Can you believe it is Pink Perfection season again already?
I had no idea. I went out this morning to take a picture of the blooming sasanqua
and found that blushing baby above which had been busy being born without me even knowing it. I have a few of the blooms on both of the two Pink Perfection bushes I have. I plucked one of them and brought it in. While I was in the garden today I also picked some of the volunteer zinnia blossoms and now I have roses, zinnias, and a camellia in vases in my house.
This is the time of the borderland between summer, fall, and winter. At least in terms of blooming flowers. And this is what my Japanese maple looked like in the sun.
This is the time of the borderland between summer, fall, and winter. At least in terms of blooming flowers. And this is what my Japanese maple looked like in the sun.
It has gotten so big in the years we've been here. Seventeen years, to be exact. The longest by five years of anywhere I've ever lived. And oh, how the time has flown, how many changes have come about. Sometimes I can't bear to think of how quickly these years have passed and I suppose I could almost ignore that if I never looked in the mirror, if I didn't have a twelve-year old grandson who was not even a gleam in his mother's eyes when we moved here. She was still in high school then.
I'm struggling a bit right now with the passage of time and how quickly it's going. Sometimes I think that I am simply waiting patiently until my time is over. I am not proud of this. I am not happy about it. I think of the line "my one wild and precious life" and I google it only to discover something I probably already knew which is that it comes from a poem by Mary Oliver and I am disheartened to think of all of the poetry I have not read, all of the books, hell- all of the New Yorkers on my table!
I know this is a horrible attitude but I can't tell you how often I think of doing something, starting something, and thinking, "What's the point?" I feel too old to begin anything new, too old a dog to learn new tricks, too tired to throw out challenges to the universe, to myself.
And I do another crossword. Patch another garment old garment so I don't have to buy a new one. Bake another loaf of bread. Sweep the same floors over and over. Ignore the places my house needs mending, tending. And even as I have these thoughts, I cling to the known, the well-worn routine, the printed-in-stone outline that I feel as if each of my days should follow.
I know this is a horrible attitude but I can't tell you how often I think of doing something, starting something, and thinking, "What's the point?" I feel too old to begin anything new, too old a dog to learn new tricks, too tired to throw out challenges to the universe, to myself.
And I do another crossword. Patch another garment old garment so I don't have to buy a new one. Bake another loaf of bread. Sweep the same floors over and over. Ignore the places my house needs mending, tending. And even as I have these thoughts, I cling to the known, the well-worn routine, the printed-in-stone outline that I feel as if each of my days should follow.
Eh.
I cleaned the hen house today and I mulched the garlic my husband planted last week. I used some of the chickens' straw that lined their nests and as I pitchforked the pile I realized that we have some excellent composted chicken shit which is pure gold to the gardener. I'm baking a loaf of potato-sourdough bread and I hope it's good because it's as big as a basketball although shaped more like a football.
I cleaned the hen house today and I mulched the garlic my husband planted last week. I used some of the chickens' straw that lined their nests and as I pitchforked the pile I realized that we have some excellent composted chicken shit which is pure gold to the gardener. I'm baking a loaf of potato-sourdough bread and I hope it's good because it's as big as a basketball although shaped more like a football.
Here's the Mary Oliver poem. Probably most of you know it but I will give it to you again.
I don't know about you, but I should ponder these words.
I don't know about you, but I should ponder these words.
Love...Ms. Moon
Poem 133: The Summer Day
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean—
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down—
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
—Mary Oliver
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean—
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down—
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
—Mary Oliver
My granddaughter sent me a video this morning of my three-year-old great grandson crying in his car seat. She said, ‘are you OK?’ And he said ‘I miss my GiGi and Gwampa.’ My heart was wrenched out of my chest! Not sure why I’ve watched it another 50 times, but I’m sure I’ve cried most of the day. I even looked for real estate back in Illinois, and told hubby I wanted to sell our place here. Been a rough day….
ReplyDeleteThat sounds horrible. I'm so sorry. Bless your little great grandson's heart! And bless yours too.
DeleteThat pink posy made my day. I want that stamped on my heart so that absolutely nothing will come crashing in on my well being. You do live ...elsewhere. So pretty there right now. As the poem goes, I pretty much have done everything with this one precious life , happy about it and my wild penchant for saying YES to life, big time. My jar full of Fucks to give has just run out , too. Timely.
ReplyDeletesmooth sailing to the grave for me.
Well, honestly- I have done a lot. I had children very early so I wasn't as wild as I could have been. Probably saved my life. But I just feel like I'm way too settled for this part of the game. I don't know, Linda Sue. I just don't know.
