Sunday, May 18, 2008
Celebration
brother engaged today! good day, new sister joining family, such happiness for them starting their life with each other.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Plants & People
no sit today.
several days of promised rain have come and gone, with none falling. but watering the garden is such a pleasure, the intimate daily moment of visiting each little bed, each community.
gardening day. apple blossoms are appearing. our little plum saplings, planted last year, are all in blossom except the american variety, the cornerstone of the whole grove; perhaps we'll have to wait another year for our first harvest. re-planted larkspur today, none having come up from the planting a couple of weeks ago - a miscommunication of watering necessities while i was away. sleepy little son in his wrap fussed as i bent down to mark the line, lay the seeds in, and cover them over, but was content when i stood up.
husband planted potatoes in the bags today; three bags, four potato seeds per bag. each potato seed can give up to 20 potatoes, so that's a potential harvest of 240 potatoes to feed us and family this coming winter.
visited a friend today. harvested creeping phlox he didn't want, nestled it into our compost pile for now. lovely pink color, lovely scent. a handful of lily-of-the-valley came along with it, an old friend.
while we gardened, chatted, played a board game, people in myanmar and china starved, struggled with untreated injuries, infection, their hearts broken from losing their loves, their families, their communities.
as i wrote this, my little son cried out in his sleep, a wail from deep within that comes to him sometimes in his sleep, never awake. i talked to him, nursed him, and he was soothed. i understand these sleeping cries to be mourning for the life he left before he came to us. this heartache, here in my house, in my life, is one i can help to mend. what do we do for the people on the other side of the world? donate money for supplies is all i come up with.
several days of promised rain have come and gone, with none falling. but watering the garden is such a pleasure, the intimate daily moment of visiting each little bed, each community.
gardening day. apple blossoms are appearing. our little plum saplings, planted last year, are all in blossom except the american variety, the cornerstone of the whole grove; perhaps we'll have to wait another year for our first harvest. re-planted larkspur today, none having come up from the planting a couple of weeks ago - a miscommunication of watering necessities while i was away. sleepy little son in his wrap fussed as i bent down to mark the line, lay the seeds in, and cover them over, but was content when i stood up.
husband planted potatoes in the bags today; three bags, four potato seeds per bag. each potato seed can give up to 20 potatoes, so that's a potential harvest of 240 potatoes to feed us and family this coming winter.
visited a friend today. harvested creeping phlox he didn't want, nestled it into our compost pile for now. lovely pink color, lovely scent. a handful of lily-of-the-valley came along with it, an old friend.
while we gardened, chatted, played a board game, people in myanmar and china starved, struggled with untreated injuries, infection, their hearts broken from losing their loves, their families, their communities.
as i wrote this, my little son cried out in his sleep, a wail from deep within that comes to him sometimes in his sleep, never awake. i talked to him, nursed him, and he was soothed. i understand these sleeping cries to be mourning for the life he left before he came to us. this heartache, here in my house, in my life, is one i can help to mend. what do we do for the people on the other side of the world? donate money for supplies is all i come up with.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Rain Coming
brief night sit on the porch by myself.
chill breeze again, this one from the south, carrying the rain we're expecting later tonight. again the smell of flowers on the wind.
looked at a house today, out in the country. a farmhouse, a barn, a small orchard, a forest of 12 acres. old cemeteries up the dirt road, coyotes, barn swallows. a walking trail that passes through the back yard on its way to canada. the house has seen births and deaths, has hosted visiting musicians, and was very inviting to us.
chill breeze again, this one from the south, carrying the rain we're expecting later tonight. again the smell of flowers on the wind.
looked at a house today, out in the country. a farmhouse, a barn, a small orchard, a forest of 12 acres. old cemeteries up the dirt road, coyotes, barn swallows. a walking trail that passes through the back yard on its way to canada. the house has seen births and deaths, has hosted visiting musicians, and was very inviting to us.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Memory
brief night sit on the porch by myself.
chill air moving slowly through the dark, carrying the scent of flowers from somewhere. the moon, a waxing gibbus, commanding the sky, lighting the clouds into a painting, illuminating everything. i thought of the path we walked today on the other side of town, thought of each leaf and tree stump, each curve in the trail, each moist patch of earth, all bathed in moonlight. all of our world, surrounded by the moon.
a bird sang from a tree nearby. why do they sing at night? not simply a call, but a song.
the stars held their places in the sky.
our pond, having dried up for lack of rain, has lost its peepers to other places. we aim the leak in our hose into it, but haven't been watering the plants enough for it to fill up.
