Lily sent this picture today with the text, "She says, 'Look! I am holding her hand!'"
Sweet little Pepper and beautiful Maggie. I teared up when I got the photo. How I yearn to hug that little sturdy body of hers, so much like her mother's was when she was a child. It's hard. That part is so hard.
I talked to Jessie on the phone today and August wanted to say hello. We chatted for a few moments about what he was doing (eating a lollypop) and Levon chimed in to say that he, too, was eating a lollypop. Then I told August what Boppie and I had eaten for dessert last night which was vanilla ice-cream with chocolate sauce and M&M's!
There was a slight pause and then August said, "When I come stay with you again will you make that for me?"
"Yes!" I told him. "I will!"
And then, again, I could hear Levon.
"When I come stay with you will you make that for me?"
"Yes, Levon! I will make it for you, too!"
And I will. I most certainly will. But I told them, "Don't tell your mother!" And then Jessie and I laughed because she could hear us.
"Just kidding," I said to the boys. "She already knows."
It's been another incredibly beautiful day. Not one cloud, quite cool, and as clear as a cat's conscience.
Speaking of which- after I gave in and fed Jack out of Maurice's bowl yesterday he deemed me to be fit to sleep with again.
"You have done my bidding and have pleased me, human. I shall grace you with my glorious presence."
And I appreciated it.
I took a good walk today, four and a half miles. I saw the kid that walks here a lot. In fact, I think that most of his life may be spent walking and listening to his phone. I think that he has, well, differences. And possibly troubles. I waved at him and said "Good morning" and he made a movement with his hand which may have been a wave. He is very, very guarded and he never verbally replies to me. I go across the road for our safety when we cross paths and let him have the sidewalk. Once, when Jessie was here he came up to my door and knocked on it and gave me a very weak story about how his church youth group was trying to raise money to travel somewhere.
I don't remember if I gave him any money or not. But I am quite sure that his church youth group wasn't going anywhere.
I feel so sorry for him. He looks so alone.
No Man Lord has replaced his "Blood and Water" sign with one that gets right to the point.
"Christ," it says in red spray-painted letters. I see the old signs propped up behind the camper he lives in.
I tried reengineering my mask pattern this afternoon. I wanted to put pleats in the mask with the more shaped face.
I just didn't get it right. Perhaps I'll rip out the pleating part and try it again tomorrow. I got frustrated. But still, I did enjoy sitting at my sewing machine, listening to an audio book. Not "Guns, Germs, and Steel" but a different book. "An Almond For a Parrot" by Wray Delaney.
I've never read a book quite like this one. It seems to combine magical realism with erotica and quite frankly, it is holding my attention far better than the more scholarly one did.
One of the small but important joys of my life these days is tending to all of the plants I am trying to root. It's probably a green substitute for being able to love on my grandchildren but there is something so very, very satisfying about helping nature make more of itself.
I have a little table in the laundry room where I have three babies going.
The one at the top left is a knot of a species of philodendron that I want to perpetuate. The one to the right of that is one of my giant begonias and the one in front is a leaf from a plant that Kathleen gave me that I do not know the name of and which I cannot seem to identify. The mother plant has grown crazy big in one smallish pot and if it roots I can give this to one of the kids. I actually have no clue as to how it propagates and have another leaf stuck in water which is living in a window off the kitchen with a few other things.
A little Swedish Ivy that Jessie gave me, the mystery leaf, another giant begonia, my miniature sweet potato plant, a jade and some of a different philodendron that I have growing everywhere. That stuff will grow in water for years.
Can you see the little horse that I found in the yard and keep up there too?
This is a time of the little things for sure. Little plants, little chickens, the little miracle joy of finding eggs every day, little hugs and little kisses with the person I am quarantined with. Little chats with a grandchild on the phone. The tiny hummingbirds that sip from their nectar feeder all day long. It's also a time of appreciation of the truly big things. The planet that we live on and how much more than ever I am noticing the beauty of it although I thought I already did. I see more of it, I smell more of it, I think more about it which is odd in that I am spending almost all of my time on this one little part of it.
I wonder if the great sea turtles will lay more eggs this year with the dearth of humans and their confusing lights and sounds on the beach. I think of the ancient giant mothers crawling across stretches of peaceful sand under more starlit nights without us humans being in their way. I wonder if more of the babies who hatch will be able to find their way back to their mother ocean without our interference.
I hope so.
Well. We shall see.
Funny. All day I was as lighthearted as I could be but as the day has progressed I have become more and more introspective, and yet, at the same time, more and more aware of the reality of what is around me. On my walk I looked up and saw a branch right above my head and I can't really explain this but the very absolute fact of its greenness, its closeness, its aliveness almost felt like a bolt of psychedelic experience.
No. Not a flashback (I've been waiting over forty years for one of those) but a wholly novel experience, albeit one that lasted for only a second or two.
What are you experiencing? Anything deeper or more profound than usual? I'm curious to know.
Time to make supper.
