“Watermelon — it’s a good fruit. You eat, you drink, you wash your face.”
— Enrico Caruso
I spent a good part of the day with Percy. We took a long walk, looked for books in the sidewalk little libraries, stopped at the park, played and had a snack, followed garbage trucks, spotted squirrels and one black cat. Once home we sat and ate several slices of cold watermelon because, as he told me, watermelon is good when you are thirsty.
“Instead of constantly asking ourselves the question of why we're here, maybe we should be savoring the simpler truth: We are here.”
― Mikki Brammer, The Collected Regrets of Clover
I wake, determined to book a few night for us on the Oregon coast. Surprised to find a few opening at the end of June, I am so happy when I am successful. The kids commit to dog sitting and suddenly I find myself having something to look forward to.
I walk the yard in the early evening and find the peonies opening and the Irises all in bloom. The Irises will be gone tomorrow, for the deer love them. But, they are here today to savor.
“I am a frayed and nibbled survivor in a fallen world, and I am getting along. I am aging and eaten and have done my share of eating too. I am not washed and beautiful, in control of a shining world in which everything fits, but instead am wandering awed about on a splintered wreck I’ve come to care for, whose gnawed trees breathe a delicate air, whose bloodied and scarred creatures are my dearest companions, and whose beauty beats and shines not in its imperfections but overwhelmingly in spite of them, under the wind-rent clouds, upstream and down.” ~ Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek
the fern in the front yard
My days unfold with a consistent pattern, my disposition and mood changing as the hours pass. I think of new projects I might start, getting away from the drooling words and emotions that come from where? I am not sure. I think about perimeters to make me accountable, I think about just doing. I ponder why and how I arrived where I am, wishing I was a poet or maybe a chef. The love I feel unfurls at times, taking over all common sense, only to close back up tightly for protection. I spend hours trying to find my way through others experiences, stepping onto the paths others have followed, only to lose more of myself.
I think it is time to inhabit my own life.
“People from a planet without flowers would think we must be mad with joy the whole time to have such things about us.”
― Iris Murdoch
I walk the garden each morning in my pajamas, curious, as the garden unfolds. Last winter’s bitter cold was hard, and some plants are late to the party, while others just don’t show up. Sometimes hacking away at branches in early days of spring brings more growth, and sometimes it leaves a hole. I move among the flower beds welcoming each plant back for a new season. I tuck a few new ones in here and there, and fill some pots with fresh herbs, happy gardening season is in full bloom.
I spend the day on the Skagit River watching my son, and other instructors, teach spey casting to other like-minded fishing people. I carry my camera instead of a rod, but just like the students I learn new things and have a very fun day.
My father taught all three of my boys to fish as soon as they could hold a rod and sit in a boat, just as he did me. It stuck with them however, and all three of them have had periods of time when they were deeply emerged in fishing. This son however, is still at it. I enjoy watching him in his element, teaching others to do what he loves. He is patient and lighthearted, bringing joy to his instructions. The river is high and lines are flying and by the end they all emerge with smiles on their faces.
I feel at home in this setting, and understand a little bit more why I am drawn to water and nature in my photography. I think of my dad throughout the day and wonder what he would think of this grandson of his, making a living doing what he loves. I also wonder if it is too late for me to take up this beautiful hobby. Thinking I might just ask for a few private lessons.
“And I should mention the light
which falls through the big windows this time of day
italicizing everything it touches...”
― Billy Collins, Ballistics
I wake early, like I do most mornings. Lying in bed, I listen to the birds out the window and allow myself to fall back to sleep.
I wake two hours later.
My morning chores don’t get done, and the garden, with its fresh new seedlings calls to me. But instead I drink my coffee, take photos of my breakfast,
and come to this familiar place, to write a few words.
Nothing earth shaking, nothing out of the ordinary, but something I do a few times each week to keep my balance.
from the garden this mornig
After all these years of blogging, I no longer question the why.
“It is never a waste of time to be outdoors, and never a waste of time to rest, even for a few hours.”
― May Sarton
cooling down
The unusual hot weather keeps me inside for most of the day and honestly, I am bit miffed. But as soon as the sun starts to do down there is a slight breeze coming up off the lake so we eat outside. After we are done, I sit with my book and my camera as he cleans up the kitchen. I cook and if I ask he cleans up.
I am back to playing some with diptychs.
