Backyard Habitat

I've seen a certain sign posted here and there in people's yards or by their driveways: it says "Backyard Wildlife Habitat." One such example is a bit of property where the house is down by the water, and the rest from there to the road is still trees and underbrush in a natural state. Another is a cute little house with a well maintained garden that must be the envy of the neighbors, with well-placed bird feeders qualifying it for the "wildlife" clause.
Another place I know used to have a strip of trees shielding the house from the road, a little extension of forest that could be considered a "wildlife habitat." Then, the people eliminated their privacy and potential wildlife habitat in exchange for a view of... the road. How ironic (and stupid) it would be, I thought rather angrily, if they cut down those nice big fir trees just to plant some dinky little shrubs or fruit trees. Well what do you know, they are now the proud owners of a deforested plot that boasts two measly saplings and...grass. You can get grass anywhere! Come on, people; trading 100-year old trees for grass, what a waste. But I digress.
My yard could qualify for a "habitat" of sorts, although I'm not sure about the wildlife part. A more accurate label would be "Natural Plant Life Reforestation Habitat." You would never know that I had everything weeded and neat two months ago. The blackberry vines I mercilessly chopped have reincarnated with a vengeance. The dandelions are thriving, along with various species of thistles (which I figure I will leave a few for the finches to eat the seed, then I will get some wildlife to go with the habitat!) reaching as high as my head and fraternizing with the peonies. There are Queen Anne's Lace stalks growing amongst the raspberries, possibly creating an affront to the neighbors as it grows several feet above the fence. I am delighted to discover ripe red wild strawberries hidden between the leaves of long-since-bloomed bulbs, and apples are beginning to grow on the trees out back. My landlord mowed the grass not too long ago, but the edges have not seen a weedeater at all this season, so tall grass waves in the breezes. If I left it all alone for a year, reforestation by natural plant life would be a definite possibility. I'm not sure the neighborhood would be impressed, though. As soon as the sun returns for more than an afternoon at a time, I will begin the process of taming the jungle and transforming it. Metamorphosis of wild plant-life habitat into quaint, tidy, unremarkable, civilized yard. At least I won't be cutting down trees to plant grass.

Pants, Professionalism, and a Return to Innocence

During a weekend in the recent past, I had the opportunity to stay at home and thus dress as casually as I wanted. I opted for a pair of green warm-up pants from one of my old gymnastics uniforms, a t-shirt and sweatshirt, and tennis shoes. This made sense since I was going for a walk/jog, after all, but it was also to escape the bondage of the pants I typically wear during the work week. Those pants have been at odds with me ever since my workouts made my legs too muscular and my waistline yet undiminished enough for them to fit correctly.
As I walked and enjoyed the ease of movement I was feeling, I remembered the unstylish but athletic wardrobe phase of my life that lasted through my first year of college. I made the transition from the gymnast lifestyle of leotards, loose clothing, and tight hair-dos to the student lifestyle, and finally to the student teaching period where we were all forbidden by our professors to wear jeans during our internships. Pressed shirts and slacks, uncomfortable shoes, and more makeup; I made every effort to dress professionally (and at least “old” enough that I couldn’t be mistaken for a high-school student), and breathed a sigh of relief when I graduated. Then I got hired by a school district, and my wardrobe expanded to include some shoes that were tolerably comfortable (and several that deceptively look comfortable but, in fact, are not), some shirts that do not require ironing, and some “nice” jeans. After struggling to maintain the “no jeans” ideology, I chose other battles and allow myself a day or two during the week to be moderately more comfortable –but still with nice shoes, of course.
Don’t get me wrong, I like to dress up every now and then, be moderately fashionable, and of course as a performing musician try to look sharp in concert black. But with summer vacation in sight, I look forward to putting away the “professional” clothes for awhile, and dressing comfortably.
I wish I could wear my warm-up pants to work, but alas, I am not the PE teacher. These pants belong to times when I feel most like myself: times when I remember the great things I used to be able to do and the feeling of getting ready for a competition in my special leotard and sweats; these are times when I feel free to be unstylish but comfortable, times when I feel like I am not trying to meet some standard or be the kind of person I must be when I teach.
Some might call this nostalgia, or longing for childhood, and in some ways it is both. However, it is also a stirring of hope mixed with loss. I have hope that I can be disciplined enough to get back to being a shape I feel comfortable with, and hope that I can find a way to be involved in the world of creative movement that I miss. I also feel loss though, a loss of some part of my identity that gets masked in professional clothes and behavior, a part that, like Peter Pan, refuses to grow up. You see, even though I grow older, I don’t forget how it feels to do a back-flip. I don’t forget the thrill of defying the average, the status quo. I do not feel at home in an average waistline, an average professional wardrobe, and an average workout on the treadmill. Perhaps this makes me a rebel, or super self-conscious (or overly analytical, which I admit), but I wish I didn’t have to sacrifice that part of my identity in order to fit into the world of working adults.
This reminds me of a song, “Return to Innocence,” (by Enigma) that I once did a dance/tumbling routine to a long time ago. I like the song, and despite its New Age philosophy overtones, I find that it holds some truth for me. Even though this may only be a pair of comfortable warm-up pants, nevertheless, they urge me to return in memory to that time of innocence, to remember what it feels like to be myself, and to then let that creative and carefree energy spill over into the ordinary.