“Enter when you will, take what you need, leave something of yourself when you go”
I have a friend I met over a bottle of scotch in a Brandywine Valley bed & breakfast some odd years ago who travels constantly and widely, sending me bits and pieces of the world as he goes. Each picture contains a sense of mystery, or surprising humor, and/or most likely the bicycle he rode in on.
I forget where he said he shot this wide planked shack. It is intriguing, don’t you agree? The sun and scattered leaves promise it is a bright, brisk day, yet, I wonder what musty odor fills your nose when you poke your head through the door, what scurrying varmint lives in the corners, what fingers grab your ankle once you cross the threshold and the heavy door slowly shuts out the light, the long, strong boards slide through the door handle locking you inside…
… you go first…I am right behind you…
They have been saying it will snow for days now
But there is that beautiful, exquisite, delicious, enveloping quiet
before the day begins and chores and trips to the library begin.
I sold my garden in August, 2019. I have missed it.
It was a small, suburban garden across a corner of the front lawn. Nothing much; but I had built it up over twenty years to automatically die back in the fall only to triumphantly return with explosions of tulips and poppies and coreopsis, irises, peonies, and fragrant purple Angel Face roses. And daisies. And daylilies. And hollyhocks later in the summer thanks to the gift of seeds from a dear friend’s garden.
Audrey Hepburn is quoted as saying, “He who plants a garden believes in tomorrow.” Were I still living in the little house that sat on the lot with my garden, I would, this morning, be up early with my cup of coffee peering at the dead ground; searching for the tiniest tips of spring bulbs proving yet again that life cycles back. The woman who bought my garden, killed it. Covered it with black plastic and dead looking mulch. Now there is only the house, and it looks plain, and sad; suburban. To each her own, I guess, maybe she is allergic, but I like to think, because I know it will happen, that every year some resistant root will swell and tear through the plastic to make a run at claiming its right to bloom where it was planted. You cannot truly kill a garden, Missy <heh heh heh>.
As for me this morning, I found the tiniest green sprouts in the pots that line my balcony. Poppies! I tossed out the seeds earlier this year after a quick snow. And I am watching for the tulips buried in the potting soil to break through the surface. And then, when it’s warmer, I shall plant new daisies, and delphinium, and cosmos, and a few other perrennials, and a couple herbs in Anne’s honor, maybe even some hollyhocks, all of which will fill their spaces, die back in the fall, and rise again next year. The HOA has not idea I’ve started a new garden without permission.
I believe in the future!
one tiny rainbow
JOY breaking and entering!
better than pancakes
But I brought it out during the day
whenever I needed a smile.
A one inch rainbow
Joy – breaking and entering
My whole day is made.
My mother stopped in to visit just now. Yes, yes…I know she died in 2011, but there is no other way to explain why I suddenly felt the need to polish the top and front of my washing machine…I mean, only Mom did that… probably everyday…and I was just walking by, not in cleaning mode…I just had a thought that it wouldn’t take much time to just do it…and, yes, Ma, I do feel better now it is done. and yes, I know I should polish the stove next…after my shower, okay?
I studied Science of Mind principles for fourteen years of my life. Early on we spent time replacing commonly used words with other similar words..y’know, to change your thinking. For instance, I stopped using the word obey, replacing it with comply. Compliance seemed to imply consent, choice. Obedience implied no choice, and a mean s.o.b. I chose to forget the word obedience. Long time ago…
If you listen to this new age of politicians and their minions, you will hear word swapping daily… We no longer have hunger in our country, we have food insecurity. We no longer strive for equality, we desire equity. We call the legal right to abortion reproductive health care. There are other examples. I am making a list. It is interesting to hear the subtleties of attempts at world wide mind control. It is frightening to see them take hold.
Change your words, change your life…and often you cheapen it.
LORD, HEAR MY PLEA!
I just want a blessed Cheeseburger and fries and a side salad with bleu cheese dressing and a fountain drink with only a little ice, or maybe a Moscow mule, or maybe a hot chocolate with peppermint Schnapps brought to my table by someone I’ll be more than happy to tip…and then I’ll consider dessert, yes, I’ll have that… and we friends will sit talking away while the cook cooks it, and we’ll listen and maybe even sing along with the moldy old Motown songs playing the background… and laugh at stupid jokes…Just a burger served to me …maybe sauteed mushrooms, a sour pickle, a red onion slice… Yes, Yes, I have all those ingredients in my fridge here at home…but I don’t wanna cook… wahhhh… I want someone to distract me…and no, I don’t want to go to someone’s house, I want to go OUT…to a RESTAURANT where everybody knows my face, if not my name.
So, I think, McDonalds or Arbys…but noooooo, the lines are 15 cars long…. eeeeerrgggh
and, Lord, I don’t want to go to King Soopers to see that blessed beggar who stands at the stop light wearing his warm down jacket and new boots, and holding a sign saying times are hard, anything would help, flashing me a smile and a peace sign every blasted time he’s there…or his wife, and their baby in its stroller stand out there… I figure they get $20/hour standing out there for 8 hours, they’re making over $40,000 a year…for standing there looking pathetic… gad… guilt pays those who milk it… Get that baby inside someplace warm!