Deletethat pink perfection, as I have so many times mentioned, reminds me SO of my Mom, who grew them. Sigh. It's lovely beyond belief. Yes...passage of time and the *depth perception* (for lack of a better term) to know what you need or want to do, or can't/shouldn't......it's a conundrum. And Mary Olivers poem covers it beautifully.
ReplyDeleteSusan M
Looks like it might be a stellar year for camellias. I hope so. They bring me so much pleasure. I'm glad mine remind you of your mother.
DeleteI think that "depth perception" is a great term. And it is all very much a conundrum, isn't it?
If the unexamined life is not worth living, yours is so worth living! All the examination and musing that goes into your daily journey.
ReplyDeleteThat is what I always say! No danger of my life being unexamined. I do not feel this trait is a blessing.
DeleteI think you are still very young, Mary. You are headed toward the seventies which they call the "young old". My friends are all in their late seventies with one in her mid-eighties. We are all running our homes, traveling, quilting, and planning ahead. Although I still get some of the feelings you have, I tell myself that I hope to stay healthy and, if so, plan to live to 100. But how I wish I were your age again! Thanks for the beautiful Pink Perfection photo!
ReplyDeleteI know you are right. And that's why this current state of affairs for me just seems wrong. And I do indeed know that I will never, ever be any younger than I am today. Thank you for the perspective.
DeleteThat Pink Perfection is stunning! I don't believe I have ever seen one before!
ReplyDeleteI'll tell you one thing ... I sure as hell wouldn't want to repeat this lifetime! I really am not happy with the life I have lived! It was supposed to be so much better then it has been! I tried to do the best with what I had and damned little thanks for any of it!
I do love my pink perfections!
DeleteI'm sorry that your life has not been what you wanted, what you expected. I often feel that my life has been so much better than I ever expected it would be. And I sure am grateful about that.
I feel the same way and if you asked your children or grandchildren or friends or husband, they would all say the same thing, you love. That's what you do, you love and how is that not enough?
ReplyDeleteThank you, Pixie. And love is enough (all you need?) but there are so many ways to express love and I'm not sure I'm very good at a lot of them.
DeleteI second Pixie. "That's what you do, you love and how is that not enough?" That's a poem right there.
ReplyDeleteChris from Boise
It really is, isn't it?
DeleteThat’s a wake-up call for sure and needed. I’m getting too good at letting hours just drift by. Time to get back to that fourth book even if I’m the only one who reads it. Thanks. And thank you Mary Oliver.
ReplyDeleteDo it, Marty!
DeleteGorgeous flowers, a beautiful tree and Ms. Oliver. You made my evening. I ask myself that question but then remember the gratitude I have for awakening in the morning...
ReplyDeleteYes, dear e. There is that...
DeleteI'm only going to get two flowers on my camellia this year. Don't know why. It did have an infestation of whitefly so maybe that's why. Time does pass quickly now. Hard to believe this year is almost over already. Just trying to be here now and be glad I am.
ReplyDeleteMine have so many buds! You've had some horrible weather for your budding plants, haven't you?
DeleteI love your last sentence. Thank you.
I think we all most likely have the same feelings. What's the point of it all? And I honestly don't know the answer to that one either but we keep on plodding on and enjoying our time and our loved ones as best we can!
ReplyDeleteI think the point of it all is for us to make more of us and to protect and nurture the ones we produce and that they produce as best we can. That's on the biological level, of course. And you and I have both done that!
DeleteOf course, not everyone wants or can reproduce and that is okay too. There truly are other reasons for existing.
I am glad you liked them both!
ReplyDeleteI sometimes feel I've wasted my one wild and precious life, not ventured far enough afield, not been sufficiently bold. And now my body aches in every joint, so the kind of exploring I wish I'd done is out of the question, but maybe it's not too late to explore inward. Then again, what makes me happiest in this one wild and precious life is my family. And they're right here. I am trying to be at peace with what is and to hold it loosely, allowing change. That's the hard one for me. You stirred up so many musings. Hugs my dear friend.
ReplyDeleteExamining Life when we have more of it behind us than in front of us must just be something many of us do every so often. You are never too Old to try something New and your Life is so very full in so many ways. There will probably always be a thing or two on the ole Bucket List we never get around to crossing off, that's Okay, Dreaming about it is such Fun too and might end up being better than actually being there... Imagination being so fertile a ground to explore there on the Canvas of our Imaginings. Happy Thanksgiving.
ReplyDeleteI have the last line of that poem framed and in my study right above my desk.
ReplyDelete