gratitude

“But here was the world, screeching its beauty at her day after day, and she felt grateful for it.” 

― Elizabeth Strout, Olive, Again

They call midday and ask him if he wants to come right now and have it done. We look at each other and he says sure. I picked him up a little after 7:00 pm and brought him home. All went great, the doctor said.

why now?

Next month I will turn 68. I am beyond asking myself how this happened. But I am not beyond thinking how time has flown by. Lately tiny memories will arise out of the blue, and I will suddenly find myself acutely aware of something that happened years ago. There are of course the momentous moments of one’s life: births, deaths, job losses, a cancer diagnosis, weddings, graduations, etc. But these memories are for the most part new, and somewhat trivial. Or so I thought.

I sit with them and allow myself time to remember, conjuring up my senses, and indulging myself in this little folly. For truly, what encompasses a life if it is not a string of what we might deem unsung moments. Moments that seem so insignificant that we have buried them for years.

As they float to the surface I find myself engulfed in a rare form of sweetness that has helped me see myself more clearly, and understand myself a little better.

But I can’t help but wonder why now?

“We do not remember days, we remember moments. The richness of life lies in memories we have forgotten.”

― Cesare Pavese

a poem

The Patience of Ordinary Things by Pat Schneider

It is a kind of love, is it not?
How the cup holds the tea,
How the chair stands sturdy and foursquare,
How the floor receives the bottoms of shoes
Or toes. How soles of feet know
Where they’re supposed to be.
I’ve been thinking about the patience
Of ordinary things, how clothes
Wait respectfully in closets
And soap dries quietly in the dish,
And towels drink the wet
From the skin of the back.
And the lovely repetition of stairs.
And what is more generous than a window?

this morning

"I've always thought my flowers had souls."
- Myrtle Reed

I have the morning to myself. This doesn’t happen very often any more and I enjoy the silence. I water the garden, thin the carrots, and play around some with my camera. I spend time online, looking up odds and ends that I have had sitting on the back burner for some time.

I picked the first sweet peas a few days back, and relished in the delicate blooms on this beautiful clematis after watering this morning. Yep, I do think my flowers have souls.

inspired

Way back in the day, I took a few classes from Kim Klassen. She is a beautiful soul, full of all kinds of creative inspiration and artistic ideas. Lately I have been visiting her site daily, coming away with some motivation and spark to try some new things. Check her site out for some inspiration of your own.

Slow it down more, come closer still. A dot appears, like a flesh-flake. It swells like a balloon; it moves, circles, slows, and vanishes. This is your life.”

― Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek

it just comes

“I'd been afraid I'd somehow been giving a life I hadn't deserved, but that's ridiculous. We don't deserve anything - not the suffering and not the golden light. It just comes.”

― Ann Patchett, These Precious Days: Essays

The bridge between beauty and heartache is constantly shifting. I stand in the middle, edging ever so slightly in one direction or the other, until I find myself planted firmly in light or darkness. Lately lightness prevails, even as uncertainty about what the future may hold grows within me. I don’t scold myself or try and second guess my actions or emotions, but rather seem to be able to sit with both, and find lessons and value in each of them.

I have found my voice and my worth, both arriving unexpectedly, out of the blue. It is not something I deserve, nor do I feel privileged or special. If truth be told I think it has to do with age. With age has come the sheer understanding that life is full of suffering and golden light, that we learn from both and within the compounds of our life, will encounter both.

The only thing we can do is care for ourselves and for others, while opening not only our hearts, but also our minds, with compassion.

“We speak of ourselves as being blessed, but what can that mean except that others are not blessed, and that God has picked out a few of us to love more? It is our responsibility to care for one another, to create fairness in the face of unfairness and find equality where none may have existed in the past.”

- Ann Patchett, These Precious Days