Wednesday, April 1, 2015

Forgive Me. Spring Brings Out The Rhymes As Well As The Flowers

It's been a quiet day and I have been lazy. I went to the grocery store and bought some salmon to cook for myself and some grapes for Elvis. Grapes are the chicken's favorite food and I thought that if I cut them up, perhaps they would interest him a bit.

I brought my groceries in and cut up grapes and went all over the yard, looking for the old man, holding the blue dish of cut green grapes in my hand. I could not find him and so took a nap, sleeping for over an hour in the black depths of unconsciousness. I got up and had some coffee, drove down to Bug's who is out of town, visiting his children, to tend his animals: the dogs, the cats, the goldfish. It is so quiet there and I see Kathleen's...what? What is the word I want here? Not her presence. I don't feel her presence there so much. I think she was such an evolved spirit that she took off quickly into whatever realm comes next. But her influence, for sure. The plants, the beautiful spaces Bug carved out for her when they rebuilt the house on the land which she had such plans for.
Today I stole (yes, Bug! I stole! please forgive me) six tiny azalea sproutlings she'd brought over from her old house. When she trimmed her plants, she could not bear to just let the trimmings die but stuck them in dirt or water to see if they would root and because she had green magic, they did.

I brought them home and have stuck them in the dirt here and then watered them. I hope they grow. This would be a goodness, a gift from that woman.



I have the saddies tonight, as my friend Sue used to say. Sue died in 1995 and I miss her still so much. I am suffering from the sadness malady perhaps because I am thinking of Sue and of Kathleen and of my friend Lynn. Three such important women in my life who died way too early, leaving me to wonder why I am still here and they are not. And of course, because of Elvis.

video

I finally found him, hiding in the pump house. He is shy of me now, which he has never been and I know it's because of us grabbing him and trying to clear his craw, his crop. And yet- we had to do it. But. Still.

Thoughts of death in the fall and winter are normal and are natural and we all feel that, I think, as plants and animals go into a resting phase, sometimes seeming to disappear entirely.
I do not think it is unnatural to feel them in the spring, either, though. As life re-emerges in such colorful force, it is, for me at least, the hovering spirit of those who will not be coming back which I think of, even as I celebrate the life that does. I do not need reminders of these loved ones. But again, for me, it is perfectly fitting to have plants that stand in for them in our minds, at least.

After Sue died, I planted a Christmas cedar tree from a pot on our property in Apalachicola. It is now huge and every time I see it, I think of it as a small miracle. I literally did nothing but dig a hole, stick it in, and leave. I remember that day so well. I was drunk on death's aftermath, and I drove down to the coast that day with my husband and another friend and all of us had been with Sue when she died so incredibly gracefully a month before. We had all been holding her. All had been loving her. I remember riding in the backseat, looking at both of these men who had the biggest hands I'd ever seen and laughing a bit to myself that Sue had somehow chosen these men-with-big-hands to hold her unto death.
And there is that tree. And I remember.

While that little video of Elvis was downloading, I went out and picked roses from a bush that the people who lived here before us planted as a tribute to a friend of theirs who died. When we bought the place, the man told me that no matter what we did, it would continue to live, and so it has. The most fragile white roses bloom on it and I knew that man slightly. He was a strong and loving force in the community,  an early victim of AIDS. What I remember about him was his laugh which was without restraint, and joyful.


I picked the last camellia of the season, I think. I put it too, in a vase on the hallway altar table.


It represents no one's death. It is just beauty, it was my joy in winter, that camellia. The joy of it bleeding into spring. 

My eyes are seeping, weeping, and it's quite okay. In fact, I am so grateful to have this time by myself to think these thoughts, to have these feelings, to be able to cry these tears without anyone having to worry about me, even my husband. He and I worry overmuch about each other and sometimes, when he is gone, I can feel more fully what it is I need to feel without having to be concerned that he will think that something is wrong. 

Nothing is wrong. I am just thinking of those I have loved. Of those I do love. Of how much I appreciate this life I've lived. And as I have so often said, sometimes the heart overfills and needs to leak out the eyes. 

Spring is a good time to let that happen. 

