hello 68

Starfish by Eleanor Lerman

This is what life does. It lets you walk up to
the store to buy breakfast and the paper, on a
stiff knee. It lets you choose the way you have
your eggs, your coffee. Then it sits a fisherman
down beside you at the counter who says, Last night,
the channel was full of starfish. And you wonder,
is this a message, finally, or just another day?


Life lets you take the dog for a walk down to the
pond, where whole generations of biological
processes are boiling beneath the mud. Reeds
speak to you of the natural world: they whisper,
they sing. And herons pass by. Are you old
enough to appreciate the moment? Too old?
There is movement beneath the water, but it
may be nothing. There may be nothing going on.


And then life suggests that you remember the
years you ran around, the years you developed
a shocking lifestyle, advocated careless abandon,
owned a chilly heart. Upon reflection, you are
genuinely surprised to find how quiet you have
become. And then life lets you go home to think
about all this. Which you do, for quite a long time.


Later, you wake up beside your old love, the one
who never had any conditions, the one who waited
you out. This is life’s way of letting you know that
you are lucky. (It won’t give you smart or brave,
so you’ll have to settle for lucky.) Because you
were born at a good time. Because you were able
to listen when people spoke to you. Because you
stopped when you should have and started again.


So life lets you have a sandwich, and pie for your
late night dessert. (Pie for the dog, as well.) And
then life sends you back to bed, to dreamland,
while outside, the starfish drift through the channel,
with smiles on their starry faces as they head
out to deep water, to the far and boundless sea.

I wake this morning, on my birthday, and go about my morning chores. I feed the dog, head outside to water the gardens, and take a few photos. I come in a couple hours later to make my latte and hear Today is Your Birthday playing on the smart speaker we have in the kitchen. He is awake and still in bed but sending me birthday wishes from our bedroom. I see I have text messages from the kids, and a missed phone call from a friend. Suddenly love and excitement overwhelm me. . . as I love a fresh start.

taking no chances

“It was approaching dusk. That time between late afternoon and early evening when most of us are adjusting our lights and clothing, appetites and mindsets, to make the transition from the end of the day to the beginning of the night. A time when both sun and moon can share the sky.”

- Marti Healy

One more week of this cast, but who is counting! Instead of complaining I thought I might share those things I can do left-handed now with ease . . .

fix my own latte, make my own breakfast and lunch, dress myself, hook and unhook by bra, change Percy, and lift him up if needed, eat soup, cut my own chicken, cut a bouquet of flowers, thin carrots, trim and blanch green beans for the freezer, weed, cut veggies for a salad, make the bed, take a shower, even squeeze the shampoo out of the bottle, fold laundry, vacuum, load and unload the dishwasher, mop the floors, clean the bathrooms, clean up spills, wipe the table after dinner, clean out the refrigerator, and feed the dog!

But just because I can do these things left-handed doesn’t mean I have to go back to doing them all, once my right hand is back in service.

I am so proud of his learning curve!

“Housework won't kill you, but then again, why take the chance?”

― Phyllis Diller

pom poms

“Pretending doesn't require expensive toys.”

― Fred Rogers, You Are Special: Words of Wisdom for All Ages from a Beloved Neighbor

I read somewhere that a bag of colorful pom-poms could keep a toddler busy for a good hour or so. I am here to tell you it is true. Add a couple of fruit baskets for sorting and a small pair of tongs and you will be set. You can count them, sort them by color or size, see how many you can squish into a cup or float them in water and hand the toddler a small ladle. The list goes on and on. The laughter you share as said toddler rolls around in them will carry you through the day.

This package came with sticky eyes too. . .

Who knew?

“Children need the freedom and time to play. Play is not a luxury. Play is a necessity.”

~ Kay Redfield Jamison

praying to the birds

“Once upon a time, when women were birds, there was the simple understanding that to sing at dawn and to sing at dusk was to heal the world through joy. The birds still remember what we have forgotten, that the world is meant to be celebrated.”

― Terry Tempest Williams, When Women Were Birds: Fifty-four Variations on Voice

I sit one evening on the wooden coffee table in our family room with my camera pointed out the door where I have a perfect view of the bird feeders. I am hidden enough that the birds pay me no mind. I use my older, heavier camera as it seems to be sharper with the big lens I am holding. (I think it is a matter of the operator and not the lens or the camera.) The cast on my right hand is awkward and my hand gets tired as I fumble with settings, but I stay put for a good thirty minutes or so. Most of the time the camera is sitting in my lap as I rest my hand and just I watch the frolicking going on at the feeder, something I would have never done before. Before I would have shot off 35 or so shots, crossed my fingers and gotten up and walked right to my office, excited to see what I captured. On this evening I am happy to get 10 or so shots and delighted even more with the evening light and the birds.

There are so many lessons in life I still need to learn.

“I pray to the birds. I pray to the birds because I believe they will carry the messages of my heart upward. I pray to them because I believe in their existence, the way their songs begin and end each day—the invocations and benedictions of Earth. I pray to the birds because they remind me of what I love rather than what I fear. And at the end of my prayers, they teach me how to listen.”

― Terry Tempest Williams, Refuge: An Unnatural History of Family and Place

passing judgement

“When you judge yourself for needing help, you judge those you are helping. When you attach value to giving help, you attach value to needing help. The danger of tying your self-worth to being a helper is feeling shame when you have to ask for help. Offering help is courageous and compassionate, but so is asking for help.”

― Brené Brown, Rising Strong: The Reckoning. The Rumble. The Revolution.

I am three weeks into this broken wrist thing and slowly learning to ask for help. I admit, I was somewhat flabbergasted that not everyone was noticing how I was struggling to meet my needs, making me even more determined not to ask. But that only resulted in frustration and resentment setting in, which didn’t help the situation at all. It really was so simple when I put aside the notion that they should just know what I needed and I started to ask. But it also made me give some thought into why I found the asking part so hard.

Judgement is such a sneaky emotion.

an afternoon on the nootsack

 

Truly, we live with mysteries too marvelous
to be understood.

How grass can be nourishing in the
mouths of the lambs.
How rivers and stones are forever
in allegiance with gravity
while we ourselves dream of rising.
How two hands touch and the bonds will
never be broken.
How people come, from delight or the
scars of damage,
to the comfort of a poem.

Let me keep my distance, always, from those
who think they have the answers.

Let me keep company always with those who say
“Look!” and laugh in astonishment,
and bow their heads.

- Mary Oliver

this was July

The garden explodes in July - flowers in every corner of the yard and fresh veggies with every meal. Percy turn 2 1/2 and suddenly seems so big. We stick to our Tuesday walks and dig out the water play toys when we play outside The mama deer bring their babies out to play each morning and I stand in the kitchen to watch. I don’t attempt to break their frolicking with my camera but do capture some juveniles in the front yard helping themselves to breakfast. He gets his long awaited pacemaker and a few days later I break my right wrist. Both of us now down to one arm. Frustration is soon relieved with a new attitude where I find peace, laughter and gratitude. I connect with old friends and he and I plan a trip for September.

July brings growth all around it seems, and I allow myself to wallow in it with contentment and love.

 

“If I had my way, I'd remove January from the calendar altogether and have an extra July instead.”

- Roald Dahl