looked over our land tonight from the porch, noticed not for the first time how all trace of our trees has been cleared away, wiped off the land. they are very much gone. as our boy grows, if we stay on this land, we'll tell him about the trees that stood there; these stories will be his only memory of them. the stumps-cum-seats from my friend and the clump of trillium and trout lily, dug up from under the trees the day the machines arrived and moved to safety under our porch, also attest to the reality of the trees' existence. they were part of that forest, that miniature ecosystem. without stories, without physical evidence, do things disappear forever? do traces remain? where is their energy? i used to talk with them when they stood, sit by them, the birds lived in them; where does the energy of these interactions reside now?
my little son is sleeping beside me. i watch him, my love for him swelling inside of me, pouring, i am sure, onto and into him. i wrap my hand around his little one and notice how enormous my hand is to him; i am a giant. is this what creator is to us? a being which towers over us, can carry us, give us life and death, guide us with lessons as we need them, and who loves us uncontrollably and infinitely?
chill air moving slowly through the dark, carrying the scent of flowers from somewhere. the moon, a waxing gibbus, commanding the sky, lighting the clouds into a painting, illuminating everything. i thought of the path we walked today on the other side of town, thought of each leaf and tree stump, each curve in the trail, each moist patch of earth, all bathed in moonlight. all of our world, surrounded by the moon.
a bird sang from a tree nearby. why do they sing at night? not simply a call, but a song.
the stars held their places in the sky.
our pond, having dried up for lack of rain, has lost its peepers to other places. we aim the leak in our hose into it, but haven't been watering the plants enough for it to fill up.
looked over our land tonight from the porch, noticed not for the first time how all trace of our trees has been cleared away, wiped off the land. they are very much gone. as our boy grows, if we stay on this land, we'll tell him about the trees that stood there; these stories will be his only memory of them. the stumps-cum-seats from my friend and the clump of trillium and trout lily, dug up from under the trees the day the machines arrived and moved to safety under our porch, also attest to the reality of the trees' existence. they were part of that forest, that miniature ecosystem. without stories, without physical evidence, do things disappear forever? do traces remain? where is their energy? i used to talk with them when they stood, sit by them, the birds lived in them; where does the energy of these interactions reside now?
my little son is sleeping beside me. i watch him, my love for him swelling inside of me, pouring, i am sure, onto and into him. i wrap my hand around his little one and notice how enormous my hand is to him; i am a giant. is this what creator is to us? a being which towers over us, can carry us, give us life and death, guide us with lessons as we need them, and who loves us uncontrollably and infinitely?
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Busy Day
rich days with my family. i grieve their closeness now, back home away from them.
did a lot today, was not present a lot.
i have been feeling and thinking a lot about the people of myanmar and china. when i eat, when i drink water, when i look at the people i love, my home standing sturdy where it belongs. we have so much. so much that we don't think twice about, to be thankful for.
did a lot today, was not present a lot.
i have been feeling and thinking a lot about the people of myanmar and china. when i eat, when i drink water, when i look at the people i love, my home standing sturdy where it belongs. we have so much. so much that we don't think twice about, to be thankful for.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Night Wind
no sit again.
stood on porch tonight, letting the dog out. dark and wind, just like where i grew up beside the ocean, where there was always a wind, the way it should be.
peepers are abundant, calls ringing from all across the land now. clouds hiding some of the stars, others shining through.
continue to reflect on the notion of living our days as we live our lives. i've come to look at my days like they are my entire life: the morning is youth, through to evening when my life will be ending soon. when i 'wake up' to myself being caught up in something that i know to be unimportant, i remind myself of this idea and it has an immediate effect of releasing me from the mindset. if i get overwhelmed with the number of tasks i'm trying to get done and i happen to wake up in the midst of them, it becomes instantly clear to me which are important and which can be left. in this way, it is as valuable to me as the tasks from gurdjieff's work.
stood on porch tonight, letting the dog out. dark and wind, just like where i grew up beside the ocean, where there was always a wind, the way it should be.
peepers are abundant, calls ringing from all across the land now. clouds hiding some of the stars, others shining through.
continue to reflect on the notion of living our days as we live our lives. i've come to look at my days like they are my entire life: the morning is youth, through to evening when my life will be ending soon. when i 'wake up' to myself being caught up in something that i know to be unimportant, i remind myself of this idea and it has an immediate effect of releasing me from the mindset. if i get overwhelmed with the number of tasks i'm trying to get done and i happen to wake up in the midst of them, it becomes instantly clear to me which are important and which can be left. in this way, it is as valuable to me as the tasks from gurdjieff's work.
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