what I wonder as I wander
Sometimes I want to talk to someone who knows my name.
Sometimes I miss having a family.
Sometimes I’d like to know how people I (used to) know are doing, but I’d like even more for someone to wonder how I’m doing.
Sometimes I wonder what I would talk about if anyone was genuinely interested in my answers to their questions.
Sometimes I wish I knew people who asked interesting questions.
Sometimes I wonder where all the curious-about-the-world people are hiding.
Sometimes I wonder what “belonging” feels like.
Sometimes I wish I received snail mail that wasn’t bills, or other requests for money.
Sometimes I wonder how I could send myself postcards and surprise myself with what they’d say.
Sometimes I wish I could fly.
Sometimes I wonder how I can have so many friends who are writers, but somehow none of them like my writing.
Sometimes I wish the first things said about me weren’t that I’m kind and cheerful.
Sometimes I wonder if my solos in middle school were actually any good.
Sometimes I wonder if my father recalls, with any fondness, eating cherry donuts with me at Mr. Donut in downtown Glen Ellyn.
Sometimes I wonder if 4th grade me insisting that Flagstaff really was the capital of Arizona (and being correct) was the beginning of the end of my relationship with my father.
Sometimes I wonder if I ever lived in New Mexico.
Sometimes I wonder if my parents are really my parents.
Sometimes I imagine what ears that swivel would feel like.
Sometimes I think I should have always lived in a treehouse.
Sometimes I wonder if everyone in the world is depressed, or does it just seem that way.
Sometimes I wonder what DW’s honorary Ph.D. might be in, and wish I could hear that story.
Sometimes I wonder if JF really is anything like me.
Sometimes I wonder if KW ever was a Chaotic trickster figure, or was that just wishful thinking.
Sometimes I remember how it felt to wade in the DuPage River.
Sometimes I’ve imagined myself wading in the Gunpowder River.
Sometimes I’ve imagined dropping from the bridge to Chincoteague NWR, and floating away into the Atlantic Ocean.
Sometimes I want to return to Lake Superior.
Sometimes I think about the lizard that captivated 3-year old me at the Grand Canyon.
Sometimes I wonder if I’ve ever seen a Gila monster.
Sometimes I miss the scorpion figure I used to carry on my camera bag.
Sometimes I wonder if the wasp I see drinking water in the garden is always the same one.
Sometimes I wonder how the lilac bush in the backyard of our old house in Indianapolis is doing.
Sometimes I miss honeysuckle, Queen Anne’s Lace, and chicory flowers.
Sometimes I wish I had a teakettle.
Sometimes I wonder why no one (besides Spouse) is ever pleased — only discomfited — to hear how much I care about them.
Sometimes I wish I could eat more of Aunt Eileen’s kolaches.
Sometimes I can almost taste Gramma’s oatmeal-chocolate chip cookies.
Sometimes I wonder if it’s worth the bother of ever baking again, now that I avoid gluten.
Sometimes I miss having someone who loves me cook foods I like for me.
Sometimes I miss pancakes.
Sometimes I think about Swedish pancakes with lingonberries at that restaurant in Gatlinburg.
Sometimes I think about discovering salamanders in the Smokies, and showing them to Spouse.
Sometimes I remember running for my life when the fire chased me.
Sometimes I remember driving the ATV, and setting the cattails alight.
Sometimes I miss the Indiana Dunes.
Sometimes I think about slime molds.
Sometimes I wonder if anyone, ever, had a crush on me.
Sometimes I wonder if TH knew who I was, when he talked my ear off at the class reunion.
Sometimes I wonder if Tony or Adam have ever thought about me again.
Sometimes I wonder why the versions of people that I imagine as the people I know are (almost) always 99x more interesting than the real people seem to be.
Sometimes I regret interviewing LW, even though I did a really good job, because, truly, who cares that the footage exists.
Sometimes I remember eating pie with LW at the luncheon after MM’s funeral, 2 weeks after my wedding.
Sometimes I think about Uncle Frank Bernard.
Sometimes I think about 30-something Bucky propositioning 18-year old me at his father’s funeral.
Sometimes I remember talking to my sister at JB’s wedding, and wishing I’d walked away sooner.
Sometimes I remember my mother making my moral choices into entertainment at Aunt Annie’s funeral.
Sometimes I wonder how Eric’s ex-wife is doing. She seemed like a nice girl.
Sometimes I ask Spouse if anyone’s heard from Belinda — usually he doesn’t know.
Sometimes I wish Spouse would remember that I don’t like red roses.
Sometimes I miss birthday cake.
Sometimes I remember riding the elephant that didn’t like to be touched, and feeling sad on her behalf.
Sometimes I remember snuggling with the guinea pig Cristie was pet-sitting 20 years ago.
Sometimes I still can’t believe that PW isn’t still in the world somewhere (because he should be).
Sometimes I think about the Russian olive, the paper birch, and the Japanese maple.
Sometimes I think about the catalpa in the IUPUI parking lot. And the one by the canal.
Sometimes I think about the chipmunk I’d visit in the courtyard of IGCN.
Sometimes I think about the 3 foxes I saw near the Wrigley plant on my walk that night. Magical.
Sometimes I wonder why I stopped seeing large orb weaving spiderwebs in the hedges.
Sometimes I deeply regret it took me so long to get over my terror of spiders.
Sometimes I think about Cressida; and Mozart’s pet starling.
Sometimes I wish I knew what to do with my life.
Sometimes I remember ecstatic experiences at Portland Arch.
Sometimes I remember Turkey Run.
Sometimes I wonder if saying ‘I am my watershed’, as I do, maybe isn’t a metaphor.