Butterflies (are Free to Fly)*

A week or so ago I was trompling through the forest with trusty T-Dog.

Not feeling great about things.
Too far into my head.
Ignoring everything around me.
Staring at the ground.

Then I felt a fluttering. 🦋 Felt it more than I saw it.  Soft air very close to my face.
It drew my eyes upward, as if my head was being given a gentle tug on a thread.

The monarch was oh so near. It settled on a branch. And waited. Patiently. While I brought out my phone. To take a photo. And then moved closer to it. To take more photos. It waited. Patiently.🦋

I ascribed all sorts of portent to it. To me, it was Mom saying 'Everything's all right. I'm gone but I'm not. You can still find me when you need me."

Melodramatic, fersure.

Yet I took the photos.🦋 Posted one to Instagram and thought to myself "That was nice. I needed that."

I figured that was the end of it.

Four days later, I was attending the girl's university graduation in Kelowna. Definitely some emotion and anxiety, as I tried to make sure we were all there, dressed and ready, and on time for the early morning event (not least because the husband had fallen very ill and couldn't make it to the ceremony with us.) More anxiety as I realized I wouldn't get the perfect 'aisle' photo that I'd planned. Even more anxiety as we tried to get all the right pictures with all the necessary groups of people afterwards.

I was a stress-ball as we walked back to the car from the event. Too many people. Too much uncertainty. Just too much.

But then I saw her. 🦋 As we reached the parking lot.
The monarch. Telling me it was all ok.
Honestly, I almost cried. And thought to myself "That was nice. I needed that."

If it had ended there, I probably wouldn't be writing this post. But I'm writing this post (hint hint.)

Two days after that, we were attending the boy's high school graduation.  It started with a lovely garden party in the backyard of a friend's house before we went downtown for the grad dinner. Probably 50 kids and their parents in attendance at the house. We knew some of them, met some others and didn't know the rest. Lots of people.

Gorgeous location. Especially as the sun broke through and lit up the yard. Smiling. Laughing. Exuberance. Youth.

And even there, I saw her. As I watched my son joking with friends.
The monarch. 🦋 Directly overhead. Soft air very close to my face.

Telling me that it was all good.
The kids are moving forward. 🦋
🦋 Things are changing.
Which is something to treasure, not regret.




*Swiped the title from Elton John's 'Someone Saved My Life Tonight' (which I am old enough to remember)

Do You 'Scarve'?

I have become a woman who 'scarves'.

Not to be confused with a woman who scarfs. Although I also do that. Which is, perhaps, one reason why I am a woman who now scarves.

So what is this scarving thing, exactly?  I'd seen it happen to others. Females who'd started wearing puffy colourful lengths of cloth wound around their neck, dripped and draped over their decolletage.

I remember wondering 'Hmmm, that seems to be a new look for her... I wonder what prompted that new look... I wonder where she gets those scarves... I wonder how much they cost.'

I was mildly intrigued, to be sure, but more as an observer rather than a participant (story of my life, TBH)

Until... I wanted to be scarved.

I wanted a nice bright red scarf. For International Women's Day. For solidarity.

But I wasn't sure how to procure such a thing. Many options raced through my mind. Many forays (internet and bricks-and-mortar) made unsuccessfully.

Nevertheless I persisted... and eventually managed to find a budget shop in the local mall selling cheesy nylon scarves as 'pashminas' (a total disgrace to a proper pashmina, of course.)  But they did have a red one. And now I really needed one. So I paid my $5 to the indifferent cashier and walked away with my treasure.

• I wound it around my neck. 
• I draped it over my decolletage. 
• I dripped it over my expanding middle. 

And I had my 'Aha' moment. Scarves can be a wonderful thing for the wearer.  It's like an invisibility cloak. It can hide neck wattles... lizard skin on the breastbone... ponderous, saggy bits... and all the lumpy stuff below*.

That cheap red scarf immediately became a cornerstone of my wardrobe. Then I found a nice blue patterned one that I'd been given a few years before but had relegated to a side drawer. In a heartbeat, it became much more valuable. I embraced scarving. And now:

• Every outfit is dressed with a voluminous scarf. 
• I feel naked without it. 
• It is the answer for all of my middle-aged body problems. 

Mind you, as time has passed, I am starting to think it's not a cure but a crutch. But I'm not quite ready to give up my scarving and the invisibility that I think it provides.  

So I'll ponder it for a bit longer. I'll wish I didn't feel the need to 'scarve'. I'll promise to moisturize, eat less and exercise more. 

T-Dog showing a fabulous drape

But in the meantime, if you know of a place that sells great big scarves, let me know. 

*Note to reader: Although this is what motivates my personal scarving, this won't be true for all scarvers. Many are simply fashionable people - those are the ones who actually know how to artfully drape a scarf, instead of just bundling it in a mess around their shoulders (comme moi).