It is opening up again, all over the country, without federal guidance, planning, foresight. Up to us to make our way the best we can. I think you and your kiddos will be like a pack of puppies, six feet be damned.ReplyDelete
I heard something today which rang true- when hospitals start allowing visitors back in, then it is probably time to go back out into the world. That's a decent a guideline as I've heard.Delete
I get immense pleasure too in rooting and sharing plants. I finally tried rose cuttings, I’m still amazed that some succeeded. I think I feel gratitude more profoundly than ever. May you and your loved ones all stay safe and healthy. Hoping to get back home in a couple of weeks to hug my loves.ReplyDelete
I've never successfully rooted a rose. Right now I desperately want to find a gardenia to root. This is my new quest!Delete
May you truly be able to hug your loves in a few weeks.
it is a temporary respite unfortunately. a brief pause to let the planet reemerge from our sludge. I wish it could would be permanent. but too many of us live in cement boxes, high rise apartments and condos and they have no green space of their own, no road to walk alone for miles. and it is the little things after all that make up the contentment of life.ReplyDelete
It IS the little things and I often wonder how people can live in cities where they are so crowded up next to each other with so little dirt and green to spend time on. But I think that some people truly are city people- born to want that sort of life. I wonder how they will have changed when this is over.Delete
The depth and profoundness of the Simplest of things hits me more now. I know now that I took too many things, too many Freedoms, for Granted. Now that you have to weigh the risks of going anywhere and are restricted from doing so much, it makes you more fully appreciative of EVERYTHING... every little thing.ReplyDelete
So much is going on, Mary, even as nothing is going on. My children are grumpy, hell-bent on making life decisions despite the chaos of the world and my own advice to hold off. I don't know what I'm doing anymore nor what to think. I'm tired of everyone and everything.ReplyDelete
Well, Elizabeth, that is quite understandable. There IS no break for you. You are doing what you always do but without the help you usually have. No wonder you're tired of everything and everyone. You'd have to be insane not to be.Delete
Yes, they're already seeing a turtle boom. I think this is a boon for all the sealife.ReplyDelete
Yes. But I'm sure the big commercial fishermen are still out there. The fact that there are NO cruise ships has to be good for the ocean and the reefs though. Those were funny little book covers you linked to.Delete
Four and a half miles - that was a good, long walk. Well done! Weatherwise, this has been one of the best Aprils ever in England and so it has been a joy to see the spring emerge in glorious technicolour. Tomorrow or the day after I plan to visit the ancient suburban woodland nearby where I know that the bluebells are now in flower - rather earlier than in normal years.ReplyDelete
Steve Reed's pictures have certainly shown a glorious spring as have yours. I'm looking forward to your bluebells and the report of your walk.Delete
Nothing profound for me, sadly. Driving home yesterday my vision got all wonky, I was at a stoplight thankfully, and then it passed.ReplyDelete
I had the little guy again yesterday. His mama couldn't breathe because she can't get it together and get the meds she needs. She has bad asthma and an even worse attitude when dealing with docs. I told her that she needs to get things sorted out or she'll end up in emerg.
Sweetheart, you are no doubt stressed out to the max. You have got to somehow get some relief for body and soul or YOU are gong to end up in emergency. Please try.Delete
"As clear as a cat's conscience" -- I love that!ReplyDelete
I may have told you this story, but about 25 years ago when I lived in Venice, I was walking on a wild beach at night and came across a mother sea turtle lumbering from her nest toward the waves. That part of the beach was undeveloped and there was nothing but cabbage palms, the stars and that gigantic turtle. It was truly one of the most amazing experiences of my life. I felt like I'd stepped back in time about a hundred thousand years.
I can't tell what that leaf is. Let us know when you figure it out!
Anyway, yes, it IS the little things. All the little things make up the big things.
I, too, saw a sea turtle laying once in Vero Beach but there were people all around with flashlights and although I was so glad to be able to see that, it seemed to me to be horribly intrusive for the mother to have to deal with all of us while she was doing this most primal and private thing. Your experience sounds absolutely magical. I'm glad you had it.Delete
Nope, nothing deep or profound. I think I'm just staving off fear, scared to think too much. And maybe that's just a continuation of my normal state.ReplyDelete
Perhaps a lot of us are just feeling what we usually feel only more so. That would be the human way.Delete
That is a good walk, four and a half miles! I'm not feeling very profound these days. Just trying to keep putting one foot in front of the other.ReplyDelete
I am so glad to be back to the point where four miles is not a big deal. I need to continue with that but as summer comes back, it's going to be very hard. Still, I'm going to do my best putting one foot in front of the other, as you said.Delete
Isn't it just. The little things that matter. We certainly are shown this in a big way right now.ReplyDelete
It is IMMENSELY obvious how precious all of these little things are, especially as we can take the time to see how they all link together to form the whole.Delete
I think what is striking me is the sound of the bees when I'm sitting reading. It's just lovely. And in my TV room I have a big velux window and the stars are just stunning. Oh and I bought the book on my kindle - one of life's other pleasures. Thanks for the recommendation!ReplyDelete
The sound of bees must be very, very soothing. And reassuring too! I hope you enjoy the book.Delete
Honestly, Maggie just slays me.ReplyDelete
She slays me too.Delete
I feel like I am beginning the process of finding my center again, even though I thought I *had it* already. Remove most routines, activities, distractions (some welcomed and some not so) and in-person interactions and I am left feeling stripped almost to the core. With plenty of time to find a new balance and a renewed *sight* of things I may have taken for granted or not noticed. It is a processReplyDelete
I feel much the same, Susan. You explain it well.Delete
And it is a process, isn't it?
Certainly I'm doing a bit more gardening and noticing what I see more, because I see it all the time and I am starting to notice the differences. Doing less housework, we are starting to feel like some kind of creatures in a lair, which is NOT good! so working on that one:) Cooking more, shopping is harder because we can't go to shops and have to order it all online. Calling people and trying to write them emails to help them stop feeling so lonely. MISSING THE KIDS so much, we do get to see them but from 6 feet away, painful.... and not for long. I'm telling them stories about an hour or more a day on Zoom though.ReplyDelete
Oh, I love the thought of you telling the kids a story on Zoom every night. That's beautiful!Delete
And your "lair" made me laugh. Every night I think, "Tomorrow I will do some cleaning." And then the next day I just get...too busy. Ha! Definitely taking the cooking seriously.
Take care, Jenny. It's good to hear from you.