I've mentioned before that my friend Lynn was a world-class gift giver. She never had much money to spend on gifts but years and decades after she gave me certain presents I still have them, cherish them, use them. The tiny vase the rose is in above is actually the body of a salt shaker that she gave me. The screw-on top is made of silver and is dented and tarnished with age. I have kept it for years on a vanity I have. The round shape of the little glass vessel pleases me no end and two days ago, when Mr. Moon brought me a tightly closed rose bud from the garden I took the top off the shaker, placed it carefully where I would find it, filled the glass part with water and put the rose bud in it. This morning it opened it's soft petals and there is nothing about the flower, the vase, which does not make me happy.
Oh, what a day. No, not in the great sense or in the tragic or anxious sense. Just... a day of being sick of myself. How many crosswords can one do before one has to admit she may have a problem? Well, of course I don't think I have a problem (with crosswords, at least) but I know that I do use doing them as a way to pass the time which would be so much better spent doing something constructive like cleaning or learning to paint or writing letters or even reading a good book.
But no. It's so easy just to sit there and stare at the computer screen and experience the tiny satisfaction of finding the right word or to despair at not finding the right word. It struck me today as I was doing the millionth load of laundry that I've done in my life that I may well not have that many years left to live and yet- here I am, wasting whatever precious time I do have with these ridiculous pastimes, these never-ending chores and meaningless activities.
And yet- I have no motivation to change my ways.
I actually did clean and mop the kitchen and bathroom floors today. I moved everything out of the way that could be moved and swept twice and then mopped twice. But for once, even the smell of Fabuloso and white vinegar doesn't make me feel anything except acknowledgement that by this time tomorrow, those floors will be dirty again.
I researched the freezing of green beans and by "research" I mean to say that I looked at a few web sites which claimed that not blanching and then ice-bathing the beans before freezing results in a better bean when it comes time to thaw them and eat them.
Because I am a sloth I chose to accept that theory and snapped three quarts worth of my rattlesnake beans, put them in freezer bags, sealed them and put them in the freezer.
Somehow this is not anywhere near as satisfying as canning. Ziplocks simply do not have the same charm and cachet as mason or ball jars. But I'd need a pressure canner to process green beans without a brine and I do want to save some for future meals.
I saw both Dottie and Darla off the nest today. They were getting a quick bite and a sip so I went out to see what exactly they're sitting on. Dottie is sitting on ONE egg and Darla has two underneath her. This is ridiculous. I think I heard Fancy Pants trying to crow this morning. Someone was but of course, it could have been Susie.
I just wrote a very sad and rather angry paragraph about Lynn's last years but I've deleted it. There's no purpose in that. She was a beautiful soul and she's gone now. I use the pretty little French glass bowls she gave me every day of my life. The saltshaker brings me joy. My memories of her bring me joy as well as deep sadness.
Perhaps it's just a day to let myself feel sad.
There's a still life from last night.
Here's a picture of the tiny new leaves which have appeared in the pot where I've kept three rooted giant begonias for months.
Life. As Kurt Vonnegut said, there is just no stopping it.
It's good to think about that. And to remember that Lynn would probably have given anything to be able to grow old doing laundry and crosswords.
Hang in there, y'all. Do what you need to do to keep living for the years that you have been given.
I will too.