It's okay to cry
It's okay to weep
It's okay to shed
It's okay to keep
It's okay to plant
It's okay to weed
The dying plant produces seed
The dirt receives
The rain does fall
The sun does shine
Upon it all
The leaves come forth
The flowers too
I think of them
I think of you
The ones I know
The ones I knew
My darling Lynn, Kathleen and Sue.

Love...Ms. Moon


28 comments:

  1. Andrew-Welcome anytime. Thank you.

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  2. No words. Only tears.

    -invisigal

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  3. Your words made me cry. I have been having such a time of it for so long and your words lifted me. Thank you.

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  4. I think you should publish that poem.

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  5. Invisigal- It's okay. Cry. We all need to sometimes.

    Birdie- I think of you far more often than you can probably imagine. I want peace for you. I want contentment.

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  6. life is. for humans and chickens and roosters. poor Elvis. did he get any of the grapes?

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  7. Just for info the link to your ebook from the sidebar photo is not working as it should, but I found it on amazon so maybe change the link to that amazon page?

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  8. Ellen Abbott- I'm not sure. I left him a bowl before that video which was all gone but whether he ate it or a hen did, I do not know.

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  9. Andrew- Really? I haven't checked that link in forever. I will try to take care of it.
    Thank you.

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  10. "Be at peace, old man, you are loved."

    xoxoxo to you, Mrs. Moon. I'm so glad I found your blog way back when. It was Elizabeth that connected us.

    Your writing has brought me a lot of peace.
    Thank you.

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  11. Denise- Your words broke the damn dam open again and I'm crying. Which is good. Thank you.

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  12. OK, tears again. I think of you as well, dear one. I think of you so often. With my mom gone the Universe has provided me with some beautiful women and you are one of them. I send you so many blessings.

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  13. I miss them too. I miss Lloyd terribly.

    Thanks for the photos and the way you talk about home. Helps me feel not so far away...
    xo Min

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  14. What a lovely poem. Thank you.

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  15. Poor Elvis. I'm still hoping.

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  16. Such beautiful tributes. The trees, the words...

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  17. Just sitting with you... x

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  18. Beautiful words, beautiful thoughts.

    I was gripped with a sudden melancholy yesterday and found myself thinking of people I love that have passed on, which seemed strange on such a lovely spring day. As you said, thoughts of death seem natural in the fall and winter, but not in April when life is bursting forth all around us.

    You put it all into words much better than I could have. Thank you.

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  19. We got another dump of snow so I'm feeling melancholy. I love it when you talk about old friends. It makes me wonder if I'm living the sort of life that people will miss me like that after I'm gone.
    Sigh.

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  20. Birdie- Because my mother was never very good at mothering me, I have made very close relationships with women and we mother each other. I think this is a very good thing. I am humbled that you think of me as a beautiful woman. Thank you and for all the blessings you send my way.

    Mindy- Such special, special women. And Lloyd is still right here.

    Juancho- Thank you, sweet man.

    Angella- I was thinking of you very much when I wrote this.

    Jenny_o- Well, they say where there is life, there is hope. He is alive.

    Jo- They are all alive in my heart.

    Mwa- Thank you, sweetie.

    Jennifer- Not everything is reborn in Spring, is it? Thank you for your kind words.

    Heartinhand- I feel certain you are.

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  21. Oh Mary, how sweet to hear your beautiful voice speaking so softly and gently to your Elvis. If chickens know these things, he knows. Sending love.

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  22. Mary, this was an incredibly beautiful post. The poem, the whole thing should be published.

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  23. I forgive you for taking the flowers... :-) I'm so looking forward to getting home and my little slice of paradise. Thank you for sharing and making sure the kids are ok. Bug

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  24. Lulumarie- I just hope with all of my heart that he knows how beloved he's been. Or at least, a little bit of that. I don't know what roosters think but maybe love is that strong.

    Joanne- It was! Right here on blogger. And I am happy with that. Because of people like you.

    Bug- Thank you for your forgiveness. I did not think you would mind. I watered them again today. I thought of both you AND Kathleen. It was a sweet, small task.

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  25. I understand the sadness feelings. Right now, I am okay. But the sad feelings can come on me at any time. Glad that Elvis is okay.

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  26. I think you're right that the plenty of spring, the exuberance, naturally calls to mind the energies of all the people and creatures we've known and loved. I love your poem.

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Tell me, sweeties. Tell me what you think.