In my old blog, Gratitools, I posted an entry about robins sometime in March. Around that time, I became aware that robins were crossing my path at what seemed to be every turn. From my yard to the parking lot of the mall, they seem to be everywhere. Once, in Pittsburgh, I went for a run and lost count at 30. When I needed a lamp for my home office I went to HomeGoods and it seemed right somehow to purchase the one with the robin on the stem, even though it was broken. Robins, robins, everywhere.


Before the diagnosis, all of this robin business reminded me of the day that my divorce was final. Have you ever woken up from a night's sleep and had song lyrics or a phrase in your head? On that particular morning, I woke up with a stanza from Emily Dickinson's poem, "Hope," on my lips. It was the one that says, "Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul. And sings the tune without the words and never stops at all."


It was weird because though I am a fan of poetry, I'm pretty neutral about Emily Dickinson. Further, I don't really remember reading, studying, or considering that poem at any length. For what it's worth now, I really like this poem and I welcomed it's presense on that dark morning in March. It felt like a good omen that my kids and I were on the right path.


I know that there might be scientific reasons for why I see robins everywhere. Reasonably, it could be the mild winter we had. It could be lots of other things, too. But because of the frequency with which I have been encountering them, I googled, "robins as an animal totem," and here is what I came up with:




A Robin symbolizes new growth in all areas of your life. 
Believe in yourself as you move forward. 
Obstacles will fall by the wayside if you do and confrontations will be for show only. This totem gives you the ability to will new growth into your life.


I know. It's a little woo-woo. But it's a little bit interesting, no? Then, last weekend, I noticed a beautiful nest perched atop my hanging impatiens on the front porch. The nest itself is amazing. When you close your eyes and picture a bird's nest, this is exactly what it looks like; perfectly symmetrical and scooped out on the inside and pleasantly rough and rustic on the outside. The nest was empty and I figured that whatever bird has constructed this architechtural masterpiece has decided that our front porch is too heavily trafficked to nurse little ones to life. Which, given how much we enjoy our porch in summer, would be a reasonable conclusion. But then, 3 days later, my son noticed 4 perfect green eggs in the nest. So we moved our business to the other side of the porch and since then, this fat mother robin, my kids, and I have been cohabiting peacefully.


 I am resisting the urge to go downtown for some police tape to rope off that half of the porch but I've been told by my teenager that this is an extreme response. The author, Dawn Markova, has observed, "I don't think anyone finds joy. Rather, we cultivate it by searching for the preciousness of small things, the ordinary miracles that strengthen our hearts so we can keep them open to what is most difficult."


Tomorrow, I have an appointment with my own personal sledgehammer. I've have enough experience now to dread it with every cell in my body. I've had a whole bunch of good days here where I actually feel like myself, more or less. It's hard to willingly sign up for about a week of what feels like the most unpleasant metabolic roller coaster ride. But the presence of this nest, of this nurturing parent right here on my front porch has strengthened my heart, somehow, and I am most grateful. I will post the arrival of our new residents-- I googled that too and it will be in about 10 days. Can't wait.