And THEN I pull into my garage and my neighbor lady is just trying to take out her trash, and some jackass who probably doesn’t even live here or pay HOA fees that cover our trash pick up brought the flipping box for his new 51 inch television and plopped it in front of our giant trash bin, blocking our reach…so we pushed that box out of the way, only to find that the bugger had filled our trash bin, which was emptied Friday afternoon, to the top so that there was nowhere for her to put her trash bag except on the ground where surely the wretched squirrels will tear into it and have a feast, strewing what they don’t like on the ground for other critters to sort through…right next to my garage door… mmm hmmm
So, Lord, how is YOUR four hundred fifty thousandth day of pandemic isolation? What’s that? You’re keeping busy? Well, just don’t tell me to get over it and hold my head up and dream big and remember the starving children in China… I don’t wanna just now…
I’ve read the words of the winners of this year’s Poetry Contest,
the words that reaped $3,000 in winnings for first prize.
Yeah, mine would likely never win,
Certainly not nearly as obtuse or just plain weird enough.
I like my poetry as I like my burgers,
grilled, salted, a little cheese, with no gold leaf and truffle oil.
It is not cold yet, but the wind is up, and the grey sky has that chilled, streaked, snow-is-on-its-way look about it. And it is ever so quiet; as though most everyone and everything is still asleep and unaware, unperturbed, and comfortable in their beds.
Imagine how quiet it must have been while Princess Aurora and her minions slept and the briar surrounding the castle grew and grew and tangled itself into an impenetrable shield. I bet the old hag who condemned them all for slighting her had given no thought to the fact that the prison she created was also a safe haven; that the dreamless sleep of all within preserved their confidence and courage so that when and if they awoke, they would not be hindered by lingering nightmares. All would simply yawn deeply and stretch their arms wide, walk out the kinks in their hips and knees, and get back to it, not remembering, or even realizing, they’d slept one hundred years.
They say her name was Malificent. I prefer ugly hag, or old hag, or simply “hag” with no flourishes. Over the years they have stretched her tall and graceful, and oh, so sympathetic. Even her twisted horns exhibit elegance. They insist we must embrace her, she was damaged you see… she could not help herself, until her heart filled with love, and that love set her free, and she was restored, and all the world healed, and bloomed and prospered; and the birds sang, and chipmunks giggled and, well, you know…the magic thing.
I call foul…
11/17/2020 first entry
Ahh, a cool morning…
Yesterday’s killing heat gone.
Sweet cantalope for breakfast.
8/22/20 7:00 AM
I went to work all those forty three years ago to feed myself, to have shelter – the proverbial roof over my head- so when my daughter’s father was willing to bring her (I had no car at first) she (we) had a place to sleep and play together, and we had neighbors to talk with down the street… neighbors who smiled when she was with me (and who later told me how they disapproved of divorced mothers who lived without their children during the week. Newsflash, I disapproved, too).
We drew chalk hopscotches on the sidewalk, and pulled our wagon to the grocery store, and she swore, at age 5, that once she learned to ride her bike she would never walk again – that has been mostly true most of these past forty years HA.
Work became my refuge, my identity – since Mom was not to be my daily calling. Over time you hardly notice what you become, who you are, why you do the things you do…you simply get on with it, shut out the comments, learn to not take things personally mostly because you choose not to hear them –
I worked and laughed and partied and loved and for the most part continued on alone – not good with people suggesting what I should do – not an ideal candidate for anyone looking to start a life with a family – I discovered that only in hindsight after no one really wanted me for much. I was good for maybe a jolly steak dinner, but no slow morning with coffee and the Sunday paper shared with a comfortable old shoe beloved.
I worked…I enjoyed it…it fulfilled me…it defined me…it saved me…
But now I am retired.
I have time and days and weeks of silent hours to think. I have shaken the desperate need to be busy, busy, busy. Covid isolation has helped doing away with that. And so I have thought, and thought, and thought myself back to when I was eighteen and nineteen, when I truly believed I owned the world. Nothing was impossible. I have remembered me, then. Me, then. ME, then.
I have been amazed at how slowly but surely “ME, then” dissolved. How self doubt crept in, how fear and shame slapped me into a new shape, how I struggled against accepting my lot, then accepted it, but then ran from it – recklessly, foolishly, maniacally, blindly leaving everything behind- screaming, crying, pounding my head and hands on the pink counter tops in that first small apartment until I tired and slept and began again where I, “ME,” had left off… determined to make the “best” of things as they were.
And now, after all these years I live again in small apartment, with tired cupboards and worn carpet. No set work, no set schedule, though just this week I have set the alarm for six A.M. to enjoy the coolness of the morning, and to start planning the day for something.
The marriages, the relationships, the houses, the few vacations, the successes, the failures have no importance. It is what it was, or is, as they say. I am ready to get to know “ME, now..”.und so weiter.