I have a friend – an old friend of thirty plus years now – with whom I enjoy an occasional chat across a table solving all the political and theoretical problems of the world, laughing with veiled innuendo (not so veiled, actually), toasting with good scotch (or coffee as the time of day dictates), and shoving away a bad breakfast burrito without unnecessary comment (the shove says it all – ha),
who does not hesitate to call BS when I’m ranting too far off the beaten path;
who loves his new cars, and his backhoe, his bargain RV, and blasting the roadway to his historic old stone house at the top of a mountain that once a beloved of his tried to burn to the ground (no one has seen her since…hmm).
Like me, he has helped finance hundreds of homes, and has sometimes made good money doing so.
He has been an international soccer referee, and an annual mate on a sailboat in the Caribbean, paid mainly with rum and fresh lobster.
I’m glad for the occasional sit down, gossiping about who is doing what; which gorgeous woman has spurned him (her loss, I’d say).
He doesn’t judge me. He doesn’t bullshit me. He doesn’t insult me – often, ha.
Once, nine years ago, after a lunch at a favorite pub (no drinking at lunch, truly) I turned to wave tata to him, tripped on my clogs and fell face down in the crosswalk shielding my recently mastectomized chest with my arms. He screeched to a stop in his old Porsche, held up traffic, and ran to make sure I could walk to my car. I could. Don’t fuss.
He’s allergic to cats, something I’ve never understood, I suspect it’s more he doesn’t like them.
He’s a friend, and I’m glad for it.
We had coffee and discussion at a cozy diner spot up Turkey Creek yesterday.
We’ll likely touch base another time or two this coming year, now that the snow is moving out.
I hope you have a friend or two like this in your life…someone whose company you enjoy, though you cannot really say why…
Finally the sun is warming the sidewalks.
The shivering leaves are beginning to unfurl,
And the blue jay in the big pine behind me is screeching just because he can.
I do wonder at times,
how I will be able to go alone all the way;
how it will be when I see no one I’ve known in the biblical and non-biblical way.
Will I remember things? Remain vibrant?
Or fade, no longer caring, no longer relevant.
I cannot say with any certainty
that the love I have known on occasion will somehow aggregate
into one solid rock at the end of the day, but so far it seems likely.
It is NOT my tree, do you hear me?
It cracked under the weight of the snow, then crashed onto my new fence and my car, loudly.
It is YOUR tree. The tree YOU do not trim, water, or care for. It sits in the yard you do not mow, or keep clean, filled with weeds and torn papers, cigarette butts, and sometimes are car or two pulled up to the house on what passes for your lawn.
I piled the broken pieces at the edge of your yard. I have spent enough money putting up a high fence, and hauling out piles of your caca to make my house livable.
YOU clean it up! I am done with it for the day.
May 21, 2022 Spring Storm, Denver, CO
Yesterday morning I made pea protein pancakes for breaky
without background music and/or the noise of the daily news, just my budgies nibbling on millet.
I realized as I slowly broke one egg into the mixture and gently beat it with a small whisk that I was actually taking my time making breakfast. Cleaning as I went, watching the pancakes bubble on the griddle, giving them time to dry just a bit on the edge before flipping them after all the bubbles had burst. I had no schedule to keep; no need to hurriedly squeeze in breakfast between my shower and my drive somewhere, nor the urge to drop a frozen waffle into the toaster turned up high making it crispy enough to carry in one hand while locking the back door in another.
I kind of like it, being aware of how things come together without rushing them. I actually heard the egg crack, saw each ingredient meld into something entirely new.
THIS be one of those lessons to be learned while growing more, shall we say, mature. Hmm.
Never say never
Never, never, never, not ever
For shit will happen.
05/21/22 after my neighbor’s snow laden tree broke and fell on my car
Exactly 2:15 PM the wind whipped up twisting the trees, rattling the ristra outside the back door, and startled my budgie quietly snoozing on his perch after a morning of loudly chirping and tearing at the millet. So glad he is feeling at home enough to eat.
2:17 PM, the wind has stopped, all is quiet. I wonder who got riled up about what. Hmm, the Powers- That- Be should take note that it is rude to threaten havoc, only to chuckle and move on. Something like an annoying sibling who jumps out from behind the door, then just shrugs as you pick yourself up from the floor.
That’s about it for the day. I watered extensively this morning, front and back – before 10 AM, of course. I’ve learned to stop standing over the seeded soil in the back waiting for new grass to appear. It won’t, y’know, while I’m watching it. All I’ve tossed out over the last two months are beginning to appear, stretching into their tertiary leaves. I pray every day that they will grow before the squirrels realize there are bulbs, and sunflower seeds just under the surface. Little rats that they are.
The daylilies are reaching tall, and OH, I need to go plant the pumpkins and squash while I’m thinking of it…
To be continued…
CHILDREN I’VE MET IN GEORGETOWN
It is not that I hear their voices
when visiting Georgetown’s cemetery.
It is as though I see their auras,
feel their presence in ways not scary.
The boundless energy of a four year old
lying still there in her grave
has not been fully stifled.
Her essence angels save.
The baby boy under that tall pine
ever watches for his mom.
You sense his trepidation,
and back off until he is calm.
Most children in these beloved old sites
died long before their folks,
many who left for less harsh surroundings
carrying their grief beneath their cloaks.
The wind blows wickedly in those steep hills;
The air so often cold.
I imagine these little ones ‘sweet voices singing,
while their fathers searched for gold.
Praise and thanksgiving to the God of my Catholic father’s father and my Methodist mother’s mom.
The sun is warm, streaming through the back glass storm door.
The coffee is fresh and cooling as it sits near my elbow calling my name…”drink me, drink me!”
The day is mine; the grass greens and thickens, the chickadees fight the finches for a spot on the feeder while the neighbor cat eyes them from my front stoop, which she assumes is hers.
The “news” is on for company, but I’m not actually listening…who are these people to tell me what to think about what is occurring in the world? Not one of them would I know on the street to say hi…no one with whom I would share my sandwich.
It feels good – the heat from the sun, the coolness of the air, a fresh, deep breath…the stretch of the day before me.
Time to stop with the e-scribbling for the day. I finished the coffee (Nespresso Vanilla Custard Pie, mmm), so now will hit the laundry, attack the remaining black rocks piled in the front yard, and play some rockin’ music to celebrate a new month and all it promises.
Life Is Good…for sure.
Rec’d notice from mgmt yesterday:
12.5% of my production last month had errors!
“Your errors MUST stop!
12.5%! OMG! That’s an increase over the month before!
“How many files is that?”
well, okay then…
I’ll jump right on improving…