2016

An Empty Nest, Literally and Figuratively

Maybe I should have told my husband I have been on the lookout for an empty bird's nest. Not that I'm looking forward to the condition known as the empty nest; I simply want to find an actual twiggy nest without any inhabitants. Bird nests are so adorable. I love examining them up close, admiring their craftsmanship. I really want a nest. So I can take pictures of it. For my blog. When I finally muster up the courage to write about the figurative empty nest. And I just think it would be fun to have a nest on display.

Over the weekend, Chuck and I finally tackled the yard work we both love to postpone. The time had come. We cut, and sawed, and trimmed every wayward limb in sight. We dragged felled trees out of the backyard to a growing pile awaiting the city crew's next pickup date. We "lifted that barge, and toted that bale" for a few hours. Guess whose muscles are screaming now?

While Chuck was attacking an eyesore of a bush, he stopped the trimmer, and told me, "Hey, there's a nest in here." 

"STOP!" I said. "I want it." I was afraid he'd already slashed through it with his trimmer. 

He looked at me strangely, as he handed me the nest, still intact. "You're not going to put that in the house, right?"

"I'm going to take pictures of it." I paused. "Would it be a problem if I DID put it in the house?" Hm. I hadn't considered he might object. When I taught school, I usually had a supply of nests in my classroom, and saved the especially pretty ones for decor in my family room. But that was a long time ago.

"Who knows what's inside that thing!" was his response. I sighed. I agreed to store it in the garage, and not in the house. For now.

Chuck is good to put up with me and my wacky ideas. He will do just about anything to encourage my writing, even agree to storing dirty, old bird nests in the garage. 

I'm thinking if I seal it in a Ziploc bag, any undesirable critters will not survive the ordeal, and I will be free to use the nest as I wish. Even in the house. (Let's not tell Chuck about this just yet. I need some time to let him warm up to the idea.)

I think it would be beautifully meaningful to display the bird's nest on a shelf in our home. 

An empty nest in the empty nest, if you will. 

I realize not everyone I know will appreciate the nest as decor, a-hem, but we could certainly give it a try, couldn't we?

As the realization of all of our children leaving home is weighing heavy on my mind (the youngest heads to college this fall), in these next few posts, I will grapple with my thoughts of our impending days as empty nesters. Chuck might have a harder time coming to terms with the literal empty nest than I do with the figurative one. 

I'll keep you posted.

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