How’s your morning Travellers?
Do you ever wake up and move gently thru your morning routine in such a way that it feels, well I’m not sure what the word is, it’s more of an audible, “Hmmmmm..” and the the corners of your mouth turn up in a smile. Not because your life is perfect but just because it is. You’re alive and life is here all around you…and the sun is coming up and your garden is blooming and full. Your little crew of a family seem content as well in their own ways…
The greatest thing about this place, right here, where my words come to live is that I don’t owe anyone anything here in this space. There are no expectations other than the ones I might place on myself. And my expectation is simply the truth. We should all have such a space, shouldn’t we?
I always believed everyone had stories and thoughts permeating their minds like mine. That the words were composing themselves inside us all. I always thought writing was just like talking, everyone could do it. However now as we move into this whole virtual world, I feel a sort of odd sympathy for the generations who may never put a pen to paper. That you will never have the experience of an ink pen sneakily leaking all over the page, all over the back of your hand. Smeared on your words. There’s a really distinct smell to ink like that.
I’ve been running a sort of random inventory in my mind this morning, which I’m going to share now, which may seem weird, but again, if I’m here on a daily basis there’s no reason not to experiment, am I right?
I was eating the most delicious cherries from the bag last night standing at the kitchen sink. And I love when you eat cherries how the juices stain your fingers and the color creeps into your cuticles and under your nails. I always think it’s the perfect color for a lip stain that I have yet to find. And there’s just something about the juices getting everywhere that feels very primal like this is how we are meant to eat, messy. Also, I have eaten the two best pineapples this summer and the greatest cantaloupe EVER. They deserve to be talked about. You know when it’s perfectly ripe and there is nothing in the flavor or texture you would change, that kind of amazing random experience that makes the Russian roulette of buying produce in America worth it…Just so much YUM worth letting the world know..
Every morning, as sure as the sun rises, Charlie waits for his belly rub on the kitchen rug. He stretches himself out so so so long and just purrs. His purr is the greatest purr because it has this little tone that almost sounds broken, it’s like he’s so happy he sort let’s a little audible cry out into his purr…and I’m so happy to have him. Faline always gets on the bed when I’m making it. She really is fighting against herself, she wants the love, the neck rub, the snuggle but it’s like she can’t quite accept that she wants to be loved, if that makes sense. Lou and I have reached a new dialogue that she is entitled to her feelings and expressing them in an appropriate manner. Now that it’s just her and me without her dog Dad, it seems to have created a sort of understanding that we have never had before. Ramona remains her usually excited by life self. She’s almost 10 now and in truth it feels like we are all moving thru the house in a different tempo but in unison.
The house is quieter as I have mentioned and there are bare walls. There’s actually a lot of bare space because I decided I don’t want to keep things around just to fill space. I don’t want my comfort to be based on filled space. I’m learning to be content and feel at peace in emptiness. I’ve removed art and furniture and books and knick knacks and anything in the kitchen that wasn’t mine or that I don’t use or just anything that doesn’t make me happy. If it isn’t needed or loved, it’s no longer here. And it’s a process, I have many things I’m debating about if they have a place in our home. At first when he left I thought I would just do everything over, but I’m finding the deliberate one thing by one thing is more realistic and somehow feels like the natural pace of change.
This summer has been just the loveliest I can remember and in a more arrogant moment I would say it feels like it was being orchestrated just for me. The horrible flood and all the rain that was here as I began venturing out into the world alone, gave rise to not only the lushest garden I’ve ever grown, but I think it’s tempered the Midwest heat as well. It’s only been near 100 a handful of days, then it eases back into the high 80s. The nights have been mostly cool and it’s been wondrous. The house is warmer inside and with the light of the summer, it feels like it glows for us with a sort of warmth that says it’s going to be alright little human. When we sit on the patio at night, the world feels genuine.
Last thought, when I was a kid and my parents were married still, I brought home this little sapling from school. My Dad helped me plant it and I watered him every night. I remember when my parents got divorced how sad I was to leave my tree. I would never get to see it grow up. The part I love most with a garden is the growing part, not the harvesting just nurturing it and seeing it grow. My little blueberry bush is two years old. This is his second summer, and I was very concerned when I repotted him this Spring, he was not looking too good. But he has really flourished and this morning, I saw well, I’ll show you…but it made me so happy. It takes three years for blueberry bushes to produce fruit and I don’t want to put him in the ground here in case this isn’t where I stay..I don’t want to leave him behind…funny thought I realize…but look at those new little branches coming in…